AN: Last chapter, folks...

Chapter Thirteen: The Beauty That Still Remains

I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.

- Anne Frank

Tess found them on the sixth day.

They pulled into a motel parking lot and she was already there, sitting on the curb near the entrance, staring at them. It made Liz wonder exactly what kind of connection Tess had to them. It also made her wonder what mode of transportation Tess was using, because as far as Liz knew, the blonde didn't own a car.

Neither of these thoughts were particularly important, though, so Liz shrugged them off and climbed out of the car after Michael.

Michael looked at Tess, and Liz said nothing when she saw the complete relief in his expression.

He gave her an apologetic look afterwards, but she just smiled and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It still hurt her to see his reaction, and she had a feeling he knew that, but it didn't matter. She and Michael might never fully agree on Tess, but the disagreement wasn't worth the pain it had caused either of them.

Michael walked towards Tess, and she rose to her feet and faced them.

"Why?" she asked flatly.

Michael didn't pretend to misunderstand. "They're still the enemy. No one deserves the white room."

Tess shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. "That's not what you thought before," she accused. But there wasn't any heat in her words. In fact, her tone was more bewildered than anything else. Then her gaze flicked to Liz and she added coolly, "Neither of you thought that."

Liz stiffened.

Letting go of her anger was a lot simpler of a task when she wasn't faced with those blue eyes. It was hard to look at them and not wonder if they were the last thing Alex had seen before he died.

She lowered her gaze for a moment, and felt Michael squeeze her hand.

"Things change," Michael said. "People change." There was a pause, then he said sincerely, "I'm glad you escaped them."

If Tess had found them three days earlier, when Michael and Liz hadn't been talking and Liz had felt like nothing would ever fix whatever problems existed between them, Michael's comment would have sent her into a fit of rage. As it was, it still upset her.

She still didn't like the thought of Michael risking so much to protect a murderer and a traitor.

But since the argument on the side of the highway three days ago, things had been better between the two of them. Still awkward, maybe. They danced around certain topics, never quite discussing Liz's six weeks alone or Michael's actions against the green-eyed government agent. They were merely alluded to, before the pain caused by thinking about either became so great the conversation would quickly turn to something else.

But the silence was gone. The tension was gone.

And Michael was still holding Liz's hand.

Tess frowned, then said, "I almost didn't. They were already in town by the time I found the note." She looked away from Michael, towards the highway. "I destroyed it," she added. "The note, I mean. So they wouldn't find it. Wouldn't have any clues." She lifted a hand to her head and wove her fingers into her hair as her palm pressed against her temple. "Wouldn't find me."

"Thank you," Michael said.

Tess shook her head and answered with a laugh that was not quite sane. "I didn't do it for you." She continued to press her hand against her head as though trying to physically force thoughts from her mind.

When Alex had died, Liz had been too blinded by grief to see how much she was hurting the people around her. Her careless, callous words had been ill-timed at best and downright cruel at worst. But Max's refusal to listen to her, his continual attempts to try to control what she did and who she talked to, had caused their own fair share of hurt.

She'd been right in the end – Alex had been killed by an alien – and nothing else had really mattered. After the revelations of Tess' actions and her true loyalties, they'd been too stricken to do much of anything but try – stumbling and blindly groping in the metaphorical dark – to find their way back to one another.

It hadn't always worked.

And though Liz knew she had to shoulder some of the blame for that, she still placed most of it on Tess.

Which meant that, in the intervening years, her memories of Tess had changed. She knew intellectually that Tess had actually helped them on more than one occasion and that she had had plenty of interactions with the blonde in which she did not want to kill her. But those memories were twisted now, and she could never think of Tess without imagining her as always conniving, always malicious. Every word Tess had ever uttered had been part of a greater plot to earn their trust and then betray them. Ever look she had ever tossed their way had been filled with calculating spite. Those blue eyes had always been icy and unemotional, never touched by anything resembling warmth.

The Tess standing before her was still a murderer and still a traitor, but underneath the anger and distrust in her gaze, her eyes… her eyes were haunted.

How had Liz never noticed that before?

"Let's go inside," Liz said to Michael. "I'm tired and wouldn't mind getting a good night's sleep before hitting the road again tomorrow."

Michael frowned. "I'm hungry," he said.

Liz rolled her eyes and laughed softly. "Boys," she murmured with a bemused shake of her head.

Michael looked back at Tess and it was clear from the expression on his face that he didn't want to just leave her. But what else was he supposed to say? He'd never known exactly how to help her, particularly given how little she seemed to want it.

Tess was still looking at them. She was furious now, displeased at being so easily ignored. She dropped her arms to her side and glared at them. Green energy was flickering at the tips of her fingers and her palms began to glow.

But she didn't scare Liz. She'd all but admitted that she would never kill them. She needed them alive. She needed that hatred.

Michael lingered for a moment, then nodded and turned away. Turned towards Liz and smiled. "Let's go inside," he agreed.

"You can't just… you can't…" Tess stammered, her tone oddly high-pitched. She grabbed at her head again, fingers pressing into her skin. Her palms were glowing again. "You're still in my head!"

Michael gave Liz an uneasy glance. "I don't like this," he said warily, eyes darting around nervously.

Liz swallowed anxiously and squeezed his hand tighter. She doubted Tess would be stupid enough to risk using her powers in broad daylight, particularly given their recent close call with the government. But the question wasn't her intelligence, it was her sanity.

Did she even realize what she was doing?

"Tess…?" Michael questioned. "Are you… alright?"

"Maybe we're doing this to her," Liz suggested. "Maybe being around us, thinking about us… maybe it is making her…" she gestured with her free hand towards Tess, "do that."

When she had first come into her powers, they had been tied to her emotions, and had erupted every time she got near Max. Because Max had been the most complicated, multifaceted, emotionally draining part of her life. It had taken fleeing to boarding school and then facing the possibility of Max dying for her to get enough control over her feelings towards him to stop destroying everything around her whenever he was in the room.

What if the same hypothesis held true for Tess?

Michael accepted this with a nod, and the two of them turned towards the motel.

The Liz paused and looked back. "Tess," she said, "…thank you."

"For what?" Tess demanded, her eyes filled with suspicion.

Liz hesitated, unsure how to respond. She wasn't entirely certain what it was she was thanking Tess for in the first place. She still hated the other girl, but that hatred didn't burn as bright as it had before. She was tired, and her heart felt as though it had been pulled apart and put back together so many times that she wasn't sure if it was even recognizable anymore. She didn't want to waste any more emotion on this.

She would never forgive Tess for what she had done to Alex, and what she nearly did to Max, Michael, and Isabel. But maybe the forgiveness didn't matter as much as she had once thought. Maybe it wasn't so much about forgiving and forgetting as it was about moving on.

She could move on.

And it was, ironically, Tess who had convinced her that she wanted to.

So she finally cleared her throat and said, "For reminding me that I don't have to be like you."

The world smelled like rain. It wasn't a smell she could describe to anyone else. It was something in the air, a damp scent that lingered every time the wind swept by.

A few minutes after Liz and Michael had disappeared into the motel, Michael stepped out into the parking lot once more. Tess had expected it, because she knew perfectly well that Michael wasn't content to just walk away. He still had too much of himself wrapped up in the white room, and wrapped up in her.

The colors of his clothing were muted. The entire world was muted. The sky had been a constant gray for as long as she could remember, even though she knew it was a bright blue.

"I can't help you," Michael said flatly, stopping in front of her.

The world kept changing on her. It had changed during her stay in the white room, and it was changing now. It kept spinning, and she felt as though she was stuck. Left behind.

Again.

"I want to," Michael continued. "I do. I just… I can't. I don't know how. I don't think you know how I could help you, either. And I think… I think that was one of the hardest things I've had to come to terms with in a while."

She looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the lines etched into his skin, at the shadows underneath his eyes, and the haunting expression of loss only partially hidden behind the façade of composure that he wore.

"I have to protect myself and I have to protect Liz," Michael continued, not waiting to see if she would say anything. She doubted she had any lines in this dialogue, anyway. It was his soliloquy, it was something he needed to say.

So she listened.

"If you come after us, if you try to hurt us, I will fight you. If you leave me no other option, I will kill you. But I will never turn you over to the government."

"You did before," she said hoarsely.

"And we were wrong," Michael replied without hesitation. "But this isn't about what happened then. This is about now. And I need you to understand this, Tess. I need you to understand that I won't let you hurt Liz."

She smiled maliciously. "Do you really think you can stop me?"

He stared at her, his expression hard and unemotional. "Yes."

She didn't understand this new world. Didn't understand her place in it. They were still in her head and she wanted them to leave, but it seemed like there was nothing anyone could do to make that happen.

The ties just wouldn't break.

She wanted to scratch at her skin, to dig them out. Her hands moved towards her hair, fingers clutching at the blonde strands.

Michael caught her hands, stopped her.

"Don't," he said.

She wondered vaguely if he even understood what she was trying to do. Did he get that this was an exorcism, that all she wanted was to get him out of her head?

She didn't dream as much anymore. No more nightmares of white and green eyes and pain. Maybe that was progress.

She pulled away from Michael. "You're a killer, too," she said. "This is war. We're all killers."

"But I'm not like them, Tess," Michael said, clearing his throat and looking away from her. "I'm not like the government."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" she asked.

"Both," Michael replied. "And the thing is... I don't think you're like them, either." He paused, cleared his throat, then said, "And you're right, people cared about the government agents I killed in this war, too. So maybe we really aren't as different as I wanted to believe. But we're not the men from the white room."

She wanted to hurt him.

Michael was standing in front of her, and she couldn't breathe. The world was pressing in on her from all sides, and she wanted nothing more than to make him hurt, to make him feel what she felt. She wanted to make him suffer and laugh in his face while she did so.

Why couldn't she do that? Why couldn't she hurt him? Why couldn't she find the anger and hatred and fury that had kept her sane for so long?

"I hope you find whatever it is you need. I hope you... I hope you find peace," Michael added. "But I think you're the only one who can help you find it."

Tess stared at him.

"I'm going inside now," he said and she watched in silence as he left her standing in the parking lot and rejoined Liz inside the motel.

Michael felt his gaze drawn towards the window again.

He had yet to actually get off the bed and cross the small motel room to look out the window, but it didn't stop him from feeling drawn in that direction. He could stop his eyes from flicking over to the glass, couldn't stop him body from continually shifting on the bed as though trying to convince him to get up.

Liz was taking a shower in the bathroom. There would be no one to see if he did decide to get up and look out the window. There would be no questions, no resulting conversation, no uneasy navigating of potentially dangerous topics.

But after their argument three days ago, the last thing he wanted to do was sneak around behind Liz's back. They had reached an understanding, but it was tentative, fragile. He didn't want it to break.

He didn't want to run the risk of losing Liz again.

He flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Liz's suitcase lay next to him on the bed, half open. Some of her clothing had spilled out onto the covers, and beneath the clothing he could see the corner of her journal sticking out.

He frowned thoughtfully. He couldn't recall having seen Liz write in the journal for weeks now.

The sound of the shower turning off in the bathroom pulled his attention away from the suitcase and the journal. A moment later, the door to the bathroom opened and Liz appeared, her wet hair clinging to her neck and back, a towel wrapped around her slim form. She paused and smiled at him.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied, sitting up again. There was a momentary silence, then he jerked his head towards the suitcase and said, "You brought your journal with you."

Liz shrugged. "There was too much in it to leave it behind."

"Yes, we've already established how… uh… dangerous… the journal can be," Michael agreed, his mind wandering back to the first – and only – time he had read her journal. Life had been so much simpler during their sophomore year of high school, even with the FBI and the unanswered questions about their origins.

Liz snorted in agreement, clearly thinking about the same incident.

"I haven't seen you write in it, though," Michael said. "Not… not in a while." He frowned, trying to remember if he'd seen her write in the journal at all since returning from the white room. Maybe once or twice, but…

Liz nodded. "Yeah. Haven't really felt like writing in a while." She walked over the suitcase and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt. "You know, we haven't really talked about where we are going. We're just… driving."

"Maybe a big city," Michael said thoughtfully. Tess had been the one to point out the advantages of that. It was easier to disappear in a big city, easier to just blend into the crowd. It was likely why the Dupes had avoided attention for so long even though they used their powers in public all the time.

Although as far as Michael knew, none of them had done anything as stupid as healing someone in a crowded diner.

"Turn around," Liz instructed, and turned around on the bed, facing away from Liz as she quickly dropped the towel and pulled on her clothing.

"Small towns are nice, but the government found us once, they can do it again," Michael continued, staring at the wall. His gaze moved for a moment, gliding over the white pain and landing on the window.

"They can probably find us in a big city, too," Liz murmured. "They can probably find us anywhere."

"That's optimistic," Michael practically drawled.

Liz walked around the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress next to him. "A big city has its advantages, but if we've learned anything over the past several weeks, it's not to assume that we're safe anywhere." She paused for a moment, and Michael could see there was more that she wanted to say.

He took her hand, squeezing it tightly. "And small towns feel like Roswell."

"Yeah," she breathed.

He squeezed her hand again. The fact that it was too dangerous to contact anyone in Roswell that frequently, that it was possible the government was monitoring such calls, didn't bother Michael much because he didn't really have anyone he had left behind. Liz still had her parents, and if she could never see them again, it was clear that she at least wanted to feel close to them.

He would have liked to be able to give her that. But he also wanted to keep her alive, and he was fairly certain that their chances of survival were much better in a larger city.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, and then Liz leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I'm tired," she said softly.

"You used to write in your journal before bed," Michael muttered. "Max told me that once. You would reflect on the day."

Liz laughed quickly. "Did you talk about me a lot?"

Michael gave her a serious look and said, "Max did. Max always talked about you. You were the first thing on his mind in the morning and the last thing on his mind at night." He cleared his throat and looked down at their interlocked hands. "I miss him," he said gruffly.

"I miss Maria," Liz replied.

"I used to talk to her," Michael said. "After she had… after the attack. I used to… to talk to her. All the time."

Liz's lips quirked into a smile and she asked, "Did she answer?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "I'm not crazy, Parker," he said with a scowl. "I don't hallucinate dead people talking to me." He let go of her hand and reached up to run his fingers through his hair. "I just missed her, and I was dealing with so much after the white room and it helped to… to talk to her."

"Why did you stop?"

Michael shrugged. "Her absence got easier to bear and I… I guess I thought clinging to her would prevent from being able to move on. I couldn't bring her back, and not letting go would just… hurt me more." He didn't add that it became harder to talk to Maria as his feelings for Liz grew. He didn't add that talking to Maria while thinking about Liz felt like a betrayal of both.

He didn't add that he hadn't been able to talk to Maria about Tess because, even in death, Maria would never have understood.

"As long as we're having a mushy heart-to-heart," Michael said, "why don't you write in your journal anymore?" he asked. "And don't tell me that it's just because you haven't felt like it."

"I'm not that girl anymore," was Liz's reply. "It's in the past. It's over."

Michael laughed outright at that. "The one who felt a need to chronicle every thought, every action, every event as though she was a scientist observing the world around her? You're still that girl," he countered. "The past may be over, but you are most definitely still that girl."

Liz didn't say anything, just stared at him, and he could tell from her expression that her reluctance had to do with more than just a feeling of change. He supposed he couldn't really blame her – he was trying to let go of the things that reminded him of Maria and Roswell and the life they'd had before, too.

He sighed. "You could always get a new journal. Start over," he offered.

Liz looked away from him, towards the window. "Is Tess still in the parking lot?"

"I don't know," Michael answered honestly. "It's been a while, though. I don't know why she would still be there."

"Who knows why Tess does anything anymore?" Liz murmured.

Michael got up and walked over to the window. The glass was streaked with moisture stains and slightly distorted, but it still offered a decent view of the parking lot and the road beyond. He scanned the area, searching for the blonde.

Tess was gone.

"She's not there," he said, glancing over at Liz. It was the answer they had both expected, even though neither had been willing to admit that. Tess' absence was no surprise, and the only question now was if she would reenter their lives again. Michael had made his peace with the fact that he couldn't help her - or, rather, he was still trying to make his peace with that, but he had at least accepted it. And he had accepted that his own safety - and Liz's safety - had to come first.

And Liz had accepted that Michael could never fully let go of his desire to help Tess, and that since he couldn't help her, he at least had to do whatever he could to make sure she didn't end up in the white room again.

Liz crossed to his side and looked out of the window also. Her gaze traveled over the parking lot once, before moving upwards, towards the night sky.

"What do we do?" she asked, and Michael wasn't sure if she meant in regards to Tess or their own plans for the future or the government that was still out there somewhere.

He supposed it didn't really matter. He took her hand in his, and gave the only answer he could.

"We survive."

They were still fighting for their chance at happiness. They hadn't given up.

Tess didn't understand much of what had happened in that final confrontation, but she did understand that. Everything else about Michael and Liz was a mystery - and why couldn't she get them out of her head? Why did they keep tormenting her? Why couldn't she let them go? - but when Michael had stared Tess in the eyes and told her that he would protect Liz no matter what, she had believed him.

They were still fighting to be together.

It was starting to rain. The scent that the wind had carried had foretold this, and she wasn't surprised when the first drops of water hit her hair and splashed down her face, leaving tracks on her skin.

Liz had looked at her with scorn and with pity and those words - I don't have to be like you - echoed in Tess' mind.

She wanted Liz to be like her. She wanted Liz to need the hate as much as she did. She wanted... no. She needed it. She needed Liz to need the hatred, and she needed Liz to hate her.

She needed an emotion other than the despair and anguish and confusion that had been plaguing her since the white room. She needed some kind of interaction other than the voices in her head. She needed something that made sense, she needed relationships that she could define, and Liz was it.

Michael was a mystery to her. Michael had always been a mystery to her. But Liz...

Liz she had understood. Liz made sense.

Until now.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Michael had asked her that one time why she had made the choices she did, and she'd brushed off the question. But it was a question that she hadn't ever forgotten, even if she couldn't answer it. And Michael wasn't the first one to ask her for an explanation. Max had done that, in the pod chamber right before she left the planet, and Larek had done it when she'd met him on Antar.

And she'd been asking herself that question since the moment Alex's dead body hit the ground in her - in Kyle's - bedroom.

The others were dead, too - and that thought still brought her absolute nothing. No pain, no glee... nothing. They were dead and she didn't even care. Only Alex's death mattered now, only the look in his eyes as she destroyed his mind, as her act of betrayal robbed him of his life. The others meant nothing, and her guilt and anguish was tied up in a boy she'd never cared about while he was living.

How had it ended up like this?

The rain grew heavier. It soaked her clothing, but she couldn't feel the cold. She couldn't feel the wet. She couldn't feel much of anything at all.

They were fighting for peace and happiness and survival and she felt like she was drowning, slowly suffocating underneath the weight of her past - both pasts. They were moving forward, moving on, and she was stuck, slowly spiraling towards hell, unable to save herself. And she wanted to hate them for their happiness and she wanted to hate them for the way they still stood together, despite everything, and she wanted to hate them for their near constant presence in her mind.

But the hatred was seeping through her grasp and disappearing.

They were moving on.

And she was still drowning.

She had no idea how to save herself. Michael had said it was up to her - her choice, her efforts. Nothing else would help her. He had said it like it was that simple, like all she had to do was make a decision and everything else would fall into place. And he said it with such confidence, such assurance - she couldn't help but wonder vaguely if he was right.

Or if he was just that naive.

She wondered if it even really mattered. Maybe she was past saving. Maybe she had been all along.

Whatever it was she was looking for now - salvation, redemption, peace... or revenge - it wasn't here. It wasn't in this place, it wasn't with Michael and Liz. They didn't have the answers. They couldn't do anything for her, and she couldn't do anything to them.

She walked along the highway, and the world smelled like rain.

Today is August 7th, and I'm afraid the sun will fall from the sky like a giant ball of flames and destroy my world, burning it until there is nothing left but ashes and my own regrets. I'm a scientist, and I know this will never happen, at least not in my lifetime, but it does not stop the fear.

It is why I still climb out of bed each morning and make my way to the small balcony in the apartment. It is why I lean against the railing and stare up at the morning sky, watching the sun rise. I used to do this with Max. It was a tradition we started while on the run, to watch the sunrise. To remind ourselves that we had lived one more day, and that, despite everything, we still had a reason to rejoice. We were alive.

Michael doesn't come with me. Sometimes I wish he would. Sometimes I want to drag him from the warmth of our bed and force him to stand by my side to watch the sun rise. I want him to understand that I don't hold on to this tradition as a way to hold on to Max. That I don't come out here every morning and wish that Max was by my side.

I do wish Max was alive. But he isn't, and Michael is, and… and I love Michael.

No, I don't think of Max when I am here. Or sometimes I do, but only with the melancholy of things lost. I loved him, too, but he is gone now, and life must go on.

The sun still rises.

That is why I am here. To see the sun rise. To know that it will not fall from the sky. That each day will still go on, that every night will always be followed by another day. That I am still alive.

Sometimes I think I can't really be alive. That I died with the rest of them, but my mind hasn't realized it yet, and it has created an entire fake life separate from the reality of my bloodied body lying broken on the ground with all the others. Sometimes I am convinced that death has claimed me and this is purgatory. Limbo. I will be trapped here forever, or at least until I can come to terms with whatever unfinished business I might have left.

But I am a scientist, and I know that I am alive, and I know that the sun will still rise.

It always does.

After Max died, I was so wrapped up in finding Michael that I barely gave myself time to grieve. And then, after I found Michael, he was falling apart and I had to put him back together and to worry about Tess and I didn't have time to do anything but survive. And so it wasn't until later that the grief came. Max was dead.

And Maria. Isabel. Kyle.

My world had fallen apart. The man I loved, the man who held my heart and my soul in his hands, the man who could take my breath away with nothing more than a brief look… he was dead. And with him, I had lost my family, my friends, everything that had mattered to me. And when Michael looked at me and said that what we had done to Tess was wrong, when I listened and agreed with him but couldn't feel the regret, it felt like I had lost my soul, too.

It was all gone, and the crumbling remains of my life did not seem enough. How could I survive this when I didn't even know who I was anymore? What was left of me underneath it all?

There were moments when I couldn't imagine how death could be worse than this hell. But I was wrong then, because time passed and I remembered watching the sun rise with Max at my side and knowing that there would always be a new day. A new world. And I would have to face each day and each problem as it came.

And this time, I would face them with Michael at my side.

I think of Max, and I cry for what I have lost, for the pain that we caused each other, for the silly belief that our love could solve everything, could fix every problem, could surmount ever obstacle.

The Princess Bride is wrong. Death can stop true love.

But I am alive. And so is Michael.

And Tess. She is alive, too. We don't know where she is or what she is doing, though she sent us a postcard from New York - God only knows how she knew which motel to send it to but I've stopped questioning her connection to us. There was a single sentence on the postcard, one that was clearly meant to be reassuring.

Don't worry, I'm not coming back.

We are alive.

And when Michael rolls over in bed and flops his arm over my chest in an awkward embrace, half-asleep and mostly unaware of what he is doing, I know that I am lucky. Because he is here, and he laughs at me when I am yelling at him and he rolls his eyes whenever I drone on about science, but he always listens and he always cares.

That is why I come out to this small porch each morning and watch the sun rise. That is why I thank God every day that the sun does not fall from the sky and burn our world into nothing. Even though the government is still out there, even though the skins might never leave us alone, even though I still don't know if my soul is completely intact. I see the sun each morning, and I am grateful for it.

Because I have learned.

I am Liz Parker, and I know that I can survive.

AN: The story turned out to be significantly longer than originally anticipated (my first outline had only five chapters), but we have finally reached the conclusion. Michael and Liz get closure and Tess gets... well, she gets a chance to move on, if she can.

I hope you all enjoyed the story and thank you for sticking with me until the end!