Title: On My Knees
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: Five years, and she's still struggling just to survive.
Chapter: Thirteen: Double or Nothing
As a kid, Max always lost at card games. When his parents first taught him how to play poker, he'd lose all his chips. And when he started playing with Michael, generally for nickels and dimes, he'd lose all his change.
He'd always beg whoever he was playing against to keep going even after he'd already lost. Double or nothing, he wanted, where he'd either get back everything he'd lost or lose the few things he had left.
He realized when he got older that life was actually like that quite a lot. You'd get stuck in the position of making a decision that would either double your fortunes… or leave you with nothing.
Max was pacing back and forth across the white tile floor, while Isabel and Michael watched with identical expressions of concern. Maria sat in one of the seats, her knees pulled into her chest, her head bent forward. Tess sat a little distance away from them, holding her son tightly in her arms. Nick stood further away, near the windows that overlooked the parking lot.
They'd been in the hospital for over twenty-four hours. Isabel had been contacted by Jesse's law firm to say that his body had been found and when did she want to have the funeral? The media had been filled with the news of the latest scandal, the murder of the famous movie director Kal Langley. Michael had arrived a few hours previously after warning their families in Roswell, as well as Jim Valenti, that skins might come after them.
And the hospital staff had refused to let them stay with Liz for more than a few hours at a time, stating that she was far too weak for constant visitors, and besides, visiting hours were only in the afternoon. Max had seen her once, as had Maria. Neither had had the heart to tell her about Jesse.
Tess was sure that Nick had told Charlie and Kate what he had learned. They hadn't answered their phones when she called, and when she asked Nick about it, his answers were evasive and vague.
But it was Max's latest conversation with Liz that had really set them all on edge and had caused this incessant pacing of Max's.
"I don't get it," he said finally, turning to look at Michael and Isabel. "Why would she say something like this to me?"
Isabel didn't answer, not really sure what to say. Max had reported that Liz had tried to talk to him about her death, had tried to tell him that her life wasn't important, and that he had to focus on the fight. Yet all through her illness, Liz had insisted that she could beat this, she wouldn't let the cancer claim her. Why had she suddenly become resigned to death now?
"I don't know, man," Michael said. "You can ask next time you see her."
Max nodded reluctantly. "I suppose."
Maria pressed her lips together until they formed a tight, straight line, and looked away.
Nick turned around from the window and walked over to Tess. He took a seat next to her, pushing the hair out of Alex's face and smiling as the boy yawned sleepily, closing his eyes. "He doesn't know what's going on, does he?" he whispered to Tess.
She shook her head. "No. I just told him a friend of Mommy's was here. But he doesn't understand why we aren't just leaving him with Kate."
"Does he know any of this? I mean… about you?"
"He doesn't know I'm an alien, if that's what you are asking," Tess answered quietly. "Or about the other Alex, or anything like that."
Nick nodded and looked over at Max. The alien king was staring at them, watching Alex cautiously, as though almost afraid. There had been no more outbursts or arguments, and for the moment, Max seemed content to let Nick and Tess watch over the child. But it was only a matter of time before the old argument started again, and Nick felt like he was simply waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"You never did answer my question," Nick said finally. She gave him a quizzical look, and he elaborated, "Are you what they think you are?"
She looked down at the now sleeping Alex, then over at Max. For a moment, Nick thought she wouldn't answer the question. But when she spoke, her answer did nothing to alleviate his own bewilderment at the situation.
"Honestly," she murmured, "I don't know anymore."
"You know," Michael said, his voice cutting across the stillness of the room as he turned to Isabel, "you're going to need to go to Jesse' funeral."
Isabel gave him a startled look, then nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "But I can't go to Boston now," she said shakily. "Not if Khivar is still there."
"I agree," Max said firmly.
"And what are people going to say when she doesn't show up to her own husband's funeral?" Michael pointed out.
"Better than what people will say if she gets killed by Khivar… or worse."
Isabel moved away from her brother and his best friend as they continued to argue strategy. Was it better for her to stay or go? If she went, should someone go with her? Would that put them in more danger? Could they have Jesse's body shipped here for the funeral? Would that lead Khivar straight to them? But didn't Khivar already know where they were?
Max and Michael might feel the need to determine the best course of action, but she didn't care about any of it. Jesse was dead, and the last she wanted was to sit and listen to a debate about the best way to clean up this mess.
She sat down next to Maria. The human girl reached out and placed a hand on Isabel's shoulder it what was probably meant to be reassuring. Isabel attempted a grateful smile in return. Neither gesture quite succeeded at its intended goal.
Tess watched Isabel, then carefully extended her arms, shifting Alex so that Nick could take him. "Here, hold Alex. I need to make a phone call."
"Who are you calling?" Nick asked, pulling Alex tightly into his chest.
"The FBI," Tess replied. "I'm getting some answers from them. Now."
As Tess rose to leave the waiting area, a doctor stepped through the double doors leading from the intensive care unit and glanced over at Max. He walked quickly to the other man's side, a look of concern on his face. "Mr. Evans?"
"What's wrong?" Max asked worriedly as Michael, Isabel, and Maria hurried to his side.
"Your wife has spiked a high fever. With her immune system down, we're worried that this might be a sign of infection. We want to give her an antibiotic treatment, but it is risky. It can complicate the cancer treatments, make them less effective. We need your permission to proceed."
Max blinked, surprised. "She's an adult," he said, confused. "I thought you needed her permission?"
"We would, but she's been in and out of consciousness for the past few hours, and we haven't managed to get her coherent enough to sign the medical release form."
"How long has she had the fever?" Max asked as he looked down at the form the doctor was holding. He scanned over the words, not really seeing them, not comprehending the meaning. All he could think about was Liz, feverish and unconscious, her body fighting yet another illness.
"She ran a low-grade fever for the past thirty-six hours. That's pretty standard with these types of cancer treatments. But it spiked to 103 about thirty minutes ago." The doctor hesitated, then lowered his voice and said, "May I speak to you alone?"
Max gestured for the others to leave, and although Maria looked displeased about the request, she followed Michael and Isabel back to their seats.
"A little while ago, your wife asked us if we could try to find someone for her," the doctor said. "She told us that she had had a visitor… a Jennifer Valenti. She wanted to speak to her again."
"Jennifer?" Max murmured. "Kyle's wife. But… she's dead."
"Oh," the doctor said, startled. "Well, that certainly makes our concerns more well-founded." He glanced behind him at the double doors, then looked at Max again. "You see, when she told us that she had been visited… well, it wasn't during visiting hours, so no one should have been able to see her. So I asked the nurses and the doctors who had been on the floor, and they don't remember anyone visiting your wife."
"I don't understand…"
"Mr. Evans, these cancer treatments, combined with a fever, can cause many delusional symptoms, including hallucinations," the doctor explained.
"You're saying that Liz is hallucinating?"
"It is certainly possible. I would say probable." The doctor held the release form out to Max. "Which is why we need to proceed with the treatment. Normally, I would like introducing more drugs into her system, especially since she is so weak. But if she is hallucinating, it means that the fever has reached her brain, and that can lead to many severe consequences we don't want to deal with. She needs antibiotics, and soon."
Max accepted the form with a nod. "Alright," he said, fishing in his pocket for a pen and scrawling his name across the bottom of the form.
Agent Thompson had agreed to meet her at the hospital, so Tess found herself waiting in the parking lot outside the Emergency Room entrance for him to arrive. It was getting dark, and she found it difficult to believe that it had been a full day since she had followed Nick to Max's apartment. A full day, but it felt like so much longer, and she'd been sucked back into this war once again.
"What are you doing?" a voice asked harshly, and Michael was suddenly standing next to her.
"Waiting for Agent Thompson," Tess explained. "He said he'd meet me here."
Michael gave her a suspicious look as he leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed over his chest. "He's FBI?"
"Yeah," Tess answered. "He is." She didn't look at Michael, instead kept her eyes pinned to the cars in front of her. She was incredibly exhausted, and honestly didn't think she had the energy for yet another fight with any of them. But Michael, she knew, was too stubborn to just let something go, and if she gave him any opening, he'd pounce.
"How did you meet this Agent Thompson?" Michael demanded. He refused to leave Tess, convinced she'd try to run at the first chance of escape. Granted, it was unlikely she'd leave her son behind, and Alex was still inside the hospital, but Michael wasn't taking any chances.
"I ran into him at a shopping mall," Tess answered honestly. "He already knew who I was… who all of us were. He tracked me down, said he wanted to talk."
"And you trusted him?" Michael asked, almost laughing.
"No," Tess answered. "But he knows something. Knows more than we do."
"How could he?" Michael replied skeptically. "He might be FBI, but he isn't one of us. He couldn't know more about Khivar and the skins than we do."
Tess shook her head. "Don't underestimate people, Michael. It will screw you over every time."
"Yeah," Michael said, his tone holding a second meaning as he gave Tess a dirty look. "We learned that one the hard way."
She tore her gaze away and looked back out at the cars. "I never meant to hurt anyone."
"Save the sob story for someone who cares," Michael said cruelly, looking away from her.
Before Tess had a chance to think of a response, a black car pulled up to the curb alongside the building, and Agent Thompson climbed out of the passenger side. The car drove away, and he walked over to Tess.
"Ms. Harding," he said by way of greeting, inclining his head politely.
"Agent Thompson," she replied, pursing her lips. "I assume you already know who Michael Guerin is?"
Thompson smiled. "Of course," he said smoothly, "but it still a pleasure to meet you, in the flesh."
Michael gave him a distrustful glare and didn't reply.
"Manners, manners, Mr. Guerin," the agent chided, seeming to take great pleasure in annoying the taciturn General. He turned to Tess. "I suggest we go someplace a little more private to talk. There is a coffee shop a few blocks down on the right. Perhaps there?"
"I'm coming with you," Michael said, not wanting to leave the two alone, not believing for one second that either could be trusted.
"Fine," Thompson answered without protest. "You should ask the other two to come as well."
Michael pulled out his phone. "I'll tell Max to meet us at this coffee shop as soon as he is done talking to the doctor. What's the name and address for the location?"
"You know, you aren't doing a very good job at this."
The voice was distant and far-away, as though coming across a phone line with particularly bad reception. Liz opened her eyes wearily and struggled to bring the world into focus around here. The heat rushing through her body and the throbbing pain in her head made it difficult to think, let alone process outside happenings, and it took her a moment to realize the woman standing in front of her looked family.
"Jennifer… Valenti…" she murmured, her voice hoarse.
"Your husband has become more worried about your health, not less," the woman said, her tone reproachful. "We are counting on you to do this."
"You're dead," Liz muttered, blinking away the fuzziness from around the edges of her vision.
Jennifer smiled. "You shouldn't always believe everything you hear, Ms. Parker-Evans, or everything you see." She was holding a coat over one arm, and she flung it around her shoulders. "I have to go now, but please try to remember what I said. We can't afford for you to fail at this."
And she walked out of the room.
Liz groaned and shut her eyes again. She wasn't sure how much time passed, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps several hours, and then she felt someone holding her hand, and she opened her eyes wearily to see Max sitting next to her.
"Hey, Liz," Max said, smiling broadly, trying to disguise his distress at the situation. "How do you feel?"
"Okay," she answered groggily. "How are you?"
Max laughed, but it sounded more like a strangled sob than a chuckle. "I'm holding in there," he answered.
"Max, you need to listen to me," she said, reaching up and running her cold fingers along the line of his jaw. "There are more important things at stake than just me."
"No, there aren't," Max said, catching her hand and holding it tightly. "How could you think that?"
"You have a responsibility to…" she trailed off, knowing better than to mention anything about aliens in the hospital where it could easily be overheard. "To all those people," she finished finally.
"I know," Max agreed, "but I can't do this without you."
"You have Michael and Isabel."
"It's not the same," he countered, reaching out and placing his hand on her forehead, wondering how her fingers could feel so cold while her face burned with the fever. "You need to rest. You need to get better."
"He's going to come for me," Liz choked out, licking her dry lips. "I'm on his list."
Max went completely still. "Liz?" he whispered. "What… what are you talking about?"
"Khivar," she murmured, her answer barely audible. "He wants to destroy you. I'm next, you know I'm next. That's why you have to understand, you can't let this destroy you. No matter what happens, you have to keep fighting. Because this is worth fighting. You know that, right? This is a battle worth fighting."
"Liz, don't talk like that," Max protested.
"She said you had to understand," Liz explained.
"Who said?"
"Jennifer Valenti…"
Max let out a slow breath, one he didn't even realize he had been holding. He looked behind him at the door. Through the window, he could see the nurses station, and beyond that the door to the on-call room, which was propped open. If a dead woman had really walked into this room, someone would have seen it… right? But the doctor said that no one had seen this stranger come to visit…
"Liz, the doctor said that sometimes this medication causes hallucinations. That's what you are seeing," he explained quietly. "It's not real. She's dead. She died in a car accident."
Liz frowned. A hallucination? "No, it was real," she said, shaking her head weakly. It was all too real, burned into her memory. How could this be a hallucination? She remembered every detail from the way the other woman's hand had felt when she prevented Liz from pushing the help button to the way her eyes had filled with sorrow when she mentioned giving up her life. "It was real," she said again.
And before Max could say anything else, the doctor stuck his head into the room. "We need to start the treatment, Mr. Evans. Your wife will need to be in isolation for the next several hours. I need to ask you to leave."
And Max got up, reluctance obvious in his stance, and slipped from the room.
Thompson spread several photographs out on the table. Tess, sitting next to him and sipping a chai tea latte, stared at them all in silence. Michael sat across from her, his expression stony and unreadable.
"Who are these people?" Tess asked.
Thompson pointed to the first picture. "Madison Graves. Head of Pollack Industrial, the third largest industrial chain on the East Coast." He pushed it aside and indicated another picture. "Sara Reeves. Vice President of Merrill Pharmaceuticals and an advisor to the Food and Drug Administration." He moved to yet another photo and said, "Tom Hall. Lawyer and lobbyist, now a United States Senator." He glanced at Tess. "They all work for Khivar."
"Are they…" Tess lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the coffee shop. They were alone, except for the barista behind the counter. "Are they aliens?"
"Yes," Thompson answered. "As are all the others here." He gestured to the photographs, and Tess counted quickly. "That's thirty-two."
"We have reason to believe that there are more," Thompson continued, not phased by her worried comment. "These were simply the most well-connected ones."
"Why are you telling us this?" Michael asked, leaning back in his chair. "Why are you helping us?"
"Because I don't want the destruction of this planet any more than you do," Thompson answered forcefully. "You think we don't know what Khivar wants? He's going to kill us all, and I'd rather not have that happen."
"He's not after you," Michael countered.
"He's killed over fifty people now," Thompson replied coolly, "and not all of them were connected with you. And that does not even take into consideration all the people who died during his bioterrorism attack in New York City. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants, and this country will bear the brunt of his wrath unless you do something to stop him."
"And how is manipulating my boyfriend and almost getting him killed going to help you?" Tess snapped.
Thompson met her gaze with an unflinching stare, refusing to look ashamed for his actions. "I had to do whatever necessary, Ms. Harding. You would not have agreed to meet the others on your own, and it is imperative for our survival that the four of you join forces."
"Like we have any reason to trust Tess," Michael hissed. "Or you."
Thompson rolled his eyes and regarded Michael with disdain. "You still don't get it, do you? You think this is just some petty little fight between a few groups of people. You think Khivar is only making a few attempts on your lives. You have no idea how widely he's spun his web, how many people he's destroyed in the process."
Tess flinched. She knew exactly how well Khivar could entrap someone, and how easy it was for him to ruin a life. She looked down at the table, and swallowed uneasily.
"The doesn't change the fact that you manipulated all of them," Michael said, indicating Tess with a wave of his hand. "And you're probably still withholding information as we speak."
Thompson shrugged. "We all have our bargaining chips, Mr. Guerin."
"How can you sit there and say that as though it doesn't matter?" Michael asked, his voice filled with fury and wonder. "You talk about people's lives like they mean nothing."
"In the greater scheme of things, an individual life does mean nothing," Thompson argued, his words cold and hard, his view of the world so simply black and white. "How can it possibly compare to all the hundreds who will undoubtedly suffer if Khivar wins?"
"Well, you two will got along well," Michael said mockingly, glancing between the FBI agent and Tess. "You both deem human life completely worthless." He rose to his feet, as though prepared to leave. "This conversation makes me sick."
And then Thompson was on his feet, reaching across the table to grab Michael by the arm, stopping him before he could leave. "If I thought human life was worthless, I wouldn't be here, trying to make you see reason. It is you who can't see the truth right before your eyes. You use the death of your friend as a reason not to work with Ms. Harding when you know perfectly well that you are strongest when you are together. The four of you must join forces if you are to win, but you refuse. You will let one dead person ruin everything. How dare you give me a lecture on morals?"
Michael wrenched his arm out of Thompson's grip. "At least I've never betrayed anyone," he replied quietly, his words underlined with a hard edge. He turned and walked out of the coffee shop, and Tess and Thompson hurried after him.
The teenager laughed as he directed his car down the road, as his vision swam before his eyes. He could still taste the vodka shots, still smell the stale smoke of the bar. His ex-girlfriend was an idiot for breaking up with him, for calling him a loser, saying he had a drinking problem. She didn't know what she was talking about, he was doing fine.
He turned the car sharply onto another street, growing angrier and angrier by the minute. He'd gone to the bar to numb the frustration he had felt, but the alcohol had only made things worse. By now, he was shaking with rage, and rage that bubbled over into near-hysterical laughter.
How many drinks had he consumed? There were two bears, and three vodka shots, and that girl he'd met had bought him something else, and then the tequila shots…
The wheels of his car suddenly skidded over a shallow puddle of water, and the steering wheel jerked in his hand. He knew he'd learned how to deal with this sort of problem, but he couldn't remember any of the instructions. Everything was spinning, and suddenly the car lurched for the sidewalk, jumping completely out of his control.
Through the windshield, he saw three people in front of him. Two men were arguing, and the girl was looking at them in concern. Then she turned towards him, her blue eyes catching his panicked stare for a moment, before her mouth opened into a scream of horror. He watched as she cried out, shoving one of the men clear of the car, before the front end of his vehicle rammed into her, and she flew onto his windshield.
He somehow managed to slam on the breaks before hitting the still standing man.
The girl slid onto the pavement, her blonde hair falling over her closed eyes, and both men moved to her side.
"Oh, God…"
In that moment, he made the decision he knew was entirely wrong, was against the law, was just stupid. But it was the only thing that came to mind, the only action he could even comprehend.
He put his car into reverse and skidded away from the scene of the accident, leaving the three pedestrians behind.
When Max's car pulled up along-side the café, he was surprised to see another car hightailing it into the distance. His surprise faded as he saw Tess' body, sprawled on the sidewalk, and Michael and another man he didn't recognize leaning over her.
"Stay here," he ordered to Nick, who had come with him, and he jumped out of the car. Nick watched him go, then looked at Tess. He'd left Alex with Isabel and Maria, not entirely sure he liked the idea of abandoning his son with strangers, but also not wanting Tess to walk into a meeting with Max, Michael, and the FBI by herself.
Little did he imagine at the time that she'd be in more danger from an outsider, a drunk teenager, than from any of the people she was meeting.
Max crossed to the sidewalk and knelt down by Tess' side. "What happened?" he asked, worried.
"A car hit her," Thompson answered. "The driver was a teen. Looked drunk by the way he was driving." He looked up at Max. "We can't risk taking her to a hospital, but I'd bet she has internal bleeding."
Max reached out automatically to heal her, but Michael stopped him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded angrily.
"Saving her life," Max answered, as though it was obvious. He couldn't not heal her, given that she was dying in front of him.
"Why?" Michael asked. "Look, she got hit by a car. Maybe this is just Fate's way of dealing out justice."
"So you'll let an innocent person die?" Thompson cut in. "Oh, that's so very Good of you."
"I bet you kill innocent people all the time," Michael retorted, glaring at Thompson. "You and your psycho friends were certainly responsible for a lot of deaths back in Roswell. Not to mention Maxwell being tortured." He paused, then added, "Besides, Tess is hardly innocent."
"You can't seriously want me to not do anything about this," Max protested.
At that moment, the door to the café swung open and the barista rushed out, her face completely white. "Oh my God, I saw what happened from the window. Is she okay? Do you need an ambulance?"
Thompson glanced up at her. "We'll just drive her to the hospital, it's probably faster. Thank you, though."
"You know, I heard it isn't a good idea to move people who might have sustained serious head injuries," the barista objected.
"It's alright," Thompson replied, knowing perfectly well that what she said was true. "I've got medical training." To Max and Michael, he said, "Come on, let's move her to the car."
Between the two of them, they got Tess into the backseat of the car. Nick climbed around to the backseat and scooted to the side to leave room for her, and then reached out and gently rested his hand on her shoulder, as though hoping he could somehow ease her obvious pain.
"Come on, let's go back to the hotel," Max said finally, moving to the driver's seat. As he did so, he turned to Thompson. "I'll be talking to you later, I assume," he said shortly, then slammed the door and slid his keys into the ignition.
Before he left, Thompson reached over one last time to check Tess' pulse and examine her eyes for any sign of responsiveness to light or touch. As he did so, he whispered to Nick, "Don't let her die. No matter what you have to do, don't let her die."
And then he turned and walked away.
They drove in silence for a moment, Michael in the front seat of the car, Max gripping the steering wheel tightly, Nick staring down at Tess. Then, suddenly, he looked up at Max, eyes wide. "Hey… I thought you could heal. You said that you had the power to heal. Why haven't you healed her yet?"
Max didn't answer.
"Max, I asked you a question," Nick said firmly.
"This isn't any of your concern," Michael retorted, barely sparing Nick even a glance.
"She's my girlfriend!"
"She's a murderer," Michael countered.
"Shut up, both of you," Max interrupted, annoyed. "Just shut up." He wanted to heal Tess, he truly did, because as a healer, every instinct was telling him not to let her just die. But there was another part, a part that hated her, that hated everything she'd done to him. And that part wanted her to suffer.
And then there was his son. Could he really let the mother of his son just die?
But what if she was still the enemy? Having her dead and out of the way would keep another person from dying the way Alex had, his broken body lying motionless inside that casket.
As a healer, he wanted to save her. As a betrayed friend, he wanted to kill her. As a father, he wanted to heal her. As a person, he wanted her out of his life before she had a chance to ruin it any more.
What decision was he supposed to make?
Nick looked down at Tess again. He had an idea, the glimmer of a threat in his mind, but Tess did not like people using her son as a bargaining chip, as something manipulative, as a way to control another. Alex was always put before everything else, and she'd die before she let anyone use him…
But he didn't want her to die.
So he spoke up, playing his trump card, the one that he knew Tess would never forgive him for, the one that he knew would force Max's hand.
"If you let her die, I will tell Alex that you killed his mother. And how do you think he will respond to that?"