CHAPTER 48

Taking a deep breath, Maria looked once more into the mirror to check that her make-up, her hair, that everything was perfect. After all, someone in the group had to look good, and she couldn't count on the guys, who were massively style-challenged. Thank god Alex--after much abject pleading on her part--had relented and absolved her from having to wear her Crashdown uniform. The simple red dress she'd borrowed from Liz wasn't her usual style, on or off stage, but it did look festive. Just the thing to wear to belt out Christmas carols.

She wasn't as nervous this time. Her stint in the school musical had helped, and even though here she was being herself instead of a character in a play, she didn't have the sinking feeling of total panic that had stricken her before her first gig with the Whits. Now she just had butterflies, which had started in her stomach and then spread through her whole body. And her hands, though steady, felt oddly hollow. Weird.

Lifting one of her hollow hands, she applied another coat of lip-gloss. You could never be too shiny, right? And the familiar berry flavor of the gloss was soothing. In fact, maybe she needed a sixth coat--

There was a knock on the ladies' room door, followed by a familiar voice. "Maria?" Alex called. "You're not flaking out on us again, are you?" He sounded a little worried. Maybe he had pre-show jitters, too.

Gathering up her makeup, she dropped it into her bag to leave with the guitar and drum cases. Then she headed to the door and flashed a smile at Alex. "Of course I'm not going to flake out. I'm a professional." At his look, she admonished, "Well, we are getting paid, aren't we?" and breezed past him.

A few hours later, adrenaline had long since overrun her nerves and she was riding an exuberant post-performance high. In the back hallway where they'd stashed the instrument cases, Maria threw jubilant arms around Alex. "That was so great!" she enthused, moving on to hug a surprised but not-objecting Marcus.

"It was just a gig," Chris put in as he deftly stowed his snare drum in its case. "We didn't even get to play our own stuff, just Christmas tunes."

"We did get a fifty-dollar tip on top of what they'd agreed on," Alex pointed out. "Of course, I think Mr. Chavez had sucked down a few too many glasses of the holiday nog when he gave it to me."

"Still," Maria caroled as she moved to hug the drummer. "It was great. We were great!"

"What is with you, DeLuca?" Chris said as she gave him a squeeze. "It went fine, but it wasn't the stuff Grammies are made of."

Alex grinned. "Looks like Mr. Chavez wasn't the only one into the holiday nog."

"I am not about to let you ruin my mood," Maria said, giving him a wide, giddy smile. "He came to hear me! Didn't you see him?"

"Who, Santa Claus?" Marcus chimed in.

"No, pinhead. Michael," she said, hugging Nicky, who quickly dropped the amp he was lugging to reciprocate.

"Michael? Which Michael?" he asked.

"The only one that matters," she sang.

"Guerin," Alex supplied. "Her boyfriend."

Nicky suddenly stopped hugging back. "He's here?"

"Uh huh."

"Maria, are you trying to get us thrashed? You don't go around hugging other guys, especially not if your boyfriend is around! What were you thinking?"

A familiar voice came from behind them. "Good question."

Maria whirled around and launched herself at Michael. His arms wrapped tightly around her for a moment; then they relaxed and let her slide out of his embrace. "Hey," he said in greeting.

"You came! I didn't know you were coming," she could hear herself babbling. "I thought you'd be off skulking about somewhere. I didn't know here's where you'd be skulking. Why didn't you tell me you were--"

"Don't you ever stop to take a breath?" he asked.

"No," she said irrepressibly.

"Didn't think so," Michael muttered. Maria gave him a mock pout, and he shrugged.

Alex clicked shut the latches on his guitar case and stood back up. "I didn't know you were a McGill & Chavez Insurance customer, Michael," he joked.

"I'm not."

"Nice of you to show up at their party, then."

Michael's tone was serious, but the corner of his mouth quirked up just the slightest bit as he replied, "Had to come. My girlfriend's in the band."

Maria could actually feel her smile widen. Not only had he shown up at her gig, but he'd called her his girlfriend again, and in front of witnesses, most of whom weren't even in their little in-the-know circle, which made it even better. It was practically...public. "Yeah?" she asked. "So what did you think of said girlfriend in said band?"

"It was good, I guess."

"You guess?"

"This type of music's not really my thing," he reminded her.

Right. Scrooge Guerin and his total disdain for all things Christmas. "Well, we'll let you know when we perform our tribute to the gods of heavy metal," Maria shot back with a smile. Reaching for her coat, she scrambled into it, then grabbed her bag and Michael's hand, in that order. Pulling him towards the door, she called back over her shoulder, "We're going. See you guys later." Behind her, she heard Alex let out a poorly-muffled snort.

Maria half-expected Michael to pull out of her grasp, but he let her tow him all the way to the Jetta. All he said was, "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere we can talk," she answered, digging in her bag for the keys. "That's why you came, right?"

"Yeah. Kind of." Catching the odd note in his voice, she glanced up. He didn't look any more enthusiastic at the prospect than she was. Well, he was the one who wanted to know all about Uncle Teddy. Unless he could suddenly read minds, he'd just have to put up with some conversation.

On an impulse, she tossed the keys at him. "Here. You drive."

"Where?"

"Anyplace we can talk," she answered as she moved around the car to the passenger side. "Except maybe not your apartment. Mom hasn't officially removed her ban on that yet."

Michael hesitated, then slid behind the wheel.


*****

He wasn't all that surprised to find himself driving up the road that led to the quarry. Where else were they going to go for a private talk? His apartment was off limits, and they couldn't go to Maria's in case her mother was there. As far as privacy went, this was as good as they were likely to get. So here he was, back at the spot he'd left barely twelve hours earlier. By the time he'd worked out his anger--or at least gotten it back under control--and made the long hike back into town to his apartment, it had almost been dawn.

Sticking the keys into his pocket, he got out of the car and leaned against it. Maria joined him, perching on the hood.

Michael glanced over at her. She'd fished a pair of brightly-striped mittens out of her pockets, and her hair blew slightly in the light breeze, picking up a few reddish highlights from the setting sun. She looked beautiful. Turning, he cradled her face between his palms and gave her a slow, lingering kiss.

When he pulled his head back, she was smiling up at him. "What was that for?" she asked.

"You were good. The singing," he said gruffly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And..." Isabel had told him to open up and tell Maria what he thought, no matter how stupid it made him feel. Maybe now was the time to try. It was just words, right? He made an attempt to put all he was feeling into those words, without much success. He had to settle for, "And...and you looked pretty good."

"Two compliments in one afternoon!" she said, grinning. "I must be doing something right."

He'd watched her, glowing up there on that stage, and all he'd wanted to do was bury his fingers in her hair and kiss her senseless. Well, that wasn't all he wanted to do, but it was all that was going to happen.

If even that much happened. Sure, things seemed better between them. She hadn't objected when he'd called her his girlfriend, and they still had their upcoming movie date; but he knew all too well how volatile their relationship could be, and he wasn't sure how she was going to react when he told her about yesterday's spy activities.

Maybe he'd better take another kiss first, just in case.

One kiss became two, and then three. He found himself standing between her knees, out of breath and entwined around her like some sort of sea monster. She tasted like raspberries.

Not giving his kiss-drugged mind any time to recover, he blurted out, "I met your uncle."

Maria stilled, but didn't pull away. She just looked at him and said, noncommittally, "You did."

"Yeah. I saw him and followed him to your mother's shop, and she introduced us." He hesitated, then added, "I didn't like him either, if it's any consolation."

"Well, it's always nice to get a concurring opinion," she said. She didn't sound angry, Michael thought with some surprise. "Then again, you're not exactly overburdened with people you like. So how come my uncle's on your hate list?"

Michael shrugged. "Just the usual anti-delinquent attitude." It hardly mattered; he should be used to it by now. What did matter was how she was taking the news. Which was remarkably well. "So how come you're not pissed at me?" he asked point blank.

"I don't know. I'm just not. Besides, Mom told me this morning that you'd...made a visit to the shop." Her eyebrows rose quizzically. "She said something about there not being a speck of dust left on the premises."

"You know, my life would be easier if you and your mother didn't talk so much," Michael muttered, moving to lean on the fender next to her perch. "It's unnatural."

"You and your new penchant for cleaning? Yep, it sure is," Maria teased.

"Yeah, laugh it up," Michael said without any mirth whatsoever. "And not one word to anyone else about it, either."

"Why? What's in it for me if I don't tell?"

"What do you want?" he asked warily.

Maria wrinkled her nose in thought. Finally she gave him a triumphant smile. "I get to choose the movie for our date!"

"Maria, I--" Michael began, then acquiesced. "Fine. You choose the movie." He didn't bother to tell her that he'd been pretty sure they would have ended up seeing whatever she wanted, anyway. She would have wheedled it out of him somehow, so it wasn't much of a price to pay for her silence. Besides, if things went the way he hoped, they might not actually see much of the movie, anyway.

"It's a deal, then. If anyone asks, you're a real slob," Maria said.

"It's a deal," Michael repeated. Maria smiled at him as she pulled the collar of her coat up higher. She was starting to look a little cold; maybe it was time to get back to the reason they were out here. He hesitated, then said, "Doesn't mean you're going to get out of talking about your uncle, though."

"And here I hoped you'd forgotten all about that," she said wryly.

"Nope. And you're not leaving here till you've talked, so spill it."

"We could just stay here forever," Maria offered. "You, me, sunsets over the quarry..." Michael refused to budge; he just looked at her and waited. She sighed. "Okay, so at some point Mom will need the car, and everyone and his brother will come looking for us, and I might as well just give up now, right?"

"C'mon, Maria. Is your uncle just a jerk, or am I gonna have to hurt him?" he asked, quite seriously. Or at least he was pretty sure he was serious.

She bit her lip. "It's just...I don't like to talk about it, okay? I don't even like to think about it--it hurts."

Something in her tone made Michel's stomach tense up. "Maria," he said, carefully keeping his voice even, "What did he do to you?"

Drawing back a little, Maria met his eyes. "What? What do you--oh, god no. Michael, it's not what you're thinking. He didn't do anything to me, not like you mean." She looked earnestly at him. "He didn't hit me, or touch me, or whatever. I promise you that."

Letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Michael asked, "Then why...?"

"Why do I hate him?"

"Yeah."

Maria reached over and smoothed down the collar of his jacket. "Do you remember when I told you about my fantasy?" His interest immediately piqued, he raised an eyebrow, and she scolded, "Stop it, Michael! You know that's not what I meant. You know, the fantasy where my dad comes to get me and my mom in a limousine, and takes us off to live in some palace somewhere?"

Michael nodded. He remembered it very well. It had been the first time he'd ever realized that he could have something in common with a human. That maybe they weren't all the enemy.

"Well, Theodore Laterro is why I had to have that fantasy. He made my mom and dad split up."

Michael didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that, and he wasn't really sure how to react. Maria was looking at him, though, waiting. He'd better say something. He opened his mouth to speak. "Oh."

He immediately knew that was the wrong choice when Maria drew back and stared at him.

"'Oh'? I tell you something that, like, changed my whole life, something that's weighed on me for ten years, and all you can say is 'Oh.' Way to be supportive, Michael."

Suddenly the breeze wasn't the only thing carrying a chill.

"Look, I didn't mean...it's just..." Michael attempted. Oh, hell. "Well, what'd he do, hold a gun on them or something?" he burst out.

"What?"

"You know, force them or whatever. You said he made them..." Oh, this was not going well at all. He should have known better than to try and talk. Running his hand through his hair, he took a deep breath. "Let's start over, okay? Pretend I know next to nothing about families or marriage or any of that--"

"Not exactly a stretch, there, Michael."

"Whatever. So help me out here, Maria. How did he make your parents split up?"

"I heard my mom and dad arguing about it." She fidgeted with her coat buttons as she continued, "We made these mobiles at school. Liz's was all geometric shapes in blue and white, but I used every color of construction paper we had, 'cause I thought, you know, the more color the better. And Mrs. Parker came to pick Liz up at school, and she gave me a ride, too, because the mobiles were pretty big for a second-grader to cart around, you know?"

Michael wondered what a stupid elementary school art project had to do with her parents splitting up, but he kept his mouth shut. He just watched as she told the story.

"And I was bringing it in, but I tripped on the front step and dropped it. So I went inside, to get some tape to fix it, and that's when I heard them."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. Michael, my parents never fought. I mean, they were practically like the same person, they got along so well. Even when any other parents would've been at each other's throats, they weren't."

That was hard for him to buy. Everybody fought sometimes, right? Even the all-too-perfect Evans parents argued from time to time, according to Max and Isabel. They didn't throw punches or anything, but they didn't always agree. "I don't know, Maria. Maybe they just didn't fight in front of you."

She shook her head. "They didn't fight at all, Michael. I'm sure of it. My parents were really open; they didn't hide anything from me. But there they were, fighting like crazy."

"About your uncle?" Michael guessed.

"Uh-huh. Mom wanted to give him money and this bracelet that had belonged to my great-grandmother. It was pretty valuable, I think. And my father said they'd given Uncle Teddy enough already, that he'd just waste it."

"On what?"

"I don't know. He'd sworn off gambling, so maybe on alcohol, or drugs. Hey, it could've been on the world's largest collection of sea monkeys, for all I know. But Mom gave him the money, and he left." She looked down at her hands. "A couple of weeks later, my dad was gone too."

Michael had a sudden mental image of a smaller Maria sitting on the curb in front of her house, right after her father had left. She'd cried, and her Dalmatian puppy had licked away her tears. When he'd gotten the flash from her last year, he'd thought he understood how much she'd hurt back then. Maybe he really didn't. "And you blame your uncle."

"I have to, Michael. If it's not his fault, then my dad abandoned us for no reason. It's bad enough that he left. I don't think I could handle knowing he did it because he wanted to. Or...or because of me."

Okay, he knew he didn't buy that. "He didn't leave because of you," Michael scoffed.

Her voice sharpened as she retorted, "You don't know that."

"Hey, I'm the expert on running from things, right?" Maria nodded, somewhat reluctantly, Michael thought. He took her hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around it. "Then believe me when I say people don't leave because of you. They leave because of them, because they're scared, or selfish, or just plain stupid."

Maria looked at him, her mouth gaping open slightly. Come to think of it, he'd kind of shocked himself. The words had come out so easily. And he'd unwittingly exposed a part of himself he wasn't all that comfortable sharing. Quickly he tried to recover, blurting, "I mean, you're not a saint or anything--"

"You know, Spaceboy," Maria interrupted, "I think I'm going to keep you."

His sudden facility for words deserted him. "Yeah. Whatever," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. She rolled her eyes, but didn't release his hand. "So..." Michael said, "so why's your uncle here now, anyway?"

"My mom hired a private detective to find him," Maria said. "I mean, can you believe it? She spent good, hard-earned cash to track him down. I don't even know why. It's not like she needs him to donate a kidney or something." A horrified expression covered her face, and her hand slipped from his. "Oh my god! What if she does need him to donate a kidney, or a lung or something? What if--"

Grabbing her shoulders, he cut her off. "She's not sick, Maria. Max healed her arm, right?" He could still feel the tension in her body. "Besides, she would've told you if she was sick. You guys talk all the time, remember?"

"We used to, before--" Maria abruptly ended her sentence.

He grimaced. "Before you got sucked into the big alien conspiracy."

"That wasn't what I was going to say, Michael. Well, okay, it was, but it's not exactly what I meant."

"She knows about us now. Nothing's stopping you from talking to her any more."

Maria gave a rather unladylike snort. "Oh yeah, like that's gonna happen."

"Nothing else has changed, though. You're still the same--you sniff that oil crap and talk too much and dress weird--

"You're one to talk, Mr. 'I wouldn't wear anything even remotely fashionable, even if I had the slightest clue what that was'."

Michael ignored her slam. His clothing had to meet three criteria: it had to be cheap, comfortable, and help him fade into the woodwork. "You're still best friends with Liz and Alex. Nothing's changed," he told her.

"I would call having a boyfriend a pretty major change. You do remember that we're in a relationship, don't you?"

Pulling back, he snapped, "So, what? You're saying this is my fault?"

"It's not about you, Michael. Well, it is, but not about you personally, about your Czechoslovakian-ness. It's just because I have a boyfriend now. Any boyfriend. I mean, I could be dating Ghandi, but there are still things I would never share with my mother."

Somehow, being the boyfriend of Mrs. DeLuca's daughter didn't seem all that much less scary that being the half-alien boyfriend of Mrs. DeLuca's daughter, but Michael let out a breath and forced himself to relax. "I don't think she'd worry so much if you were dating Ghandi. He doesn't get around much."

"Like you do?"

"Hey! I got more going on than some dead Indian guy," he protested.

"Oh, yeah?"

"You ought to know about it. You've been there."

"Well, let's give it some thought: On the one hand, we have Michael; on the other, Ghandi. Michael. Ghandi. Hmmm...hard decision."

Okay, who decided to make this pick on Michael day? Time to change the subject. "About your uncle. Since I'm apparently the complete opposite of Ghandi, want me to go beat him up for you?"

"Who, Ghandi?" she asked, her lips curving upwards.

"What? No, your uncle." He rolled his eyes, then continued, "Or I could make him real itchy. I did that to one of the jocks that ganged up on Max last year."

"Not necessary, Spaceboy. But thank you."

"I'm running out of ideas, then." Putting his arm out, he wrapped it around her shoulders and was relieved when she sank back against him.

"I'll just avoid him until he leaves again," Maria said. "He can't possibly want to stay in Roswell any longer than he has to. Nobody ever does." She paused. "But if he hangs around my house, you might just find yourself with a roommate."

"Couch is yours," Michael said promptly, slamming a door shut on the mental images that idea gave him, then added, "But you get stuck with Mrs. Evans's afghan this time."

As he'd hoped, the memory of the delicately crocheted blanket brought a smile to her lips. "I wouldn't want to deprive you," she said in mock seriousness.

"I think I'll survive." He paused. "If you want to get out of the house, you could always come help with the translation or something."

"The translation? You mean that alien book thingy?"

"Yeah. We've got some of it figured out. Max thinks it'll help with the whole save-our-home-planet mission."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. It seems kinda pointless, but I don't think Max is gonna give up on it."

"Maybe you shouldn't, either," Maria said slowly.

"Whatever." He shrugged. "Not like I got that much to do for the next couple of weeks, anyway."

A devilish glint appeared in her eyes. "Oh, I think I can come up with enough to keep you busy, Spaceboy," she drawled.

If he wasn't careful, he was going to pull a muscle from following her mood swings. Somehow he didn't really care, though; this particular mood sounded promising. "Yeah? Like what?" he asked, leaning in towards her lips.

Her mittened hand came up to caress his cheek. "Well, since you've proven yourself so good at it..." she began suggestively, then laughed and slid off the Jetta's hood, away from him. "I've got an entire house that could use a good cleaning."

Darting away, she barely managed to keep out of his reach as he roared out an exasperated, "Maria!"