A/N:

Honestly not sure if this will get many readers, because Roswell's time is way over. But I recently re-watched the whole series, all three seasons beginning to end, and felt inspired to write.

Maybe I should have started with a crossover in a more popular fandom to seduce readers to the Roswell side? Ah well, too late now. Hopefully there will be at least a few people who check this out.

This is set post-Graduation. And yes, Polar all the way!

The End, Where We Begin

Huddled around a booth in a shadowy corner of the bar, Liz waited expectantly for their response to her idea.

"We can't shapeshift," Isabel disagreed. "That isn't an ability we have."

"Tess said…" Max trailed off as uneasy silence fell over the group, then forged on: "Apparently the reason the shapeshifters can do what they do, is that they're different from us. Internally. We're essentially human in our structure, they're not. Nasedo and his kind are something that can be changed safely, so…"

"We can't alter living, human tissue. Or animals either. Not without serious, often-fatal consequences." Isabel grimaced, and Max gave her a sympathetic look.

Michael snorted. "This about Flappy?"

"Michael!"

He rolled his eyes and said to Liz, "Iz found this butterfly once, in her princess phase. Decided it would make a kick-ass steed."

"Steed?" Kyle echoed, amused, as Isabel scowled and looked away in embarrassment. "No, come on. I wanna know. Also?" he added, "Isabel having a princess phase is hella ironic, considering…"

"She tried to make it bigger," Michael said through a smirk. "Used whatever was handy as extra mass. Then transformed it into something vaguely pony-shaped. End result was a butterfly-winged pegasus or some shit. Or would have been, if it worked right."

Max winced. "It was… messy."

"We did a little experimenting after that," Isabel admitted. Hurriedly, she added, "Only on insects, you know. A mouse once. Suffice to say, we quickly learned that it was just a bad idea all around."

"Okay, so no messing with earthly physiologies," said Kyle. "And I can see why you wouldn't want to risk finding out whether a half-alien one would be an exception. Not if the result could be 'messy'."

Max shook his head. "Tess said we couldn't. Kal Langley confirmed it, when I…" He trailed off as Liz stiffened and looked away from him. It had been a huge bone of contention between them, when she learned that Langley was essentially a mind controlled slave, and that Max took advantage of that. The vivid proof of just how bad Max's controlling tendencies could get had been the straw to break the camel's back in their already strained marriage.

"Right," Kyle drawled, sending Isabel a raised-browed 'isn't this awkward' look. "But if that's all so, then how did you heal us? Me and Liz, I mean. There was definitely some physiology altering going on there. Bullet holes unmade."

Max grabbed the subject change gratefully. "The only reason I can alter human shape when I heal is that I'm not really changing anything, just… returning it to factory settings?" He gave an awkward shrug. "Your DNA is encoded in every cell. It's like directions to put everything to rights."

"So, that it?" Michael asked. "Because technically my break finished two minutes ago, and if the boss comes back to find me not working again, I'm gonna get fired."

Liz reached to stop him as he tried to stand and return to the bar. "Sorry, Michael. We've gotten side-tracked. I'll get to the point: I wasn't asking if we could shapeshift… I was telling you that we can."

There was dead silence. Then Max and Isabel were disagreeing. Michael looked sceptical, but also sort of calculating. Liz just knew that he was considering the sort of advantage such an ability would be to them.

Kyle leaned forwards. "How?"

"See, I actually knew about the limitation," she told them. "But I found a way around it. The outer layer of the skin, the epidermis, has layers itself. And its outermost layer is called the stratum corneum. It's made up of dead cells."

Eyes went wide with understanding.

"Oh my god," Isabel breathed. "She's right. Of course we have dead skin cells on the surface. It's the whole point of exfoliation."

Michael's jaw gaped for a moment, then he cursed quietly. "Dammit, why didn't I think of that? You remember when we rescued Max from the White Room? Nasedo had me change my fingerprints to match some dead agent's, to get through the readers. It must be the same thing."

"So we can really…" Max trailed off.

"It's surface only," Liz said with barely-suppressed excitement, "nothing muscular-skeletal, but I've found that you can thicken the stratum corneum in places to maximise the effect."

In demonstration, Liz placed a hand on the table between them. Making sure no one else could see, she then proceeded to change the colour of her skin, first making it a dark brown, and then milky pale, before returning to its usual, naturally tan state. She also showed that she could fatten her fingers, added calluses, and then created seemingly-knobbly knuckles.

There were gasps all around. They all reached out to touch her, to confirm it was real, and Liz grinned, feeling justifiably smug.

"This… this could change everything," Max said.

"Jesse," Isabel whispered. She swallowed hard when they all looked at her. "I… I could be with Jesse again."

"Isabel, I'm not sure–"

"I could," she hissed, eyes bright with stubborn determination and, for the first time in a long time, hope. "I mean, not as myself, not as Isabel Evans. And it's surface only so I'd have to be creative with makeup but… Oh, hair! Hair is non-living, we could change that too. Why did I never think of that?" She dragged her hands through her hair and nodded. "We could create new identities, and I could go to him that way. To anyone looking, it would just be like he met a woman, fell in love, divorced his former wife and took a new one, and… It could work Max. It could really work."

Liz's giddy pride drained away as she looked around her, ignoring Isabel's joy for the moment and Max's hesitant optimism, instead noticing the other reactions to her discovery.

She saw how Kyle stared at Isabel, a pained, helpless look on his face before he quickly schooled it to smile and offer some Buddha-ly words of wisdom.

Kyle was in love with Isabel. Liz knew it, Max and Michael knew it. Only Isabel herself was ignorant.

Kyle would never dream of making a move of course. His parents' divorce when he was young was caused by his mother having an affair. That event had shaped him a lot. Fidelity was a huge deal for Kyle, part of the reason he had gone so over the top before and after Liz broke up with him, because he thought she was cheating with Max.

Isabel was married, so in Kyle's mind, that meant there was no hope. Except…

There was.

Or had been.

Isabel and Jesse's occasional furtive contact had been dwindling recently, and it had looked like maybe they would both finally consider giving up on their marriage. Not for a lack of affection. No, they still had love, but… the distance took its toll. They had both begun to think the kindest thing they could do for each other was to finally let go.

And Liz had stopped that. There was hope now, for Isabel and Jesse… and hope had died for Kyle.

Kyle wasn't the only one crushed. Liz looked to Michael. She saw how his jaw was clenched, and as he glanced away, she caught his turbulent but unreadable eyes. He was still touching her hand too, and without even trying, their affinity clicked and she could feel the many emotions swirling through him: fear, helpless anger, resignation, loss…

He jerked away abruptly, and she did the same. She respected his privacy too much to grab onto the link like she sometimes wanted to. But the damage was done. She'd felt where he was at, emotionally, and as she mused on it, she understood.

Isabel was right. This could be a way out for her, or any of them that wanted.

But Jesse was linked to Isabel. If Jesse married some new woman who resembled Isabel a little, that could be written off as some strange form of grief and rebound. However if that woman just so happened to have two brothers, and another man and woman as close friends, as good as family… Well, it would raise suspicions. The FBI was well aware of their group's numbers and makeup.

Which meant the trick Liz had figured out, which she'd hoped could free them a little, make them safer… might instead end up tearing them all apart, sending them their separate ways.

She gave Michael an apologetic, guilty look. He shut his eyes for just a second, and when he opened them, he shook his head slightly. He pressed the edge of his hand subtly against hers once more. Don't mention it, not now, whispered across her mind before he pulled back. A quick glance at Isabel's beaming face explained it to Liz. He didn't want to ruin this moment for his sister, or to dull her happiness.

"I gotta get back to work," Michael said as he stood.

"Right," Max said. "Yeah. We'll talk more later, after you get off."

Liz was still feeling pretty wretched, and Michael saw it clearly. For all that Maria used to complain about him being hopeless at emotions, Liz had found Michael to be pretty empathic. He just didn't let it show often. He was getting better though, and so as he left their booth, he took a moment to grip her shoulder and forge a light connection once more.

It's okay, he said silently, and sent her a brush of warm emotions that felt like forgiveness. Then he squeezed gently, released her shoulder and headed back to the bar.

Covert messages were passed on to Jesse, and to Mr Evans, via dreamwalking. Between the two of them and some rather shady contacts, they managed to arrange all the paperwork for five new identities.

Isabel was the first to leave, tears streaking her caramel-toned cheeks, black hair in a long braid to her waist. She cried and hugged them all tightly, looking torn between sorrow at what she was leaving behind, and joy at the man awaiting her.

"I love you all," she choked out. "So much. And I'll keep in contact when we sleep."

"Woman of my dreams," Kyle quipped, but it fell somewhat flat due to the honesty in his tone. Isabel didn't notice though, just laughed at him, waved, and turned to board her bus.

Kyle was the second to leave.

"Tibet?" Michael echoed when he told them. "What, really?"

"Yes, really. I'm going on a sort of… spiritual retreat, journey, thing… Tibet seems the place to start, but I figure I'll travel from there, see where I end up."

"'Spiritual retreat, journey, thing'? That's real clear, hobbit-man."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I'm almost gonna miss those pet names of yours, Goliath. Though for the record? You're still not my type." He turned back to the mirror. "So what do you think? Blonde, brunette, redhead? Which is more likely to dissuade your eternal longing for me?" he asked, then laughed and dodged Michael's playful punch.

Two days later, a newly round-faced, sandy-haired brown-eyed Kyle bid them farewell on the front stoop of their latest shared dump of an apartment. He said he didn't want to drag out the goodbyes at the airport. And then he too was gone.

Max was next.

"It's still so weird," Liz said, lips quirking as she took in his appearance. Max's hair was golden blonde, his eyes a bright blue, and his skin a few shades paler than usual.

Max huffed a laugh and ran a self-conscious hand through the curls. "Yeah, I guess."

"So…"

"So."

"Michael's not here," Liz said apologetically. "He had a shift at the bar and…"

Max nodded. "I know. We said our goodbyes before he went. This is really hard for him, and I don't think he could stand another tearful send-off. I think–"

"He needed to be the one leaving, rather than being left," she murmured. "Even if it's more symbolic than anything."

"Exactly."

"Right. Well." She took a deep breath. "I wish you luck, Max. Wherever you're headed."

"New York, actually. I, ah, I'm enrolled to start university in a couple of weeks."

"You… Oh my god, Max, that's so amazing!" Liz hugged him, genuinely pleased. When she pulled back, she asked, "What are you studying?"

"I want to work in child welfare." He smiled, a bit wistful. "I figure if I do well, get a job in the city… The friend of dad's who arranged Zan's placement, he's from New York. I've never asked before, but I did recently, and Zan's fostered to parents that live in the city too."

And suddenly she understood. "You want to see him," she whispered.

"From a distance. Maybe have a good excuse to check in on him once or twice. I, I still can't be involved, can't get close, but–"

"No, that's…" She nodded. "That's a good safe compromise, Max."

"Yeah. And I figured, even if I can't see him without arousing suspicions, it's still something I can see myself doing with my life. Helping people, you know. Kids. Maybe even ones in bad situations like Michael was in."

Liz's smile built slowly, but it was very approving. "I think that's wonderful."

"Thanks." Max then shoved his hands in his pockets, and they stood there in an awkward silence. Just as he finally opened his mouth to speak, a taxi pulled up to the curb and honked. "Oh. That's my ride."

"I guess this is goodbye."

"Does it have to be?" Max suddenly blurted. He looked at her earnestly. "Come with me, Liz. Come to New York. We could try again and–"

"Max. No, that's…" His expression fell, but she steeled her heart against it. "You and I, we had our time, and it's come to an end. There's too much history for us to ever go back. I'm sorry."

He ducked his head and shot her a strained smile. "Okay." He nodded, picked up his suitcase and backed towards the taxi. "Okay then. Goodbye, Liz."

"Goodbye, Max."

Liz woke up when Michael returned home in the early hours of the morning. She'd half expected slammed doors and anger. It was how Michael dealt with grief, in her experience. It was how he'd dealt when Maria left in the night, without so much as a goodbye, just a note that read 'I can't do this anymore. I want out'.

Instead of slamming doors though, it was a quiet, muffled sound that woke her. She lay in the dark for a few long minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying to place it. When she did, she was up out of bed in an instant.

"Jesus, Liz," Michael hissed when she slipped into his room and settled on the edge of his bed. He sat up and turned away, but not before she saw the tear-tracks on his face, lit by the street-light outside the window. "Ever heard of knocking? What if I wasn't decent?"

"You got out of the habit of sleeping naked after that time Isabel tried to dump you out of bed," she said with rolled eyes. "You were running late for work at that gas station, she got an eyeful, and both of you had to scrub the incident from your minds with bleach. Remember?"

His laugh was shaky. "Yeah," he said, voice a bit thick from crying. Then, so quietly Liz was sure she wasn't supposed to hear it, he whispered almost in disbelief, "You're still here."

Had he known Max would ask her to go with him, she wondered? Had he actually expected her to accept? Did he think he would come home to an empty apartment? She didn't ask any of those questions though, but instead, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

He turned to her in mild surprise. His tears, she noticed, had been wiped away.

"I don't want to be alone right now," she said quietly. And that was true. Even if her concern was mainly about not leaving a grieving Michael alone, the recent splintering of their group, their family, hadn't left her unaffected.

Michael, for all his stonewall-façade, had a soft spot when the people he cared about were hurting. And so he nodded and flopped back, only wrapping an arm around her shoulders when she curled up at his side.

She was just drifting on the edge of awareness when she heard him begin to cry again, sobs muffled behind gritted teeth. He must have thought she'd fallen asleep. She pretended to be sleeping still, as she shifted at his side and pressed closer, rubbing her cheek against his shirt-covered chest and murmuring indistinctly.

And then she let their connection flicker faintly to life.

Liz knew from prior experience that, when they were both near one another while their guards were lowered in some way, either sleeping or exhausted or injured, sometimes the connection opened on its own. So he wouldn't think anything amiss about it happening now.

As Liz settled again, radiating the drowsiness that was taking her over, and the warm comfort of being in his arms, she felt Michael's sobs calm down.

She fell asleep to the feeling of him ducking his head and pressing a kiss to her hair.

When she awoke, the connection was closed. And not just closed, but consciously locked down tight. Michael was sitting up on the edge of the bed facing away from her again, like last night. Judging by the tense line of his back, it wasn't to hide grief this time. Some other emotion had him hiding, and Liz suspected she knew what it was.

Shuffling closer, she rested her forehead against his back. "Michael, what–"

"Morning," he interrupted. Then he tensed further and said, briskly, "You can take the junker."

They changed cars pretty regularly. The VW bus they left Roswell in, they'd quickly realised, was far too noticeable. They'd made a habit of regularly trading in for a new 'piece of crap junker' as Michael called it, though Kyle always checked they were mostly-functional and not likely to break down on them.

"Take it where?" Liz asked.

He shrugged, and she turned her head at the motion to press her cheek to his back instead. "Dunno. Wherever you're heading."

"And you?"

He breathed out sharply. "I'll be fine. Take a bus. Hell, maybe a plane. First class. We're not exactly hurting for cash now, are we."

That was true. After years of struggling to make a living while on the run, finally they no longer had to worry. The same way Max had made the diamond to propose to Liz, by compressing coal, had been deemed too risky early on in their travels. Diamonds appearing out of nowhere was sure to attract attention. But now…

Isabel's alias included a recently-deceased grandmother with an extensive jewellery collection, which she willed to her granddaughter. Supposedly not wanting the reminders, Isabel promptly sold the collection off for a small fortune, which she disseminated carefully among their group.

They all had a pretty hefty nest egg in the bank now.

"Right, first class, and I take the junker." She nodded. "We could do that. We definitely could. Or…"

"Or?" He looked over his shoulder at her and raised an impatient eyebrow.

"Or we could both take the junker. Or that plane. Or… whatever."

He went very still. "Why?" was all he asked.

"I know you don't like being alone–"

"I don't need pity, Liz," he spat at once. "I don't want it either."

"–and I," she continued, "don't like being alone either."

"So what, we be not-so-alone together? BFFs forever?" he asked mockingly, but Liz caught the conflicted undertone, and hoped it might mean something more.

"Not quite. I mean, if that's what you want, sure. But…"

She moved closer, knees bracketing his hips, and pressed her lips to the back of his neck. Michael stiffened, and then more so when her hands slipped around and under the edge of his sleep shirt.

"Liz?" he asked uncertainly, voice a little raspy.

She let her power brush against his, not making a connection so much as inviting him to do so, and felt him slump a bit. Was that relief, because he figured the contact was merely to help form a link without eye contact? Or, as she secretly hoped, was it disappointment for the same reason?

After a pause he opened a connection. He sucked in a sharp breath of shock as, instead of maintaining a light surface-link, Liz gathered up every bit of her courage and opened herself completely.

Her every thought and emotion was available to him if he only looked. He could page through every one of her memories as he once had her journal all those years ago, discover all her secrets if he wanted. She had made herself utterly vulnerable.

Never before, since it had begun to develop, had their instinctive connection been taken this deep. Not on either side. On Liz's part it was because, at first, she didn't want him to be privy to the gradual dissolution of her love for Max, which she'd tried to deny even to herself for a long time. Later, she didn't want him to know how she felt about him.

On Michael's side, Liz imagined he never deepened the connection so fully because the idea terrified him. As much as Michael was scared of being alone, he was just as scared of letting someone all the way in. Someone who could hurt him the way Maria had when she left. His upbringing hadn't exactly been conductive to openness either. Hank would have destroyed him if he hadn't built his walls.

He didn't need to worry about Liz hurting him though. He didn't know it, but he meant so much to her… To hurt him would be to hurt herself. Worse, even.

Except… he did know. Now he did. She'd been thinking about it with the link wide open from her end, after all.

"Liz?" Michael asked again, voice shaking, one hand unconsciously falling to her thigh, stilling as he felt the way the contact made her shiver. "Liz," he repeated, shocked and… something she wanted to call awed, but maybe that was wishful thinking? "You…"

"We can be 'BFFs forever', if that's what you want," she repeated, lips moving against his neck. She knew he could feel her honesty, and also the slight pang of heartache at the thought. "But… is there any chance you might, now or someday, want something more?"

He said nothing for a long time. She was shaking from nerves and a terrible, painful mix of hope and fear, and knew he could feel it all.

And then, finally, he did something. Except that something was to move his thumb. It brushed her inner thigh where it rested, and the action sent a jolt of heat right through her. She felt her cheeks warm, because she knew he felt it. But she didn't close the connection. Didn't hide.

Let him see, she thought. Let him judge.

And maybe, a tiny corner of her mind whispered, just maybe, he'll like it…?

All of a sudden Michael moved, spinning in her grip and tumbling her backwards on the bed. Her arms were still around him. Her legs still framed his hips, but now, now he was pressing back and she could feel he was hard behind his sleep pants. She gasped, feeling her nipples tighten. Michael licked his lips, nothing of her reaction hidden from him.

"You…" He trailed off, staring at her, golden brown eyes bright with barely-repressed emotion. "How long have you been–"

"In love with you?" she said boldly, bravely, and saw and felt and heard him let out a shuddery breath. "Bit more than a year now. But it's been building for a while. Maybe even before Max and I divorced," she admitted with a guilty wince. She remembered how Michael had been so supportive towards the end of her marriage. When things were hard and she just needed a shoulder to lean on, cry on, he was always there for her. His quiet strength had meant a lot.

He nodded slowly.

"Michael?" she asked. "You haven't answered yet."

He raised a taunting eyebrow. "Haven't I?" he asked and rocked against her, eyes darkening as he felt, through the connection, the way it made her throb.

Liz shuddered. "So you want me. Okay. But do you… could you…" She swallowed hard. "…love me? Some day."

His eyes softened and he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. "Liz," he laughed lightly. Then he kissed her, slow and sensual. He paused to murmur again, "Liz. There's no 'some day' about it. You're not the only one who's been too afraid to say anything."

Her breath caught. "Then you–"

And then, and then, Michael did something she would never have expected: he opened to her in return.

She could feel the bone-deep thrum of fear from him, at exposing himself this way, at opening himself up to the possibility of more heartache than he'd ever felt before. But deeper than that was stubborn determination, and…

And love.

Liz choked out a cry, overwhelmed, and glad to be so. Her hands pulled him closer as her mouth pressed to his, and the sensation was reflected and magnified in the link, like nothing either had felt before.

It kept happening. Every kiss, every touch… as their clothes fell away and skin pressed to skin… as he pressed inside of her…

Every moment was bliss.

Multiplied.

Exponentially.

And when they reached their peaks, as their energies washed over one another in the expected fashion… pinpricks of heat and buzzing pleasure from tip to toe… at the same time, their minds unexpectedly seemed to melt together in an all-consuming explosion of love and lust and home and forever, and yes, yes, yes.

Through the haze of pleasure, Liz felt lips nuzzle her cheek, then words were murmured against her mouth. "I love you," Michael told her. "Stay with me. Always stay with me."

"Always."

The Crashdown looked the same as the last time she saw it, years ago when she was just eighteen. Liz knew her parents had done something of a renovation a few years back, but her chosen dreamscape didn't reflect that.

Isabel's arrival was heralded by the woman's squeal of delight. She dragged Jesse through the doors only to abandon him by the register when he didn't move fast enough. Her dark eyes were wide and she pressed her hands to her mouth as she came to a stop by Michael's side, where he sat atop a table.

"Oh my god," Isabel whispered. "Is this her?"

Michael's smile was open and honest in a way those who knew him had once not dared to hope for. "Isabel," he said, "meet your niece, Claudia Michelle Joyce. Sweetheart," he said softly to the wrapped bundle in his arms, "this is your Auntie Isabel."

"Auntie Lisa," Isabel gently corrected. "It's Lisa now, remember." Then she reached out, let tiny fingers grip her pinkie, and smiled, luminescent. "Oh Michael, you're a father. And she's so beautiful."

"Yeah, takes after her mother."

"Thank goodness," Liz teased. "Just imagine if she'd got your nose."

He mock-scowled in return and they laughed.

"Congrats William, Beth," Jesse added, coming up behind Isabel and wrapping his arms around her.

"Right, William." Isabel shook her head. To Michael she said, "I guess you're not the only one who forgets." She turned to Liz. "Am I fetching the others, or…?" She trailed off, entranced by Claudia again.

Liz laughed. "I'll get them. You stay and marvel over our perfect little girl."

"I'm sorry, it's just… I've been waiting weeks to meet her."

"Yeah, first time she's condescended to go to sleep on schedule."

Michael groaned in agreement. "Feels like she doesn't sleep at all sometimes."

Liz, heading for the door, heard Isabel laugh. "I remember when Alexander was the same. So many sleepless nights. Fortunately, he's well past that now."

"Yeah," Jesse said wryly, "now we just have to get through the terrible twos. The tantrums man, I tell you…"

Stepping out of the Crashdown, Liz found herself floating in formless darkness, splashes of colour and light floating past. With the ease of practice, she searched out the familiar dreamspheres of their missing friends. She found Kyle first.

"Oh my god," she breathed, eyes wide with delight.

Distracted from his dream, Kyle's head snapped up, then he looked around him and cleared his throat. "Ah, so… that's a thing." He stood up from where he was knelt on the ground before a beautiful brunette, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Are you planning, or have you already asked, or is this just an idle thought?"

Kyle grinned. "Bought the ring. Got a reservation at her favourite restaurant. Hopefully she says yes."

"I'm so happy for you Kyle!" She paused and smiled, tilting her head. "I mean Jamie. I'm sure she'll say yes." She reached for his hand. "Come on, one more stop then back to the Crash."

Max's dream was taking place in a school playground. Liz presumed it was the one Max taught at, having switched careers a couple years ago to be a school teacher. He stood to one side, watching a group of teens kicking a ball around.

"Hey John," Kyle said, and the other man looked up.

"Is that Zan?" Liz asked, following Max's gaze. "You said he was in your class this year."

"Oh," Kyle said quietly. "He looks…"

"A lot like his mother, yeah." Max stared at the boy with a peaceful look in his eyes, then smiled and stood. "Doesn't matter to me. I still think he's perfect."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," Liz said, aching to get back to her husband and their daughter.

Without a hint of lingering hopes or heartbreak, Max asked, "Did she fall asleep? Is she here? Can we meet her?"

When Liz grinned and nodded, Kyle whooped. "Well," he demanded eagerly, "what are we waiting for? I want to meet her. I still can't believe Goliath spawned."

Liz grabbed Max's hand with her free one and dragged both boys out of the playground, across the nothingness, and back to her own dreamsphere of the Crashdown.

Claudia was greeted with even more fuss and coos and congratulations.

"Max!" Isabel said, brightly, "Michael was just telling us. He got the spot in that art exhibition! Six of his paintings are going to be on display."

"It's not a big deal," Michael tried to deflect.

"Not a big deal?" Liz scoffed, leaning back in his lap where she sat, watching Claudia be passed around. "Don't listen to him. It's a huge deal, and I'm so proud of him."

Michael wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, and buried his face in her auburn curls, kissing her neck. She reached a hand up in response, running fingers through his dark hair.

"What about you, Beth?" Jesse asked. "How goes university life?"

She laughed. "You make me sound like a student still! I've been lecturing on molecular biology for two years now. And it's going really great."

Life was really great, actually.

Liz thought back to that long-ago evening, when they left Roswell in a rusted-out bus, resigned to spending the rest of their probably-short lives on the run. Now, a decade and a half later, it was clear their predictions couldn't have been further from reality.

They had lives, and homes, and fulfilling careers. They had love, and family. Even apart, they weren't ever really apart, not when they could keep in touch whenever they slept. And they were no longer running, hadn't been for a long time.

So yes, against all odds, life was really great. In ways they hadn't dared to hope for.

A/N:

FYI, the aliases…

• Liz = Beth (from Elizabeth of course)
• Michael = William (as in Wallace, from his favourite movie, Braveheart)
• Isabel = Lisa (sounds suitably vaguely-alike-yet-unrelated from 'Isabel')
• Max = John (variant of Evan)
• Kyle = Jamie (after his father and grandfather, both called James)

Also, though most aren't mentioned, surnames (or maiden as applicable):

• Liz = Jeffries (after her dad, Jeff)
• Michael = Joyce (James Joyce is the author of Ulysses, his favourite book)
• Isabel = Díaz (another sound-alike-but-unrelated match, this time for her mother, Diane)
• Max = Phelps (after his dad, Philip)
• Kyle = Harvey (couldn't think of anything inconspicuous enough, so he went with his fictional given name on the fake ID from the Vegas episode, Harvey Wallbanger)

Finally, the kids:

• Alexander = Isabel and Jesse's son, obviously named after Alex like Isabel promised his ghost/hallucination she would.
• Claudia Michelle = Claudia was the name of Liz's grandmother who died early in the show but was much loved by her. Michelle is obviously a feminine form of Michael.

Reviews make me happy (hint, hint).