CHAPTER 38
With a jerk, Michael turned away and stalked to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of Tabasco, he poured its contents liberally into a half-empty can of soda and unceremoniously chugged the whole thing, then stood, still turned away from her.
Maria raised an eyebrow. It was a good thing the Czechoslovakians stuck to soda. She'd hate to see what Michael would be like if he downed a beer that fast. Or, thinking of how romantic Max had become with one sip, maybe she wouldn't. She studied Michael's back. "Well," she said. "That was interesting."
"You should have gone with them."
"What? And miss the opportunity for more yelling?"
He turned back around and folded his arms across his chest. "So let's get it over with."
"Get what over with?" She raised artless eyes to his.
He glared at her. "You know very well what. You're going to ream me out."
"Why ever would you think that? What could you possibly have done to warrant that?" she burst out. "Oh, yeah, maybe it's that you totally went off on Liz for absolutely no reason. You think?"
He pressed his lips tightly together and didn't answer. Aha. Stoic Michael was back. She sighed. "Look, Spaceboy, I know you're under a lot of pressure right now. But that's not a reason to lash out at any of us. You have to think a little before you lose your temper. Don't take it out on us--save it for 'When Aliens Attack.'"
He waited, knowing she couldn't possibly be done yet.
"I mean, we are all trying to help you out here. Because we care about you. So why did you have to be so mean? What were you thinking?"
"Sorry," he muttered.
She opened her eyes wide and put a hand to her ear. "I beg your pardon? Did you say something?"
"I said I was sorry, all right?" he burst out. "What do I have to do, embroider it on a sampler for you?"
Her lips twitched as a very unlikely picture popped into her head. Michael, sitting in a rocking chair, taking delicate lavender stitches into a square of linen..."No, no," she managed, "The verbal apology is just fine."
"Got it."
"But you're going to have to make it to--"
He cut her off. "To Liz. I know."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, well. Spaceboy's not so backward after all."
"I got it, okay?"
"Yeah. It's okay." Michael moved around the counter and sat down in front of his forgotten sketch pad. His shoulders slumped as he hunched over it.
"Michael?"
"What?"
"Just because you're my...friend...and I'm trying to be all supportive and stuff--it doesn't mean I'm not going to call you on it when you do stupid things, you know. But it doesn't mean I don't..." Her voice trailed off.
"So does that mean I get to call you on your stupid stuff?" he asked, not looking at her.
"You already do, pal," she pointed out. "Who was yelling at me just a few hours ago for going to the park?"
"Oh. Yeah." He sat for a few moments in silence, then picked up his pencil and added a few more strokes to the sketch pad in front of him. "We done here?"
"For now," she told him. He looked over at her suspiciously. "I make no promises about the future." Maria wandered idly over to the couch. Picking up the blanket from where she'd tossed it when she and Michael had come back in, she folded it neatly and draped it once more over the back of the couch.
"So," she said, looking around the small apartment.
"What now?"
She gestured towards the sketch pad. "You done with that thing yet?"
"No, I'm not done with it. I told you I'd tell you when I figured it out, didn't I?"
"Right." She sat for a moment, then rose and began to pace across the room.
"Look, I'm trying to work here," he said. "Can't you find something to do?"
"Like what?" she complained. "It's not like there's a whole lot to choose from."
"Never seemed to bother you before," he commented absently, adding another pencil stroke to the page.
Well, of course not. Most of her other visits--at least the ones before the summer--had involved them making out on the couch. She didn't need any other entertainment then. Now, however, was a different story. Although tonight he had kissed her...She shook her head. "You should get some magazines or books or something."
With a sigh, he got up and moved across the room, back to the crate where he'd found the sketch pad. He dug through it and then tossed a worn paperback to her.
"Oliver Twist?" she asked in surprise. "You have a copy of Oliver Twist?"
"It's from the library. So what?" He headed back to his sketch.
"You're reading Oliver Twist?"
His tone was defensive. "I'm working my way through Dickens. What about it?"
"Well, nothing. I knew you could read. I mean, you told me about Ulysses and all. I just didn't know you...read."
"Yeah, well, don't spread it around."
She fingered the book. "They made this into a musical, you know. It's one of my favorites." His only response was a noncommittal grunt. "I sang a song from it for my Little Shop audition." He placed the pencil carefully down on the counter and turned around, giving her an exasperated look. "What? Why are you stopping?"
"Because I can't concentrate with your mouth running on like that," he said bluntly.
"Well, why didn't you just tell me to shut up then?"
"What, and risk another lecture?" He raised one eyebrow. "If you're not going to read, go to sleep already. It's getting late."
She looked around the studio apartment, suddenly uncomfortable. She'd been there before, but never to spend the night. Where--?
He seemed to understand her unspoken question. "The couch. Take it or leave it," he said matter-of-factly.
She sat back down on the couch in question. It was not terribly comfortable. That hadn't bothered her in the past, when she was occupied with...other things, but to spend a whole night on it? And he slept there every night? It was a wonder he didn't have massive back problems. "Michael," she said firmly, "you really need to get a proper bed."
"Well, it's either that or buy groceries. I don't know about you, but I'd rather be able to eat," he returned shortly. "Besides, I don't sleep all that much anyway."
"I know," she said, prodding a lumpy cushion. "With this couch, who could blame you?"
"So pick up the phone and call Liz. Spend the night there if this isn't good enough for you, Princess."
"That's not what I mean. God, Michael, you don't have to make such a big hairy deal out of it."
"I don't have to..." he repeated dumbly. "Look, I'm not the one making a big deal out of it! You're the one who's complaining, okay? In fact, you're the one who invited yourself over here in the first place!"
"Okay, okay. Gotcha. The couch is fine," she said obediently.
Crossing to the closet, Michael pulled out a pillow and tossed it to her. "You can use the blanket from the couch," he told her.
"Okay. So, do you have something I can sleep in?"
He blinked and then seemed to pull his mind away from whatever mental picture it had just created. "No," he bit out. "Sleep in your clothes. Mine are off-limits." She noticed with amusement that he actually looked a little flustered.
"Can I at least take off my shoes?" she asked innocently.
"What? Oh, yeah, shoes. Shoes are good." He pulled himself together. "Look, just get some sleep, okay? You can run your mouth off in the morning."
Opening her mouth indignantly, she stopped before the words could pour out. There was a look in his eyes...He'd made that last comment on purpose. To bug her. Well, two could play at that game.
"Aren't you coming to bed?" she asked nonchalantly as she removed her shoes.
"What? No, I'm gonna try and get some more work done," he stammered.
She looked him over carefully. "It's all right, Spaceboy. I think we'll fit."
"What?" he repeated, his voice hoarse.
"On the couch. We'll both fit on the couch," she responded, holding back a giggle.
"I'll, uh...I'll crash on the floor. I do it at Max's all the time."
"Why? Don't you think we'll fit? Do you think I'm too fat or something?"
"What? No--I don't--" He stopped, finally picking up on the amusement in her eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. "It's hard enough walking through the usual conversational minefield with you humans without you throwing booby traps in just for the hell of it," he told her. His tone became more challenging. "No, I don't think you're fat. Why? Do you think I'm blind?"
"Only sometimes," Maria admitted in a small voice.
He let out a breath of air and looked away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "Just go to sleep, okay?"
"Not until you do too."
In exasperation, he barked, "Maria--"
"I mean it, Michael. You don't have to worry about guard duty; I'm right here. So at least try to get some rest, okay?"
He capitulated in a clipped tone. "Fine. If it'll shut you up."
Heading back to the closet, Michael pulled a crocheted afghan from the shelf. Maria took one disbelieving look and burst into choked laughter. "What?" Michael snapped, self-consciously clutching the pink and white bundle.
"Nice afghan," chortled the girl. "Wow. With three-dimensional crocheted roses, no less. It's so very you, Michael."
His jaw clenched. "Yeah, well, Mrs. Evans gave it to me. Her mother made it. And Isabel refused to change it for me, okay?"
"Suuure, Spaceboy," Maria drawled. "Now all you need are a macramé wall hanging and a few doilies, and you'll be all set."
"Well, if someone hadn't invited herself over, I would be using my blanket instead, wouldn't I?" he said snidely.
"No, you'd be lurking in the shadows at the Crashdown," she reminded him. He opened his mouth to retort, obviously searching for a comeback, but finally gave up.
"Fine. I have a wussy afghan. Deal." On his way back past the door, he flicked off the light switch. Blinking in the sudden darkness, Maria listened to the sound of him kicking off his shoes and settling down on the floor.
"Michael?"
"What?" he answered sharply.
She hesitated for a moment, and then said quietly, "Good night."
The only response was a grudging, "Yeah."
"And...thanks."
His voice was cross. "What for?"
"For coming to get me at the park. For looking out for me. And for letting me stay tonight."
"Didn't have much choice there, did I?"
"Well, yes, you did. So thanks."
"No problem," he lied. "Just make sure your mother doesn't find out."
"Don't worry, she won't."
Michael let out a doubtful grunt. With a smile, Maria lay back on the couch and pulled the blanket up under her chin. She lay there for a few minutes, suddenly feeling very wide awake.
"Michael?" she said hesitantly.
"Go to sleep," he ordered.
Ha! Now he would know what it was like. "I can't."
"Well, that's just great, isn't it? What do you expect me to do about it?"
"Nothing. I just--"
"What?"
"Nothing. Good night."
Again, the response was a muttered, "Yeah."
She lay in the darkness, listening to him breathe. Well, even if she couldn't sleep, maybe he would be able to. And he could certainly use it. All she had to do was to be quiet. She grimaced into the dark. Not so easy as it sounded.
Her mind wandered to the next day. She had to work a double shift, but maybe the six of them could get together and talk afterwards. There was still a lot to discuss, and some fences to be mended. She shifted uncomfortably, thinking about Michael's reaction to the Nasedo idea. Maybe they were being a little harsh with him. After all, there they were, deciding things about his life and not even consulting him about it. No surprise that he'd blown up at them. At least he hadn't done it literally.
And come to think about it, in his situation she probably would've done the same thing. Frowning, she tried to decide where the line was drawn between caring about someone enough to make sure they did what was best for them and totally overrunning their life. No wonder Michael was having such a struggle. And then she'd had to go and lecture him about behaving better...She bit her lip. Maybe he wasn't the only one who needed to apologize.
"Michael?" she said for the third time. When he didn't answer, she propped herself up on one elbow and peered across the room, trying to make him out in the darkness. "Michael?" she repeated. The only sound was his deep, even breathing. A smile blossomed on her face. "Michael?" she said softly. "Are you asleep?" There was no answer.
With a grin, she snuggled deeper into the folds of the blanket, ignoring the lumpiness of the couch. Finally, he was getting some rest. So all she had to do was be quiet so she wouldn't wake him up...She could do that...Giving a contented little sigh, she allowed her suddenly sleepy eyes to close. With one last thought of Michael, she let herself drift off into sleep.
Pushing her hair back off her hot forehead, Maria headed back to the pass-through to pick up the next order of hamburgers. The Crashdown was packed, and she could barely keep up with the demand. Where was everyone else? No Liz, no Agnes...and she didn't even know who was working in the kitchen. She didn't have time to look--all she could do was take the orders and turn them in and pick up the next order and deliver it...and why was everyone ordering rare hamburgers anyway? Hadn't they ever heard of chicken? Or salads? The Crashdown was jam-packed full of heart attacks just waiting to happen.
She finally got a breather and headed into the storeroom for more ketchup. She'd just put out new bottles and worry about marrying the old ones together later. Stacking the bottles on a tray, she pushed the door open with her hip and went back into the main dining room.
The dining room that wasn't there.
What?
Instead of the familiar surroundings of the Crashdown, she was standing in another familiar place. A desert. Michael's dream desert.
Oh. Okay. So she was dreaming. At least the nightmare Crashdown shift wasn't real. But why would she be stuck dreaming about Michael's desert?
She turned around to find that the door she'd come through was no longer there, and realized that she wasn't holding the tray of ketchup bottles. They'd disappeared. But she was still wearing her Crashdown uniform, complete with silver antennae. That sucked. If she was going to dream, why couldn't she be wearing something fabulous?
Gazing around her, she smiled as she felt a familiar little tingle. Michael. She looked around in excitement. Dream Michael--now that had possibilities. Not that she didn't love the real one, but the dream one was more likely to show the softer side that Spaceboy rarely let anyone see. She began to head in the direction of the tingle. Hey, it was her dream--she might as well enjoy it.
Before long, she saw him, feet planted firmly in the sand as he stood with his back turned, looking into the distance. "Hey, Spaceboy," she called as she neared him. He turned around with a startled jerk, his face clouding over when he saw her.
"Great," he muttered.
"Nice greeting, Quasimodo," she commented. He raised an eyebrow and turned away, focusing once again on something in the distance.
Great was right. What happened to her Dream Michael? You know, this sucked too. "Okay, I am officially requesting a different Michael. You know, less grouchy. Maybe even with a smile. But something exciting, anyway. How about Tattoo Michael? Or Ski Instructor Michael? Or Pirate Michael, you know, with an eye patch and a parrot?"
He turned back to her. "What the hell are you talking about?"
She shook her head. "No, see, this isn't what I want. Not Grumpy Difficult Michael. I mean, it's fine for everyday, but for now I want something different, okay?"
Michael rolled his eyes. "You are warped, you know that? Figures you'd drive me crazy here, too." He turned away. "The real you wanted me to get some rest. So why don't you stop bugging me and let me do just that?"
With an indignant gasp, Maria burst out, "Listen, pally, get this straight. My dream, my rules, got it?"
"Fine," he responded. "When it's your dream, you decide. But since it's mine, would you just leave me alone already?"
"It is not. It's mine. I can't help it if I'm warped enough to be dreaming about your stupid desert," she said crossly.
He stiffened, then faced her and looked at her very closely. Putting out a hand, he gently touched her cheek, then took her by the chin and stared down into her eyes. She held her breath. A furrow appeared on his brow and he dropped his hand, turning and beginning to look wildly across the desert floor.
"What on earth are you looking for?"
He ignored her, instead raising his voice and shouting across the expanse of sand. "Isabel!" he roared.
Maria looked at him in exasperation. "What are you doing? And why am I dreaming you're doing it?"
"I'm not a figment of your imagination. I'm dreaming and you're in my dream. So if you're dreaming, too, the only way you could've gotten in here is for Isabel to be playing her little dreamwalking tricks."
"That's crazy."
He shrugged. "Then it shouldn't be so unexpected, coming from me."
"Michael!" she chided. "So how do I know you're dreaming this too, and I'm not just dreaming that you've said all this? Prove it."
"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"I don't know," she responded. Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, I do. Tell me something that you know and I don't know, but that I know you know."
"What?" he bit out, trying to follow her convoluted instructions. He shook his head. "Fine. Like what?"
She pounced on an idea. "Like what you saw in your vision."
He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, all right? It happens really fast and all I get are impressions. It takes a while to figure out what I actually see."
"Oh," she said in disappointment.
He looked at her for a minute, then said reluctantly, "But I can tell you what I thought I'd see."
"Well, duh. Obviously a clue to who wrote the note."
"No, I mean specifically."
"What, then?"
"Your buddy Mark."
"What? Mark? Why would Mark leave me the note?"
"Well, duh," he mimicked. "To get you to the park."
"But why would Mark be sending me those threats? That doesn't make sense."
"Maybe not. But if you don't think it was Mark, why would you dream that I'd think it was Mark?" She considered this. "Besides," he continued, "how often in a dream do you actually realize you're dreaming?"
"You have a point."
"Yep."
She grabbed his arm. "Oh my god, Michael! How did we get in the same dream?"
"Isabel."
Maria shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean, the other times, we were together when she made the connection, and I saw a flash of white light before I got in. This time I was having a very normal wonky little dream about the Crashdown, and I went through the door, and here I was. It's not the same thing."
He shrugged.
"Don't you want to know?" she asked.
He didn't answer, instead plopping down on the sand and resting his elbows on his knees.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for you to stop blathering. Or for me to wake up. Whichever happens first," he answered dryly.
"Oh, that's just fantastic. Here we are with yet another bizarre Czechoslovakian...thing happening, and you don't even care?"
"It's just a dream, Maria. I'm asleep, you're asleep. At some point we'll wake up. No big deal," he said in a calm voice.
"No big deal? Tell that to the people who braved your dreams to rescue you from them! And gee whiz, Michael, who would that be? Me, that's who! So don't you dare tell me it's no big deal! Who knows what can happen in here?" Her voice rose to a shriek.
"Calm down," Michael ordered.
"And if I don't? What are you going to do about it?" she challenged back.
His voice rose. "Well, I'm not gonna kiss you this time, that's for sure!"
"What? Who said anything about kissing me?" She stood over him, her hands on her hips. "And what's wrong with kissing me, anyway? You didn't seem to object to it earlier!"
"Maybe I should have!"
Trembling, she spoke in a shaky voice. "You were the one who started it, Michael. You kissed me, not the other way around."
"Well, maybe I shouldn't have."
She blinked rapidly. "You're right. You shouldn't have." Turning on her heel, she strode resolutely away from him, leaving a stream of footprints behind her.
Michael groaned and flung himself back onto the sand. Shit. Staring into the empty sky, he cursed his big mouth, and his tiny pinheaded brain that let it say things without thinking first. There they were, having a perfectly normal--for them--spat, and he had to go and put his foot in it. And his boot. And hell, probably half the lumpy sofa she'd been complaining about.
He hadn't wanted to kiss her. Well, he had, but he knew he shouldn't. He was too screwed up for anything like that right now. But somehow his human, seventeen-year-old body had taken over and he'd kissed her. Hell, if the others hadn't come in, he'd probably still be kissing her. Or more. If she'd let him.
But of course he couldn't tell her that. The mood she was in, she might have slapped him, anyway. So as usual, he'd pushed her away, and hurt her, like an idiot. Were all seventeen-year-old guys this dumb, or was it just him? Picking up a handful of sand, he tossed it roughly away from him. A second handful was about to follow when he heard it.
A voice. But not the unknown voice that kept plaguing him.
This was Maria's voice.
And she was screaming his name.
TBC...