The Mighty King of Antar

Summary: What was going through the Los Angeles shapeshifter's mind the day after Max ruined his life by making him shapeshift?

Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell, nor am I profiting from this.

The Mighty King of Antar.

He ruined my life.

I've enjoyed my life here on Earth. How many people can say they've made it big as a Hollywood producer? And how many of those people are aliens from a war-torn planet who crashed on Earth fifty years ago?

After we crashed, I did my duty, I rescued the pods. I took one set, the reject set, and dropped 'em off in the New York sewers. Oh, I put them in a secure place, made sure they would be safe, but I knew they weren't really that important. They were only the backups for the real Royal Four. Then I made the mistake of returning to Roswell, to see what I could do about salvaging what I could from the ships.

The government captured me and held me in their Eagle Rock Military Base for a year. When I finally escaped, I vowed I wouldn't let this disaster of a mission ruin my life any more.

The way I looked at it, the crash changed everything. That's not how it was supposed to happen. So, I would make the best of things. I would see what this planet Earth had to offer me.

I took on the identity of Cal Langley. Soon, I was working my way up through the ranks in show business. Hollywood. I was the clapper-loader on a B-movie that was being filmed in Roswell, when the leading lady discovered what I was. So I had to kill her. I could have shapeshifted then, taken a different identity, but I liked living as a normal human, so I stuck it out through the ensuing investigation, and eventually it was decided that the actress was killed by a freak lightning strike. Cal Langley was the first identity I took on and the only one. I've been Cal Langley for fifty years. And I'll continue to be Cal Langley as long as I can.

In 1978, all my years of not-shapeshifting paid off. I smelled chlorine for the first time. By that time I hadn't reached the heights of success that I'm at now, but I was a very successful scriptwriter, and was living in a nice mansion in Beverly Hills. Soon after that I was even able to taste lemons. Hey, it may not sound like much, but for me it was progress.

When the pods hatched, I was aware of it, of course. The set of pods that I had taken to New York were my responsibility and I couldn't escape that. I was producing my second movie and decided that it could be filmed in New York. So for the first year of the little podlings' lives, I was able to look in on them, tell them who they were, how to survive, all that. Then I left them on their own. As I said, they were only the backups and it was unlikely that they'd be important.

I kept an eye on the other set of the Royal Four, too. But no matter what happened, I didn't get involved. Even when their protector died last year, I refused to abandon the life I'd build for myself to get involved in all that chaos. I like it much better here on Earth, and I didn't want to risk getting sucked back into the politics of Antar.

When Max started poking around in Utah, looking for the ship, I hired that idiot actor to go out there and try to scare him off. I wish I hadn't.

The sun is streaming through the window. I'm tired, but I've recovered most of my strength from last night's fiasco. Stupid ship. I should have destroyed it fifty years ago.

I walk into my spacious kitchen, and pick up a lemon. I stare at it a moment, remembering the first time I was able to taste that wonderful sour flavor. I take a bite. Nothing. I walk outside to the pool and take a deep sniff. Nothing.

Slowly, I walk back inside. Zan was always a selfish, ungrateful jerk. It's no wonder he got overthrown. Looks like his human incarnation is going the same way. It really is a shame. Those kids have a chance at a new life, a human life. If they could just learn to forget about their alien side, they could have a good life here. But listen to me -- why should I care? He just ruined everything I've been working for the last fifty years. I guess I could start over. Maybe in another fifty years, I'll be able to taste a lemon again. But for now, I've lost it all. And it's all his fault. Max Evans. King Zan. I hate him. I may be genetically encoded to protect him, but I'll always hate him.

The phone rings. "Hello? Yeah, Steven? Good to hear from you. A miniseries? About aliens, huh?" Sigh. "Yeah, yeah, sounds great." As I chat about this new project, I take a lemon, and take a bite of the tasteless fruit, and resign myself to the long years ahead of having everything I could want and enjoying none of it.