Part 3
St. Petersburg, 2012
~Michael~
Liz's library was full of pictures of her daughter. Max's daughter. Every time I thought about it, I felt a little sick. Max had a child, a beautiful daughter who was a perfect mixture of him and Liz, and he didn't even know it. Liz, the person he'd trusted above all others, had kept it from him for all these years.
Not even Tess had done that.
"Michael, I know how this must look," Liz said, closing the door behind us. She crossed to a large desk and leaned on it, looking down at her expensive shoes.
I looked around at the room we were in. It was pretty big, and looked bigger because of the high ceilings. There were books everywhere, a central fireplace, and wide leather furniture. Pictures of Sophie were everywhere—on the mantel, on Liz's desk, on the bookshelves. Sophie as an infant, dressed in pink ruffles. A few years later sitting on a pony. Sophie and Liz wearing balloon hats at some kind of street fair. Maria and Sophie hugging each other tightly in front of a Christmas tree, grins stretching across both their faces. That last one came as a surprise.
"Maria knows?" I asked, aware my voice sounded harsh.
Liz nodded. "Maria is Sophie's godmother."
Stupid question. Of course Maria knew. That was why she'd been so reluctant to give me Liz's address. They were quite a pair, both of them protecting Sophie from Max and me. "Isabel?" I asked, thinking that it wasn't completely impossible.
"No," Liz said quietly.
"Kyle?"
"No."
Without realizing it, I'd begun to pace the room, going from the fireplace to the desk and back again, over and over. "This would kill Max," I muttered, and Liz flinched.
"Can you think of a way it wouldn't have?" she snapped.
I stopped pacing. "This isn't fair, Liz," I said. "You can't keep this from him. You have no right—"
"I am her mother," Liz interrupted. "I have every right to protect my daughter."
"From her own father?" I demanded.
"From her father, from the FBI and alien hit men that are always after him, from her half brother and his homicidal bitch of a mother—and from whatever else might hurt her," Liz spat furiously. I had never seen her so angry. "If you're going to stand here and question the way I parent my child, you can go right back to Roswell."
"Max would never do anything to put her in danger," I ground out, refusing to admit that much of what she said made a lot of sense.
"Being his daughter puts her in danger," she corrected.
"Hiding her from him doesn't make that threat go away," I told her. "It might even make it worse. How are we supposed to protect her if—"
"Protect her?" Liz repeated. She slammed a fist down on the desk. "How the hell is Max supposed to protect her from prison?"
Roswell, 2002
~Liz~
I was at the jail by noon the day after Max's arrest. I'd left school practically in the middle of the night, taken a plane to Dallas, slept in the airport while I waited for my connecting flight, and landed in Roswell at eleven the next morning. Maria picked me up, mercifully didn't ask too many questions, and drove me straight to the county lock-up, where Max was being held awaiting an extradition hearing. There were reporters everywhere, and I wished I knew how to make my powers act on command. I'd have blasted the lot of them back to L.A. without a second thought. But as it was, I had to elbow my way through the crowd. I probably caused a few injuries, but I didn't give a damn. I just wanted to get through.
Hanson noticed the commotion and was waiting for me at the door. "I can guess why you're here," he said grimly.
There was no use denying it. "I need to see Max."
His eyes were sympathetic, but he didn't move to let me in. "What do your parents say?" he wanted to know.
"Nothing yet," I said honestly.
He thought for a second, then sighed. "Well, at least I'm not breaking any direct orders," he murmured, then moved aside to let me pass.
Max was in a holding cell much like the one Alex and I had spent the night in after getting caught at the warehouse party. . .god, that was a lifetime ago. He was sitting on the cot, his head in his hands, when I ran down the corridor. Hanson trailed me by a few steps.
"Max!" I cried, still out of breath from my fight with the crowd of reporters. He was on his feet in an instant, reaching for me through the bars.
"Liz, how did you get here so fast?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
"I flew all night," I babbled. "I had to get here before they moved you to L.A." I was touching him—his face, his hands, his hair—trying to reassure myself that he was, for the time being, okay.
"Step back a little, Liz," Hanson said, and I turned to protest, but he had his keys in his hand. He unlocked the cells and started to slide the bars back. "I'm gonna have to call your parents," he said regretfully, "but you'll have a little while before they can get here."
"Please don't call them," I begged. "Not yet."
He shook his head. "Liz, you know I have to." But then he pushed the door open and I found myself in Max's arms. He held me tightly, cradling me against his chest. I could hear his heart beating fast and I thought I'd never heard anything more beautiful.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice muffled against his chest.
"I'm fine," he said, stroking my hair. "Liz, I had nothing to do with Langley's death. That can't be Langley anyway—"
"I know, Max," I interrupted. "I know you'd never do anything like that." I leaned back to look at him. "I know you're innocent."
He looked relieved. "They have fingerprints," he said, shaking his head. "They even have witnesses saying that I've been to his house three times since last fall."
"Max, they're lying. Someone will have to come forward and tell the truth." I don't think he believed me, even then. But he wasn't about to tell me that.
"I can't believe you're here," he said, running his fingers through my hair. His eyes roamed over my face hungrily. "I thought you'd have to stay at school."
I tried to smile. "Well, I didn't actually ask permission," I said. "I just got on a plane last night."
His eyes got a little worried. "Liz, your parents are going to be furious."
"I know." I looked down. "But they wouldn't have understood, and I couldn't stand being so far away from you."
"They're going to take me to L.A.," he said, troubled. "You can't come there."
"I will," I insisted. "You need me. . .don't you?"
"Of course I do," he said quickly. "I need you so much. But I don't want you to get in trouble—or put you in danger. If Langley set this up to frame me, he's probably watching. And he isn't shy about killing anyone who gets in his way."
"Max, I'm not going to sit back and let you face this alone!" I protested. This wasn't the first time he'd tried to shut me out when things got bad. But this time I wasn't going to take it. "I'm going to be there for you—I'm not leaving."
"Liz, I'm not alone," he said. "I've got you, even if you're here in Roswell, or in Vermont, or where ever you are."
"But I need to be with you," I said tearfully.
"We'll be together, Liz," he told me firmly. "The truth will come out and we'll be together. I promise." He bent his head and placed gentle kisses on my upper lip. "Just try and get rid of me then."
"I love you," I said desperately, closing my eyes.
"I know," he whispered. "I love you, too." He kissed me gently, and I felt the rest of the world slip away. For that moment, at least, it was enough.
St. Petersburg, 2012
I stared at Michael, anger making my heart pound. "Well?" I demanded. "Got any ideas?"
"Max isn't the only one who would protect her," Michael said, his voice low. "Do you think any one of us wouldn't give our lives to save her if it came to that?"
"It isn't going to come to that," I told him. "Sophie is fine here—she's safe."
"What if one day she isn't?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but at that moment there was a light tap on the door and my housekeeper, Gruya, entered. She carried a tray loaded with tea things and a plate of fresh-baked plushki. Sophie was behind her, carrying a plate of bread and cheese. She cast a sheepish glance in my direction and I knew she had talked Gruya into letting her help so that she could get another look at Michael. I couldn't blame her for her curiosity; to Sophie, it must have sometimes seemed like I had no past.
"Put it there, Gruya," I said in Russian, and the older woman looked at me in surprise. She speaks some English, and usually when we have foreign guests I make an effort not to speak Russian and leave them feeling isolated. "You, too, Sophie."
Sophie seemed intrigued. "Where, Mama?" she asked in Russian, dragging it out. "Here on the table?"
I sighed. "That's fine," I told her. She walked the long way around the couches, eyeing Michael the whole time, and set the plate down on the coffee table with great care. My daughter, the drama queen. She learned that from Maria, I'm sure.
"Aren't you hungry?" Michael asked her, and she hesitated a moment before switching to English.
"I already had my dinner," she said shyly.
"Are you sure you don't want. . .one of those?" Michael asked, pointing to the steaming plate of pierozhki. "I bet they're good—what are they? Some kind of donut?"
Sophie laughed. "No, they're pierozhki. They have meat and cabbage inside."
"Meat and cabbage?" Michael repeated, frowning. "Yeah, that doesn't sound like it would make a good donut."
"They're really good," Sophie assured him. "Try one."
"I think I will," he said with a smile.
Watching the two of them together took a lot of the wind out of my sails. Michael looked positively enthralled with her, and I reminded myself that he probably thought of her as something like his niece. He and Max had been like brothers—probably still were. By keeping Sophie from Max, I'd also kept her from Michael, and he was clearly feeling that betrayal acutely. My guilt flared even higher when I realized that, aside from Max and Isabel, Sophie was probably the only person in the world he would consider to be family. I let them talk for a few minutes while Gruya bustled about, setting up the tea things, then I put my hand on Sophie's hair.
"Is your homework finished, Sophie?" I asked her.
She wrinkled her nose. "Almost. I only have to finish my spelling words."
"I think you better go finish, then," I told her gently. "Then pack your bag and make sure everything is ready for school in the morning."
Reluctantly, she headed for the door. "Okay," she said, then turned to Michael. "G'night."
"Good night, Sophie," Michael called after her. "It was nice to meet you."
When she was gone, Michael and I stared at each other for a long time.
"She's beautiful," he said finally.
I smiled. "Yes, she is."
He shook his head, his eyes sad. "I would have helped you, Liz."
I nodded. "I know, Michael."
"I'd still help you. . .if you want me to."
I was at a loss. In the space of twenty minutes Michael had dragged me back into a past I'd tried hard to forget. "Thanks," I said finally. "It's nice to know there's someone I can call."
But I won't.
The unspoken words hung thickly in the air between us as I walked over to the windows and parted the curtains. Outside the darkness hung like a purple velvet shroud over the city. I stood there for a long moment, taking in the silence, staring out over the old canal that ran down the center of the street. I heard Michael behind me, pouring tea into the china cups. After a moment, he stepped close to me and placed a cup of tea in my hand.
"Here," he said simply.
"Thank you." I sipped my tea, still looking out at the night.
"I'm sorry, Liz," he told me softly. "I didn't mean to. . .I'm just in shock, you know?"
"I know." I relaxed a little. "I'm sorry you had to find out like that."
"It's okay."
We stood there in silence for a moment, then I slowly turned to face him. "Michael," I began, "why did you come to Petersburg?"
He took a small sip of his tea. "I came to ask for your help."
That warmed me to the core. Michael and I had been out of touch for over a decade, but he still felt secure enough in our bond to ask for my help. I had too few relationships like that. I smiled slightly. "Michael, all you have to do is ask. I'll help you however I can."
He looked gratified. "Thanks, Liz," he said, "but I'm not the one who needs your help right now."
I suddenly became very aware of the silence in the room, broken only by the steady tick of the clock. I licked my lips. "Who, then?" I asked.
Michael took a deep breath. "Max," he said. "Max needs your help."