Part 6

Michael stood in the hallway outside Maria's bedroom, listening to the muted sounds of voices conversing in the nearby living room.  He had to tell them, had to walk out there and tell Amy that he'd found her daughter but had absolutely no idea how to get her back, not something he relished doing.  He closed his eyes, and ran a shaking hand across his face, removing it to open his eyes slowly.  He stared at the hand before him for a long moment, only now noticing the lines of filth etched into every crevasse.  Without thinking, he turned in the familiar hallway and headed towards the bathroom, wanting to at least make himself presentable before he faced the grief-stricken mother.  That his little side trip bought him more time had nothing to do with it… nothing at all.

Entering the bathroom, he fumbled with the soap, working up a bubbling overflow of volcanic lava in his hands as he scrubbed furiously at nearly seven years of grime.  Shifting the cleansing lather to his face, he stripped away the dirt, raw red skin glistening in its place.  Water dripped from his beard as he raised his eyes to stare at the stranger in the mirror.  His appearance had never been of the highest priority but years of no glamour powers at all had left him beyond disheveled and into the realm of downright dilapidation.

He snapped the elastic band holding his hair in place and stared at the long locks of hair that now flowed freely down his back, cursing at the complete lack of volume he had once fought so hard for.  Running his hands through the tangled mess painfully, he stopped when his fingers brushed his shoulders, letting the lower strands fall noiselessly to the floor.  Layers were next, necessary to give him any familiarity at all.  Before attempting them blindly, he fumbled inside his jacket, ripping apart a stitched together inner lining to remove a tattered photograph.  It was the same picture he had just seen in Maria's world and he ran his fingers over the faces slowly, settling on her glowing smile that masked a hidden sadness in her eyes.

It was taken on Graduation Day – six nearly identical Polaroids distributed by Jeff Parker before they headed off to the ceremony.  Michael had tucked his inside his leather jacket at the time, not giving it a second glance.  When they had been captured, he had somehow remembered it through all of the confusion and manufactured a crude pocket with conjured stitching to seal it from the hands of whatever enemy he faced.  He hadn't known its importance at the time, but in later years he couldn't sleep unless his hand rested within the privacy of his coat, fingering the edges of the sealed picture, remembering the faces immortalized there for all time.

Now, he shifted his gaze to rest upon his own 18-year-old face, so different from the lined reflection peering back at him.  He studied the hairstyle, wincing slightly as he created the messy locks once more.  They had never been his exact favorite, but he knew they were familiar to her and that was the crucial point right now – to give her as much familiarity as possible to create whatever comfort he could.  He had no real idea of how he could persuade her to rejoin him in this universe, but he knew that convincing her that he had never died was the very first step and to do that he had to look like himself.

Satisfied with the hair, he moved his hands along his face, vanquishing the beard to reveal an aged chin beneath.  The lines were the next thing to go and he glanced back at the old picture to remember how.  He stopped as his hands rested on his cheeks, the power surging through them in anticipation of the instant facelift.  He lowered them slowly, tilting his head as he examined every crack in the once smooth skin.  Each and every line represented a day of battle on Antar; a day he had fought yet another overzealous guard trying to attack Isabel or Liz; a day he had protected a weak-spirited Max after he had given up completely; a day he had watched yet another friend die at the hands of the fiercest and most cowardly enemy he had ever known.

He decided they should remain, a symbol of what he had faced, evidence he could use to explain why he had taken so long to come for her – and he was sure he would need some supporting argument to convince her.  He had always needed one in this world, why should a Maria-created world be any different.

Running his hands over the rest of his body, he removed the remaining dirt as best he could, knowing that an hour long shower was the only real cure.  His clothes he would burn as soon as he could find new ones, but for now the baggy jeans and T-shirt would have to suffice, even if they did emphasize the loss of weight he had never needed to lose in the first place.

Resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't wait any longer before facing the anxious parents waiting in the next room, he opened the bathroom door slowly, shuffling down the hall quietly.

"Mi…" Amy started before stopping, her mouth falling open as she looked up at the transformed stranger before her.

"I uh… I used your bathroom, if that's… if you don't mind," he mumbled.

"No, no," she said quickly, standing up to reach out to him.  Grasping his hand tightly, she pulled him across the room, forcing him into a chair near the couch, returning to her place beside Jim.  "It's fine dear.  Consider this your home, for as long as you want."

The blatant hope in her voice did not go unnoticed by him, or Jim, and as Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Jim reached out to squeeze Amy's hand reassuringly.  "Let him decide, remember?" he said to her softly.

Michael flicked his gaze between the two overly hopeful faces sitting before him.  He worried that whatever decision he made would be embraced by one and merely tolerated as necessary by the other.  He couldn't save both of their children, not at once, and the decision to choose one over the other was sure to be devastating.

"Well, I…" he started, stopping immediately to chew his lip nervously.  "I think I know what I should do, but I'm… but I'm not going to do that."

Amy held her breath as Jim shifted his gaze to focus blankly on the muted television, both knowing they took false hope that he choose the path for their child and silently cursing themselves for it.

"I need to go back, to last year and try to stop it from happening at all.  It's the only way to prevent all of it but there's a risk… one I'm not willing to take."  He raised his eyes to settle first on Amy's, then Jim's, before falling back to his foot tapping restlessly on the floor and squinting slightly.  "If I fail, if I don't reach her in time, or if she can't stop us from leaving, then this all happens, we get captured and she ends up here, like this… like this zombie," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion that he had fought so hard to repress until now.  "I can't leave her like this.  I won't," he mumbled, his strength vanishing as he heard Jim sigh and watched the smaller man stand up from the couch.

Michael raised his eyes to the only man who ever resembled a paternal figure in his life and shook his head imperceptibly.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I can't risk it, she's so lost," he gasped, lowering his head as tears pricked at his eyes.  He heard Amy's quiet sobbing and stiffened as he felt Jim's hand seize upon his shoulder.

"I wouldn't have you do anything else," he said softly, his own emotions fighting to break free of the self-imposed barriers.  "Maybe… after…"

"Of course," Michael said quickly, raising his head to stare at the man standing over him.  "You know I will, I'll never stop trying to fix it all, I just can't leave knowing… knowing that she…"

Amy interrupted the two men as she stood and melded her body to her partner's.  "Jim loves Maria like his own Michael, but Kyle…"  Looking at the man who had saved her when the only reason she ever had for living had nearly ceased to exist, she blinked back further tears, her voice cracking as she continued, "I want you to save him too, and yourself… everyone.  It's too much to even ask you to try, but you're everything now, the only way any of us are ever going to find even a shred of peace, and if you can just even try to find her first, bring her back even just a little, I'll send you back to save the rest with my blessings."  Bending down on her knees to meet her soon to be savior at eye level, she embarrassed him to no end as she leaned in and took him into her arms.  "Just try, okay?" she whispered against his neck.  "That's all either of us can ask."

Fighting the urge to cry endlessly against his shoulder, Amy pulled back and pushed Jim ahead of her towards the kitchen.  She both wanted time alone with him and knew that Michael couldn't stand another second of over-the-top emotional outpourings.  They had talked about what he would possibly decide while he was in her room, and although she knew Jim desired to have even the chance at getting his son back, she also knew Maria's sanity was a priority to him as well and loved him even more for supporting whatever decision the boy made.

In the now deserted living room, Michael swiped at his eyes roughly, cursing himself for falling prey to their emotional outbursts.  He had to be the rock he had once played so well in this universe, had to turn off whatever weaknesses he had towards the situation and face it rationally.  Even as he formed the thoughts, he knew that emotions were in reality the only key to ever reaching the trapped girl lying just mere feet away from him.

Standing up quickly, he turned and strode back down the hallway, his hunger and tiredness pushed aside for the moment as he drummed up the stamina for another battle with the girl under the stairs – the only girl he had ever loved, the only girl he was living for now.  Gritting his teeth, he pushed open her door and stepped inside, bracing himself for the wall she had doubtlessly erected in his absence.

~~~~~

Cursing beneath his breath, Michael stared at the newly nailed-shut hole in the wall of Maria's house and pushed himself away from it quickly.  He had fought winds nearing tornado strength to enter the house this time, the previously serene environment replaced by howling gales when he connected with her again.  He had eventually succeeded, slamming the door shut behind him forcefully as he sought refuge within her protective walls.  Now he just had to convince her to come out and talk to him, difficult seeing that she had nailed herself within the hiding space.

"Maria, I'm just here to talk to you again," he said loudly, knowing that she could hear him perfectly well but feeling foolish standing alone in a hallway talking to a boarded up wall.  "I'm going to open this hole, okay?  I just need to see you for a minute."

Falling to his knees, Michael examined the carpentry work covering the hole.  The boards were covering the outside of the opening, the nails driven in from his position.  He turned his head to look around the narrow hallway – if he knew Maria at all, he knew that she wouldn't just "imagine" nails being in place, but nails, a hammer, and extra boards as well.  He smiled to himself when he saw the small pile of tools resting in the corner of the hallway and reached over the grasp the hammer tightly.

Prying the nails out of the wood took only a few minutes, and he had soon created a hole large enough for her to fit through, even if he could only squeeze his head and shoulders inside.  Bracing himself for a certain slap in the face, he leaned through the gap and waited for his eyes to adjust to the murky darkness.

"Ria?"

She had huddled quietly inside her sanctuary while he worked, watching him steadily destroy the safety she had so carefully crafted.  Now she felt no fear towards the imposter, just irritation.

"Persistent aren't you?" she snapped coldly.

"Hey," he breathed happily, overjoyed to hear the familiar tones in her voice – irritation was definitely one of her strong suits.  "Think you can talk to me for a bit?"

"If you'll tell me who you are?" she countered.  She had pulled herself back as far as she could inside her space and knew he couldn't reach her from his awkward position half hanging out of the opening.  She'd talk to him, but only from here, she reasoned.

"It's really me," he said softly, the disappointment at hearing her ask the question evident in his voice.

Maria examined what features of him were visible thoughtfully.  He no longer looked like the miscreant that had peered through her hole earlier, but actually resembled the Michael she had loved before they killed him.  His hair was the same, and the light that fell on his earlobe revealed it to be the same one she had caressed in so much detail when they had been together.  His brow glistened with sweat, a familiar Michael sign that appeared whenever he entertained physical labor, and, more than anything, there was the smell wafting across her nostrils.  He smelled clean, simple, like a freshly soap-scrubbed body with no hint of invasive colognes – he smelled like Michael.  Was it possible?

No.

Really?

Well, maybe…

"I'll talk to you," she replied finally.  "But I still don't believe you."

Surprising herself that she didn't fear him, she leaned forward, indicating that he should retreat from the space, allowing her room to exit.  She crawled through the opening easily, brushing dust from her skirt as she stood.  He had stepped back to give her room and now she turned her head to find him, her breath catching in her throat when her eyes finally took in the complete picture.

It WAS him – all of him, standing before her so characteristically nervous as he shuffled his feet slightly and shifted his gaze upon being examined.  She took a tentative step towards him, raising a hand towards his chest as her mouth opened, closed, then hung open again.

"It's you?" she queried.

He had no words to respond as he stared at the eerily familiar image before him.  She looked just as she had on the last day he had seen her, still dressed in the skirt and top she had worn to Graduation, the outfit she wore in the picture he carried next to his heart for the past seven years, the outfit she was wearing when she had unknowingly chased after him on that desert road so long ago.

"You look the same," he mumbled, stepping towards her slowly.

She tilted her head as she reached her hand ever closer towards him.  "You look… different," she replied.

"Just older," he said with a small smirk.

"And colder," she added softly, stretching her arm through the final inches to lay her hand atop his heart.

"Maria," he whispered, raising his hand to hers.

"No," she murmured softly, shaking her head as tears poured freely from her eyes.  "It looks like you, it… it feels like you…"

"It is me," he mumbled, finally erasing the distance separating them as he pulled her to his chest and crushed her mouth with his.  She moaned softly from between his lips succumbing to the torturous temptation, giving herself back to him like she had longed to do every day since he had been taken from her.

Taken… he HAD been taken, killed, she had watched it happen… she was sure she had watched it happen.

Pulling back from him, she panted slightly, running her tongue along her already swollen lips lightly as she kept her gaze focused squarely on his chest.  His eyes were what revealed him to be who he claimed to be, but his eyes were too dangerous for her to look into now, acknowledging the truth that he hadn't died and had just left her instead was too painful and she knew that if she recognized that fact she would lose whatever thread of sanity she now clung to.

"Well, if you didn't… if you're not…"

"He just made it look that way, baby.  Kivar, he… he captured all of us, took us back to Antar and kept us there.  I tried to get back to you, but I couldn't, not until now.  I came back… back from the future…"

He stopped as he lifted her head with his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.  "I can explain everything to you, I can make it all up to you, you just have to come back with me, okay?"

A shadow fell across her face as she listened to him say the very words she had known he would and prayed he wouldn't.  "You want me to leave here?" she asked, her mouth quivering as her head shook slowly.  "You didn't come to help me, you came to hurt me!"  Her voice ascended into a screaming rage as she twisted violently in his grasp and beat her hands against his chest in an attempt to break free.  "Let go of me!" she yelled.  "You aren't Michael.  Michael wouldn't take me to them… he wouldn't make to go!"

"Maria, Maria!"  he shouted, shaking her forcefully as he fought to regain control of the situation.  What had happened?  What had he said to make her react to violently?

"I'm not going to hurt you!  I just want you to live again.  Come back with me and we can just talk, please!"

"You live here," she whimpered softly, ceasing her struggling but still pushing her body back from his.  "With me."

Michael closed his eyes briefly, sighing as he admitted the impossibility of her request.  "I can't live here, you know that.  This is your place, not mine.  You have to come with me… it's the only way."

"I know," she said quietly, nodding her head in defeat.

Michael released the hold he had on her, reaching up to smooth wisps of hair from her face.  "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked quickly, whirling away from him.

"Maria, no!" he shouted, realizing that she had no intention of leaving this place.  He fell back into a defensive stance, determined that she wasn't going to dive back into the hole he had just reopened.  She sidestepped towards it and he blocked her move, planting his body firmly in front of the entrance.

"No, you can't go in there again.  Don't hide from me, not now."

She stared at him for a moment, tears streaking down her cheeks as she watched him mount a battle against her.  He was here to hurt her, just like they had been trying to for so long.  Turning quickly to the side, she bounded up the stairs, escaping his grasping hands as he lurched after her.

"Maria, come back!" he shouted, running after her as she took the steps two at a time.  The slight lead she had on him held and she slammed the first door at the top of the stairs shut as she barricaded herself inside.

"You're not him!" she yelled through the 100-year-old wood.

"Maria!" he called, slamming his fist against the door as he collapsed against it.  "Maria please!"  He turned his head as he heard a window at the end of the hall fly open and felt a forceful gust of wind blow inside.  "Maria!" he called again, hanging onto the doorknob with one hand as the wind increased its strength and he fought to keep his footing.  "Don't do this!"

The wind she could conjure in her mind was far more powerful than any natural phenomenon and Michael felt his feet slide as the breathy tentacles pried his fingers from the knob.  Any attempt he made to speak was pointless as the air ripped his words from his lips and left him speechless and gasping.  He released his final hold on the door as he flew backwards down the hallway and slammed into the far wall.  The force of the hit wasn't nearly as powerful as it should have been and he opened his eyes to find himself once again toppled over on the floor of her room.

"God damn it!" he swore, scrambling to his feet as he looked down upon her figure lying on the bed.  She had changed her position again, now curled in a ball with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her arms locked around her ankles.  She looked scared, her face contorted in pain as she shook her head slowly.

She shook her head.

Michael fell to his knees beside her bed, reaching a hand out to hover just above her arm.  He couldn't touch her, couldn't risk breaking the trance she had fallen into.  She was moving, on her own, right before his eyes, and the fact that he had caused it through fighting with her was at once painful and elating.  He jumped to his feet, bounding across the room to fling open the door.

"Amy!  Jim!" he shouted.

The pair raced from the kitchen, immediately assessing the urgency in Michael's voice.  "What?  What is it?"

"It's Maria," he panted, holding open the door to let them see the tiny girl still moving on the bed.  "I think she's coming back."