Part 12
Michael sat in the darkened corner of Maria's bedroom, staring at her stiff form displayed on the bed. After she had shown him her own personal album of torment, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms inside the tiny space. Just as before, when he had awoken he was no longer inside the house, having crossed back into reality at some point during his slumber.
Now, he sat quietly staring at her, the urge to lay down beside her once more overpowering as he forced himself to sit steadily in his chair, thinking, waiting, wondering. His mind was clouded with conflicting thoughts of what his next course of action should be. He had told Jim the limited details Maria had garnered from the house and he now had the full power of the Roswell police force working on a location for Sigmund Solutions. He promised Michael that it would only be a matter of time before they had an address and could attack.
The tears glistening in Jim's eyes when he spoke of the possibility of getting his son back did not go unnoticed by the burly alien, and it only served to make his next decision all the harder. To go or to stay; to leave the Deluca home and pursue an unsure path in the hopes that they had even the slightest chance at successfully rescuing the captured teens, or to stay here, with Maria, and continue helping her back into the world she had abandoned, the promise that he had made so readily just a day before.
It should have been an easy conclusion—first save her, then save the others. That he was one of "the others" did not factor into his decision, for he had long ago decided that should he ever be given to the chance to prove his love for her again, he would die to do it. He was sticking to that promise now.
The problem wasn't his resolve to save her, it was hers. She had always possessed a strength of spirit beyond description and now it was that very strength that was forcing him to leave her trapped inside her body. He knew that she would never agree to leave her house while she held a connection to the present-world him, and to break that connection he would have to rescue the captive body of his former self, a deed which meant that he could never return to finish the promise he had made to her.
As soon as he rescued Michael from 2003, Michael circa 2009 would be no more. One change in the destiny that sent the teens to Antar, and the man sitting in her bedroom right now would cease to exist, never having been created from the torture that was his life for so long.
He sighed as he rose to his feet, the new clothes he wore, courtesy of Jim and Amy, swaying stiffly on his lean figure as he crossed the room to stand beside her prone form. She was beautiful when she slept, the tension easing from her muscles just enough to permit him to imagine that she would open her eyes at any moment and rise from the bed to rejoin in him this world. He longed for one more touch of her skin, one more feel of her body next to his, but would not permit himself such luxury. If he had to leave her, he had to do it with a strong mind, giving into the desire to hold her in his arms once more was counterproductive, sure to crumble his resolution to leave completely.
He was just turning to leave her room when he heard a soft moan from her lips and turned back to her quickly. She had moved only slightly on the bed, the difference imperceptible except that he had imprinted the image of her on his brain, memorizing her position for the long journey ahead. He smiled as he looked at her, thankful again that she was blissfully asleep when suddenly her eyes flew open.
The change to her body was immediate, her muscles tensing into a statuesque form as the full effect of her catatonia took over and she was once more trapped in the prison of her own design. Her eyes stared directly at him yet were unseeing, looking right through the solid form before her, peering into the imagined distance beyond. The low cry that escaped his lips was not conscious, rather the effect of the comforting image of her safe inside her body being shattered within his head.
She was not safe, she was trapped, and he had to see her one last time to try and coax her back into the relative safety of this world, even if it was one where she had no remnants of the friends she held so dear. He sat down in the chair beside her bed, reaching his hand out slowly to grasp tightly around hers. Even as he connected, he knew that any attempt to bring her back with him was futile. It was just the excuse he needed to tell himself to justify his entering her sanctuary once again. It wasn't because he needed to see her, it wasn't because he needed to say good-bye, it wasn't…
~~~~~
"And so I can see everything you see," she finished excitedly, staring at the aged Michael before her with wide eyes. "You see?"
He had to smile at her enthusiasm; to say it was contagious was an understatement—the entire house was lit with her renewed spirit, light spilling from lanterns throughout the rooms, the dusty picture frames on her bookshelf shining from a fresh cleaning, her voice once more finding the delicate lilt he had always loved so much.
"I see," he said quietly, sitting back against the old couch in her kitchen to watch her continue her animated story. She was explaining how she had connected with the present-day him again, taking her time to explore every aspect of the building he was housed in. She had felt as though she were literally in the world he knew until she turned into a new hallway and saw a black void stretching before her. Continued exploration revealed that she was confined within the limits of his knowledge, only the places he had been taken during his time in captivity able to be recovered from his memory. His existence consisted of brief interludes of consciousness followed by plummeting drops into a drug-induced abyss. Only the scraps of information he was able to witness while awake were available to her, and even those could not be recalled by him. His brain simply never woke enough to process and properly store the information he saw, it took the clarity of her own mind to make sense of the fragmented memories jostling around inside his head.
"You'll still be careful?" he asked softly, his worry at her newfound adventure ability not lessened by the fact that she was still physically anchored in the real world. If this experience had shown him anything, it was that their physical bodies didn't have much say in where their actual spirits existed; to have her lose herself between the realms she was crossing with such abandon was a fear he could barely give form to.
"Always," she replied in kind, stilling her body from its pacing in front of him to retake a seat by his side. "And you'll be careful too?"
"Of course," he mumbled, unable to meet her questioning eyes with his own.
"And you'll come back to me?"
"Maria," he breathed.
"It's okay," she said quickly and quietly, biting her lip as she fought back the tears she had heroically suppressed all day. She had figured out the conclusion to their little drama this afternoon, mentally kicking herself for not realizing it sooner—Michael was going to save himself and the others from going to Antar and then promptly vanish from this world, his existence having only occurred in her memory.
"There can't be two, right?" she questioned.
His eyes closed as he shook his head slowly—she knew, of course she knew, she had always known his secrets, even before he had figured them out sometimes. "No," he whispered. "There can't be two."
"So you have to go," she mumbled.
"I can't say goodbye to you," he breathed quickly, the desperation in his voice as he prepared himself for the unknown battle glaringly obvious.
"Then don't," she replied simply.
"I have to go," he said firmly, the strength in his voice more for himself than her. "And I can never come back. You have to understand that," he implored her. "Even if I don't succeed, altering our path just a little will change everything. I won't exist, there'll be nothing."
"There'll always be something," she murmured softly, her hand drawing a delicate line along his face. "I know you Michael. I've always known you. If you fail, if they don't come back, then I know you'll try again…"
"But I'll be…"
"No," she stopped him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "There will always be a you and me. In some universe, across some dimension, there will always be an us, and we will find our way to each other, no matter what the obstacle."
Michael stared at the girl before him, awed by the simple power of her faith in the love they had once so easily thrown away. A part of him knew her to be correct, knew that the words she spoke were accurate—if he couldn't make this venture work, he'd find another way. He had fought through seven years of abhorrent torture to find his way back to her in this place, he had to believe that his mind was strong enough to withstand the same battle again if necessary, determined enough to search out another bridge to span the distance separating them.
"Promise me you'll come back," he mumbled to her, his eyes seeking out the answer he so desperately wanted on her face.
"After," she replied simply, not wanting to fight with him about her resolve to stay in the house.
Michael stared at her thoughtfully, every instinct in his body telling him to scream at her, shake her forcefully, grab her tightly within his arms and run from the house until he somehow found a way back to reality, her body still held tightly in his grasp, but he didn't… he didn't do anything, he didn't say anything, he just stared at her, smiling despite his frustration at the stubborn streak she had always called him on that now presented itself so clearly in her.
"Just as long as you do," he responded hollowly.
She smiled at him, knowing how badly he wanted her to be safe but sure that she was making the right decision by staying here. Michael needed her, he needed her and she had no intention of leaving until he was safe. Once he was, then…
"Come here," she murmured to the saddened man sitting before her, reaching out her hand to clasp his. She stood, tugging gently for him to follow as she led him up the stairs to the bedroom they had occupied last night. Pushing him ahead of her to the blanket-covered surface, she made him stop when seated, reaching down to grasp the edge of his new T-shirt carefully.
"Off," she commanded, pulling it swiftly over his head.
He laughed, complying with her order, no other option available to him even if he wanted to resist.
Her eyes grazed briefly over his wounds, returning to his face to stare at him seductively. Without words to break the tension building between them, she pressed her hand to his shoulder, guiding him to lie down on the surface. Satisfied that he was positioned correctly, she climbed atop him, straddling his hips with hers. Her hair tickled the surface of his bare chest teasingly as she leaned forward, her right hand trailing a path of fire from his waistband to his collar bone, the gentle heat from her touch warming his body as she moved.
"Mmm," he murmured softly, his body rising off the surface slightly as he anticipated the feel of her full body against his. She denied his unspoken wish, instead moving her hand to linger on his left shoulder, the sparks from her fingers burning his skin just slightly as she remained in one place for too long.
The sparks from her fingers.
His eyes flew open as he turned his head to stare at her hand hovering just above his shoulder. A glowing light emanated from her fingertips, a bright spark of power exploding whenever she came into contact with the surface of his skin.
"Wha…" he muttered.
"Look what I can do," she teased lightly, wiggling her fingers at him, a gleeful smile plastered to her face.
"How? When?"
"Your powers I think, and since this morning."
"Holy…"
She laughed out loud at his reaction, obviously enjoying the newfound ability to demonstrate an alien power. "Relax," she reassured him. "I kind of like it."
The grin that spread across his face was beyond his control, no amount of force could prevent him from smiling at the radiance that she exuded; she was elated, and it was because of him—it had been far too long since he had effected that emotion in her.
"So does that explain where all the dust on those pictures disappeared to?"
"Um…" she mumbled, a bight flush spreading across her cheeks.
She had always hated cleaning, he remembered. The sparkling house should have been a dead give away when he entered. "So you've got a taste of the gift, hey?"
"Yeah," she said softly, lowering her hand to his body again. "And watch what I can do."
She started at the upper edge of his scar spanning his chest, moving slowly and steadily along the surface, a look of utter concentration painted on her face. At first, he wanted to slap her hand away, the scar the only reminder of the torture he had suffered, a reminder he felt he needed to prevent him from ever forgetting what he had endured to get to this place.
As her hand moved, he felt himself calming, the joy in her eyes spreading out to encompass him completely. He didn't need a scar to remind him of Antar, he didn't need to remember his time there at all. This was a new time, or rather an old time, and it was a chance for him to change the path his life had veered upon. He had the chance to prevent Antar from ever happening at all, to erase the pain of that experience from his life, and a perfect first step was to remove all traces of the place from his body. Regretfully he would always have the memories, but he suddenly he felt as though he didn't need those any longer either, content to treat them as a faded reminder of sacrifice and accomplishment, not torture and sorrow.
His hand raised to meet hers where the scar ended at his waistline, her concentration breaking as she met his penetrating gaze cautiously.
"Yes?" she whispered, too late to seek out permission but doing it anyway, needing the reassurance of his agreement to continue.
He nodded and she slid her hand out of his gentle grasp, sliding it across his torso to focus on the bruising near his left side, finishing with a slow swipe along his collarbone to remove the fresher wound.
His body as a perfect entity once more flooded him with surging emotions, the contrast between the pain still lingering in his brain and the apparent normalcy of his body a sharp reminder that he did not belong in this reality, not fully.
"Promise me something?" he asked her gruffly.
Maria swung her leg across his body, sliding down to rest her head on the perfect expanse of chest as she answered, "Anything."
His hand tangled with her hair as he struggled to get through the words he had formulated to say to her. Originally they were to be written in a letter, his pathetic attempt at saying goodbye to her delivered with pen and paper, not with voice and emotion—he didn't know if he could say them aloud.
"I… I want you to take care of him, of me," he said quietly, tipping his head back so that he wouldn't have to meet the questioning gaze she pointed in his direction. "No matter how stubborn I get sometimes, just hang in there will you? He needs you… I need you."
"Michael," she whispered, slinking along his torso until she had raised herself over his face, his eyes no longer able to hide from her direct stare.
He swallowed heavily, aware that he was pushing a lot onto her shoulders right now, but it needed to be said, he was hot-headed to the nth degree and without the influence of her love in his life, he was sure that it would take him another seven years to come to his senses, time he didn't want his present self to waste.
"Just tell him to love you, okay?" he added, his lip trembling slightly as he watched her face contort to the edge of madness, fighting back tears of her own. "And tell Kyle to bite the bullet and tell Isabel he loves her already," he mumbled, anxious to both get the sentiment out and push the tension between them off to the side.
"Kyle loves Isabel?"
Maria asked wide-eyed.
"Isn't it obvious?"
She smiled, yeah, she thought, it was a little obvious. "Okay, will do," she grinned.
"While you're at it, tell Isabel that she does deserve to be happy, no matter who it's with, she deserves it. And tell her that I was never prouder of her then when she was on Antar. She's tougher than I ever imagined."
"You really want me to tell them all this? Tell them how?"
He nodded slowly, seeking out reassurance for his intentions in her gaze. "They'll want to know. I don't want the big parade, I just want them to be safe, and they'll have questions."
Before she could respond, he continued his message with, "You have to tell Liz and Max something too. Liz… she's one of the bravest people I know, what she did… well I wish we all could have been so strong. And for God's sake, tell Max that he doesn't have to save everyone. We might just figure it out by ourselves if he left us alone."
"Well that one's obvious, right?" she asked, smiling.
"To Max?"
"Gotcha."
Michael stared at her silently, his message delivered, the last task he had to take care of in her house completed. Now all he had left to do was leave…
He jerked his hands up suddenly, grabbing her face roughly as he tipped her over on the bed, covering her body with his. Her eyes widened at the sudden change in his behavior but no fear resided there, only rays of love spreading out to surround his still tortured soul. No amount of alien healing power could ever erase the scars he carried inside and she knew now that what he needed more than anything from her was to leave this place satisfied, sure that she was going to be okay in the life he could not share with her.
She raised her hand slowly to the face that caressed her lips passionately and poured her love into every gesture. He had saved her, even if not physically, she knew that her life would never be the same after the trip across time and space that he had made… for her, he had come to save them and stayed to save her, a gift so precious that she knew in a hundred years of loving him she could never completely repay it, though she fully intended to try.