Title: "Not sure yet." (Yes, that's a title.)

Part: 2

Author: Chris Kenworthy

Email: chrisk@fanfiction.net

Series: Roswell Dreams. Sequel to 'In another world.'

Rating: PG?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or premise of 'Roswell,' look for Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, or the Fox head honchos. I just write stories here. :]

Home archive: http://www.fanfiction.net/~chriskenworthy

Category: Alt universe, skewed reality season 1. UC couples leading to CC couples.

Spoilers: Pilot and 'Morning after'

"So," Maria called out to Alex as he rushed into the Crashdown kitchen after school that day. "You and Liz 'agreed to go out?'"

Alex paused in the middle of shrugging off his navy autumn jacket. Liz watched the developing scene with interest. "Yep." After that one word, Alex hung up the coat and picked up the heavy cloth apron he had to wear while working at the fryer or the grill.

"Did you two kiss last night?" Maria asked him with a sly smile.

Alex blinked in surprise, and Liz felt just as shocked. "No... I was assuming that would wait until after the date. If Liz gives the okay then, of course."

Maria pshawwed loudly. "Bass-man, this isn't the stone ages. Kiss her!"

Alex looked up at Liz. **I have to be blushing - he can probably see it from there.** "Well, maybe sometime, if the right opportunity presents itself before Saturday night..."

"No," Maria told him. "Right here, no more waiting. Kiss her!" When neither Alex nor Liz replied, Maria started making a chant of it. "Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!" To Liz's mortification, customers out in the dining room started to pick up the call. "KISS HER!! KISS HER!! KISS HER..."

"If you don't, Whitman, I just might," some guy, a junior from the high school at a table with his buddies called out. Liz cringed.

At that point, Alex nodded to himself, smiled apologetically, and took a step closer to Liz. She knew what he was trying to tell her, without any words spoken. 'Better just to get this over with.' At this point, Liz wasn't about to argue. She stepped forward to Alex herself, noticing that the stretch of wall between the kitchen door and the orders window was right between them, and that behind it, the people eavesdropping in the dining room wouldn't be able to see them clearly, if at all. It was the next best thing to not being in public for this.

Of course, Maria was right there in the kitchen with them, and as Alex awkwardly slipped his arms around Liz's waist and aimed for a peck on her cheek, Liz could tell that would *not* cut it with Miss DeLuca. Pushed on by imminent necessity and a strange sense of giddy carpe-diesm, Liz took Alex's head in her hands and brought his lips in a 'no kidding around', full-contact kiss.

She couldn't tell how long it lasted. It was nice... no, nice is something you say about the turquoise sweater your dad gets you for christmas. It was very close to great. Despite his nervous mannerisms, Alex Charles Whitman was a damn good kisser.

A smattering of applause from the 'gallery' broke Liz out of the moment. Flashing a thank you smile at Alex, Liz strode back through the kitchen door in full 'Assistant manager' mode. "Okay, okay, cut that out, nothin' ta see here. Business as usual at the Crashdown cafe," she announced out loud. "Back to your meals... is there anyone who needs their order taken? Right on that."

As Liz hurried over to the pair of thirtysomething women who had waved at her, Liz suddenly noticed that Max, Tess, and Isabel Evans were sitting in the far corner booth. When had they shown up? Had Max seen any of her kiss with Alex? And why on earth, (or any other planet, for that matter,) should that bother her?

* * * * *

Kathleen looked around a little in confusion as she stepped out of the Roswell National Airport arrivals building into the pickups area. Nothing in Bureau training had prepared her for something like this. Just yesterday she had been working at her desk job outside of Detroit and trying to persuade her supervisor that she was qualified for another field assignment. **Be careful what you wish for, Katy babe.**

An orange taxi pulled up right in front of her. "Hey, need a ride senora?" the driver, looking very much the part of an illegal Mexican alien, called out to her. Belatedly, Kathleen Topolsky remembered one of the few details she HAD been given about this mission before getting buncdled onto the plane.

"How much into the center of town?" Did the driver nod slightly as she said the code phrase?

"About fourteen, sixteen dollars." Phew, it was the correct countersign. This unlikely character was an FBI contact.

Kathleen reached for the back door to the taxi, and suddenly the driver hit the power locks down. What the...? Oh, of course -- in her relief she had forgotten to give the appropriate counter-countersign. "Sounds like a great bargain to me." Something that no ordinary traveler would likely say after hearing that price quoted.

Now the locks came up, and the driver/contact got out and helped Kathleen get her luggage into the back seat with her. "Entertainment," he said as he finished, pointing out a cd walkman hanging in a bag on the back of the front seats. "Please appreciate track nine." This was a low whisper to Kathleen as he backed out of the car to head back to his drivers' seat.

Once they were underway, Kathleen took the portable cd player, inserted the tiny speaker units into her her ears. Raucous latin melodies assalted her. Quickly she repeated the 'track forward' button until a tiny electronic display indicated nine.

"Hello Agent Topolsky," a man's voice said quietly. His tone somehow conveyed remarkable authority. "You're probably feeling somewhat confused right now, and I apologize for the necessary secrecy. I'll try to explain as much as possible now."

"Let's see..." and the voice on the other end of the headphones sighed likably. "First off, I'm Agent John Stevens, Assistant Director for Operation Green here in the southwest. On a recent trip to Roswell, I was apprised of a serious threat to freedom, peace, and the American way of life. What exactly that threat is I cannot go into here for two reasons - the conceivable mischance that this disk might fall into unauthorized hands before it can be destroyed, and the overwhelming probability that you, Agent Topolsky, are not yet ready to face the truth. Don't worry, though, I'll bring you up to speed soon."

Kathleen continued to listen in disbelief as the track played on. "What I can tell you about the enemy, for now, is that they exist at West Roswell High School -- at least while their classes are in session, they do."

"And now we approach the reason why you specifically, Kathleen Shaye Toposky of East Lansing, Michigan, have been summoned to New Mexico. You completed nineteen months of teacher's college before you were recruited by the Bureau. You have completed a field assignment with commendation, and your profile ranks you favorably in creativity, self-defense skills, determination, empathy, and loyalty. All of these things were required for the agent I would choose as my key operative."

"The Project Green team has set up a deep cover at the high school, and tomorrow morning you are going to move into that cover. Salvatore will provide you with the documentation on that. The code name of your assignt is simply 'West Roswell High,' Agent Topolsky. This recording will self-destruct in three seconds."

"Yeah, right," Kathleen muttered under her breath, but the walkman shook underneath her fingers and a peculiar sound came over the headphones. Curious, she opened the latch, and to her amazement the CD had shattered into at least several dozen pieces. Some large chunks were still together, but they looked like they were all from around the edge, where the decoy tracks would have been recorded. Further inside the shards were small and there was even some powder residue.

"Oh, senora!!" Salvatore (at least Kathleen assumed it was he,) cried out, the soul of apologetic concern. "Do not worry, I clean up, I clean up."

Kathleen smiled weakly and let the cab carry her onwards into the unknown.

* * * * *

"We don't know *anything* about them," Alex rambled from the armchair in his bedroom. "Not really, I mean. Max did *not* explain much to you, no offense intended, and who can tell if he was even on the level about the stuff he DID spill?"

"All very good points," Liz replied from the computer desk. "But all that is beside the point that we're *supposed* to be working on this hideous geography paper." Despite her teasing tone, Liz was worried. It wasn't like Alex to stay off on a tangent for so long. **He must really be freaked about this extraterrestrial thing.**

"I can't believe you're trying to play the whole thing down, Liz," Alex accused. "I mean, they're *aliens.* We d--"

"Don't use that word!" Liz interrupted. "Don't get into the habit, all right? Call them..." She racked her brain. "Call them Albanians, okay?? It's just one extra syllable stuck in the middle of -- that word."

Alex had to stifle a few snickers befor getting back to his tirade. "We don't know anything about... Albanians. We have no frame of refence to judge what they're telling us, and most of the important things they haven't even *tried* to answer. Where EXACTLY do these specifc Albanians come from? What are their people like?? And another thing... I hate to put it this way," and Alex shook his head sheepishly, "but the chances that Albanians would look almost exactly like us are billions to one against. They must have... made themselves look like 'Americans' somehow." The way Alex stressed the word American made it clear that it was the code word for human in the Albanian analogy, not the word Alex would have chosen if speaking freely.

"Yeah, yeah, you may be right," Liz admitted. "But what good does it do to obsess about stuff like that?"

"It gets us prepared to ask the right questions the next time your Albanian friends need our help," Alex said, standing up and looking out of his bedroom window. "Speaking of whom - Albanian alert."

Liz barely looked up from the textbook. "Which one?"

"The one with legs up to the Alps," Alex quipped. Liz shook her head and went over to look out the window. Sure enough, Isabel Evans was making her way up Alex's street, looking all around as she walked.

"What is she doing outside my house?" Alex asked. "They're spying on me, aren't they??"

Liz fought back a smile to half intensity. "Or maybe it's just possible she's walking from her place," she pointed a hand in the direction she was pretty sure the Evanses lived at, "to Michael's." Michael Guerin lived in the trailer park with his foster father, that much was common knowledge at West Roswell High. Liz pointed her second arm, and sure enough they were almost opposite and nearly parallel to Alex's street.

"Okay, okay, okay," Alex sighed. "I know when I'm licked. Social geography??" He walked back to the computer desk and took the chair Liz had been sitting in. Liz smiled and pushed the armchair closer.

"Oh, one more thing," Alex said, looking up and making eye contact. "Before we get too wrapped up in cultural ethnicity distributions, ha ha..."

"Yeah?"

"Our date Friday... is it okay if it's just slices of pizza and a walk in the park? I've got a bit of a cash-flow problem this week."

"Well, you don't have to pay for everything," Liz quickly disclaimed, "but that actually sounds really cool."

Alex blinked in surprise. "You sure??"

Liz thought about it for a second. "Yeah. I mean, we've been to the movies just as friends so many times that something like that wouldn't seem special, you know what I mean?"

"Cool." Alex smiled, and turned back to the computer. "So...."

* * * * *

"Tess and I were only talking about it a little on the way home from the Crash festival," Michael explained, turning and pacing back across the short 'bedroom' area of his foster dad's trailer. "But I think it's a chance we can't afford to pass up. We're in the clear now - if there's any way we can find out more about that 1959 alien then we should..."

"We're not *in the clear,* Michael," Isabel corrected. She was lying nearly upside down on his bed, her legs stretched up the wall of the trailer, her head hanging off the edge slightly as she looked at the reversed room... and reversed Michael. "Valenti's uncertain enough not to arrest Max or anything - by how small a margin we don't know. And he may have his suspicions about the rest of us too." She re-arranged herself, moving her legs over to a different wall so that the rest of herself would all fit on the bunk.

"So... you're not too wild about the idea of stealing the picture then??" Michael guessed with a wry grin.

"There's already a few too many humans in Roswell who know all about us," Isabel answered. "I'd rather not have James Valenti join the club."

Michael nodded. "Liz Parker and her little friend?"

"No, the *other* humans who recently found out all about us," she shot back witheringly. "Of course Liz and Alex Whitman."

"I dunno." Michael shrugged. "They seem pretty stand-up to me. I mean, I don't know them and I'd rather not have to hang out with them much, but they *did* save all our butts at the Crash."

"The only way to keep a secret is to KEEP IT," Isabel stated. "And we were doing a great job on that, the four of us, for years!! Then all of a sudden this Parker girl gets herself shot and what happens? Max heals her and tells her what he is. What *all* of us are. She tells Alex. Probably before you know it, Alex will tell his good friend Maria DeLuca, Maria will confess it all to her boy-toy Kyle and Kyle will rat us out to daddy!! Then where the heck are we gonna be? Our butts wouldn't have needed any saving at the Crash if..."

Isabel's tirade was interrupted at that point when Michael, who had leaned down next to her without her really noticing, bent over and kissed her on the lips. FOr a few second, Isabel went with it, kissing back and letting her hands drift up to hold Michael's strong, comfortable arms while that delicious feeling ran all the way through her body. Then it all came back to her and she yanked her face back away from Michael's. He stared at her in surprise.

"We... we shouldn't be doing that, Michael," she reminded him.

Michael stood up again and made an exaggerated show of scanning the entire trailer, looking for something. "Well... I don't see your parents here."

"It's not just that, Michael," she told him. "My parents are not the only reason I wanted to go on a break, and even if they were, I wouldn't tell them I wasn't seeing you and kiss you whenever they aren't around."

Michael started pacing again. "I thought we were only *pretending* to be on a break... my mistake, I guess. So..." He turned to face her. "What's the rest of it??"

Caught by surprise, Isabel played dumb while she got her thoughts in order. "The rest of what??"

"You know what I'm talking about," Michael said, shaking his head. "The rest of why you wanted to go 'on a break.'"

Isabel stood up from the bed and walked nervously over to lean against the other side of the trailer. "I just... I wanted some time to try and think all of this over. I mean... look at the situation from outside a second, Michael?? Are you really sure that you want to date me because of a mating instinct?? Sure that you want those dreams to tell you who to be with? Who to love???"

"I never needed the dreams to tell me that I loved you, Isabel," Michael said sincerely, looking straight into her eyes. Then that mischievous twinkle came back. "They just showed me a new *way* to love you."

Isabel shook her head at Michael's teasing. "I... I guess I'm not so sure. It's been months since the dreams - and there's a whole big world out there. Maybe the four of us have gotten tightly enough wrapped around in each other that we can't see it anymore."

"It's not *our* world, Isabel," Michael reminded her softly.

"But we live in it, don't we?" Isabel replied, and then sighed. "Well, I think that's more than enough talk about... this sort of thing, don't you??" She smiled over at Michael. "Your foster dad's gonna be home soon - wanna get dinner started??"

* * * * *

Kathleen reached up and knocked on the West Roswell High Principal's office door at precisely 8:47 am, just as the briefing papers she had gotten from the cab driver instructed. Why that time mattered she didn't know. (The FBI documentation had also instructed her to burn the papers once she had memorized them and flush the ashes down her hotel toilet - orders she had been happy enough to follow through on. Less aggravation than having to eat the paper at least.)

"What is it??" an irritated voice called from inside. Kathleen thought about how to answer that, and the challenge was suddenly modified to "I'm sorry, I'm sorry -- who is it, please??"

"Kathleen Topolsky," she replied, torn between confidence and trepidation.

"Who??" the mysterious voice answered, and then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. "Oh, yes." The door was smoothly opened to reveal a well-dressed African-american man in his late forties with short hair and a slightly receding hairline. "The state-appointed guidance counsellor?"

"Yes," Kathleen agreed, taking the hand that the handsome older man offered for her to shake. "William Forrester?"

"That's me," Forrester agreed with a small smile. "Sorry, but things are crazy this morning and we never heard that you would be coming until the 'confirmation letter' day before yesterday. The first Board memo must have gone astray."

"'Whatever can go wrong...'" Kathleen agreed, trying not to let too much of her smile show. Rule number two of manipulating bureaucracies - if you refer to a non-existent 'earlier communique' the non-arrival of such a message will be blamed on some ordinary snafu.

"Entirely too true this morning, I'm afraid," Forrester agreed. "It seems Murphy has moved in to stay. A group of animal-cruelty-conscious juniors have gotten the notion stuck in their heads that the Thursday 'mystery meat' is in fact veal, and are staging a protest rally in the cafeteria. Ants have been spotted in the drama rehearsing room... George Singer called in sick at the last moment with bronchitis and I can't seem to find a substitute..." He trailed off, a notion obviously occurring to him. "Miss Topolsky, would you feel comfortable covering a sophomore geometry class for me? Not exactly in your job description, I know, but I'm in a bind here."

Kathleen thought fast. No sense in getting Forrester upset with her right off the bat. "I'll give it the old college try, sir."

"Okay, umm... Tania" Forrester flagged down a woman walking down the small office hallway. "Could you show Miss Topolsky here to George's desk in the teacher's lounge so she can find his curriculum notes, and then point her in the direction of 116?"

"Umm... okay, sir," Tania replied after a moment's pause.

"I'm gonna go see if I can nip the veal situation in the bud," Forrester told Kathleen as he closed his door, "but I want to talk to you later about this vocational psychology stuff you did your Master's thesis on, Miss Topolsky!" He hurried off, leaving Topolsky to wonder exactly what Agent Stevens had put in her file he sent to the school and how she was going to talk her way out of this one.

"So..." Tania said as she led Kathleen back to the main student thoroughfare. "You're a new substitute??"

She thought a second. This might lead to more useful information than if the girl knew she was 'the new state-appointed guidance counsellor.' "Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, don't worry, our kids are pretty well-behaved. Usually. There was that time that the basketball team..." And the administrative assistant, (that was pretty much what Kathleen figured her role was,) started yattering on about some favorite student prank as she led Kathleen around.

When Kathleen finally got to the class she was substituting for, it was a few minutes after the bell had rung. She introduced herself as the substitute, turned to start calling the roll... and almost let her jaw drop open.

The files from Agent Stevens mentioned three names: Liz Parker, material witness. Alex Whitman, corroborating witness. Max Evans, suspect. (What he was suspected of wasn't even hinted at.) Before getting to Forrester's office, Kathleen had managed to find out, (through some non-subtle questioning,) that Max Evans was dating Tess Martin, so Kathleen had added that as a fourth name in her head with a question mark beside it. The girlfriend was always crucial in some way or another.

Three of those four names were on the roll for this class.

No Whitman, but Evans, Maxwell... (a handsome young man with a shock of short, dark brown hair and very soulful eyes,) Martin, Therese, aka 'Tess'... (a pretty, perky teenage girl with blonde curls, who seemed a little distracted,) and Parker, Elizabeth, (who looked like an old soul to Kathleen, with deep brown eyes that matched her long straight hair. She seemed unable to stop stealing glances at Ma when neither he nor Tess were looking.)

But Kathleen covered her shock and her inner thoughts well, she thought, as she called off the roll. A few students missing- Barbara Bunshner, Michael Guerin, and Steven Totham, none of whose absences seemed to surprise the other students, so Kathleen put it down to chronic ditch syndrome.

She had enough other things to worry about. Kathleen had always liked math, but it had been several years since she'd needed to know the formula for calculating the area of a parallelogram.

* * * * *

Liz packed up her books as quickly as she could and hurried after Max. "Hey, can we talk a sec," she puffed in a low whisper as she got close.

"Why would we want to?" Tess said pointedly from beside Max. Max shot her a look.

"What is it," he whispered back, as softly as Liz had.

Liz tried to get her thoughts together. "Umm, how've you been? We haven't really gotten a chance to talk since..."

"Liz," Max cut in intently. "We can catch up on small talk later. Was there something else?"

"Um, actually, there w-was," Liz stuttered out. "Did you... I don't know, notice anything weird about that substitute teacher?"

"She seemed about as normal as any other substitute teacher to me," Tess volunteered. "Not that *that's* a high bar to clear."

"There was something... I don't know how to put my finger on it," Liz insisted. "For one thing, she was looking at us."

"She's the teacher, Liz, she kinda *has* to look at us," Max said softly.

"No, not like that. She was staring at the three of us, especially you and me, Max. Whenever she didn't think anyone was paying attention to her, but after a little bit I started watching for it."

"Even if that's true, there are a hundred perfectly reasonable explanations for it," Tess put in. "Maybe you reminded her of her cousin. Maybe she thought Max was cute. Maybe she was trying to guess if the two of you were going steady or not. Maybe..."

"The point is," Max smoothly cut his exciteable and rambling girlfriend off, "you're feeling a little jumpy and getting suspicious for no good reason, Liz." He looked her in the eyes condescendingly. "We've all been through it at one point or another. The only thing to do is try your best to put it out of your mind and act as normal as you possibly can. Can you do th--"

"Hey! Liz!!" The call interrupted Max's urgent murmur, right before Liz would have had to decide whether to commit to something she didn't want to or risk upsetting Max and Tess. **Saved by the friend.**

"Maria!!" Flashing a quick goodbye wave to Max and his sweetie from below shoulder level, where it would be hard for Maria to see it with Liz's body in the way, she turned away from them to meet her oldest girlfriend. Liz knew that Max wouldn't be offended. It just didn't make sense to advertise her association with Max or his alien friends to Maria any more than she could help. "What's up?"

"Tonight," Maria opened up without preamble. "Girl's night in. We'll watch 'Sleepless in Seattle' on video or something."

"Um, I..." Liz shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts.

"We need to catch up," Maria reminded her. "You gonna be there?"

Liz smiled. "With bells on."

TO BE CONTINUED...