BELIEVING THE LIE
TV Show: Roswell
Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell. In fact I don't own anything of value to anyone. I have no car. I live with my parents and about too many credit card bills. So there!
Author's Note: First-time fanfic writer so please be kind.
Rating: R for language
Summary: M/M. Maria confronts issues in her life when she was forced to face them right after graduation and before Liz's wedding.
Genre: Angst
Chapter 7: Coming to Grips
It was dark out when I came to. If not for the soft light, I couldn't make out anything at all. Then I see him sitting in the corner, his head bowed and shoulders hunched forward. I was hoping, he'd be gone and I wouldn't have to explain what's going on because it's easy enough to tell him what but I don't have any answers for why. Not even after all these years.
''Hey there. Don't go soft on me Spaceboy. I don't do drama that well.'' I try to make light of the situation but it comes out flat because my voice was too soft and scraggly like I just woke up with a head cold. Even before my Mom comes in with the attending physician, I know it's back.
He looks up startled, straightens out and pulls his chair nearer my bed. "How are you feeling?"
I couldn't resist goading him and I raise an eyebrow in what I hoped looked indulgent but incredulous. Michael rakes his fingers through his hair and he looks just like that time we were on our first road trip together. He clears his throat, ''Okay. Scratch that. Stupid question. Do you want anything? Are you comfortable?''
I can sense that he is getting nervous, like he's afraid I might die on his watch. So I have to be the calm one, much as I'd like not to pass up on this chance to piss him for some reason.
''Relax Michael. Where's my Mom?" I try to sit up but I couldn't and I have to accept his help. The effort leaves me short of breath.
"Do you want me to call her?"
I shake my head. "Sick sinus syndrome."
"What?"
"It's a heart dysfunction common in older folks where the heart is in flux and behaves erratically. I've had it since I was a kid. But then there are ways in which it could be controlled so it's no biggie. They first pegged it to be sinus bradycardia - it's like when your heart beats slower than usual. Nothing to worry about 'coz it just means my heart is efficient at pumping out the juice and all." I try to grin at him but it somehow misses the effect that I've been aiming at considering that I'm lying prone instead.
"Oh God." His voice quivers slightly at the end as he lets out a ragged breath, "How come you didn't tell me? Who knows?"
"Well, it isn't that serious really. Lots of young people and athletes have sinus bradycardia and lead normal lives."
He crosses his arms against his chest, "So if it isn't anything important, then how come you passed out? How come you're lying in a hospital bed? What aren't you telling me? I'm not a stupid little kid Maria."
"Michael, this is why I never told anybody. I don't like people fussing or worrying about me. I'm fine." I catch my breath and Michael's brow furrows in thought. I'm not ready for this verbal judo. "As interesting as this conversation is to you, my medicines are probably kicking in. I don't want to be rude and boot you out but I'm really tired." I close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep.
I remember reading in a book once how the eyes move rapidly from left to right in REM state and so I try to do that in hopes that Michael believes me but I can feel him watching me for a long time. I guess he was thinking he can catch me at my game but I've been an expert at this pretend-sleep. I used to do that before when my Mom would bring home her stray of drunkards and good-for-nothing bums she used to call her boyfriends - a collection of characters fashioned from a study of every woman in this world's moment of horrendous bad taste. Just another thing I should thank the Valenti men for. They saved my Mom and in a way they saved me.
I didn't see or hear from Michael for two weeks. Not even after I checked out. My trip to Ethiopia was -- not surprisingly -- cancelled pending a better prognosis. I still intend to go to my grand-parents' for awhile under pretense of getting more sunshine -- not that Roswell wasn't hot enough already. Actually, I am going there to avoid Michael (yet again), which wasn't necessary to begin with because he was determined to make himself -- in a word -- scarce.
By this time Liz and Max have left. Isabel was in a world of her own and Kyle was busy working two shifts to save up enough money to go to Michigan State. I'm glad that people are going on but I worry about Michael. I'm still holding out on the possibility of going somewhere far and making a difference there but I couldn't stand it if Michael ends up drifting to nowhere. I want him to do something and break through the inertia of his own making and I never got a chance to thank him. That and I feel guilty for being rude. For lying. For making a mess in his life yet again. So I look for him everywhere and find him at the topmost bleacher of Roswell High's football field in the middle of the day. You got to hand it to this guy because he knows I hate sweating and I'd never figure out where he'd be. But I am resolved and as I am coming from the opposite side of the field where he was sitting I know that he saw me. Between the distance and the height I'd have to scale I pretty much gave him every chance to walk out but he sits there, watching me as I come closer. So finally, sweaty and out of breath I reach him then he leans back and turns his head away from me
I hold my hand up with my middle and ring finger apart in the universal Star Trek gesture, "Hey there. Waiting for Scotty to beam you up to your rock?" Okay, that was lame and low but it was worth a try.
He looks at me, annoyed. Then blinded by the sun, he snaps his head back to some abstract point in the distance. Normally I know when to leave him alone and when he is looking like that, his brows drawn together in a scowl, I'd know better than to talk to him but this can't wait.
"Oooh. The silent treatment. So what's the occasion?"
He turns to me with his face inscrutable as it mirrors a myriad of emotions. Frustration. Anger. Regret. Pain. Fear. "Maria, so help me God, two things. One, will you need an operation to put in a pacemaker? And two, how come Max and Is knows but I, your "boyfriend"," and he makes air quotes while he says this, "-- okay I'm sorry -- EX-boyfriend don't know?"
I'm surprised and consider suing Dr. whats-his-face for violation of doctor- patient confidentiality. Then I jump to the conclusion that Michael -- the idiot! -- may have broken in and stolen my records. I mean he's done it before. "Hey buster! What were you thinking?! You could've gone to jail for breaking and entering into a doctor's office. How could you go through personal records? My personal records at that?..." My voice raised. All thoughts of being the bigger person, being contrite was erased from my mind. How dare he?!
He stands up in haste and snaps at me hotly "Relax Sherlock! I didn't do anything illegal. I looked up your condition on the internet which by the way you said was sinus bradycardia but when I looked it up guess what I found? Here let me read it to you." Michael fishes in his jean pocket a crumpled piece of paper and starts to read off it which I know by now means that I need not explain to him anything. " 'The most common cause of sinus bradycardia is sick sinus syndrome' and then I wondered. Wait, I remember you saying that you had that before and this brady-whatever was just a symptom of it and so, I read the rest. It says ' Patients with sick sinus syndrome have a relatively poor prognosis with 5-year survival rates in the range of 47 to 69 %'," He crumples the paper that he was reading and practically spits out the next words, "Jesus Maria! How long were you going to keep this from us? From me? And what are you so ruffled about? I used to know more about you INTIMATELY than that and it never bothered you before. So stop making it my fault and give me the truth!" Michael was coming closer at every word that our noses were only inches apart.
I let out a feeble whistle. If it's one thing I should learn maybe I should learn to do that. It's funny what kind of thoughts come to mind at the most inappropriate time. Instead I say, "If you only used that researching skill while we were still in school. It's good to know that my being sick has done wonders that the American public school system can't." I smile but he doesn't smile back. Afraid to meet his gaze again, I sit down and study my hands on my lap, "We've been coordinating with a cardiologist in Chicago and we have to go there pronto which is the other reason why I'm leaving and why I've been looking for you. I came to say goodbye Michael."
"What? When?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. I may be needing an operation very soon."
"How soon? Are we talking days? Next week? Next month? What?"
"Well, my doctor has been sending lab results to Chicago since I got brought in and the doctor there says it's a big probability that I would have to do that as early as possible... the thing is they're waiting for a better prognosis on my other tests."
He squats in front of me, "What do you me an?"
"I have low white platelet counts and doing an operation might be risky and I could bleed to..."
Michael scrunches his eyes shut like he was trying his best to block out the words I'm saying, "Can't Max help you? Maybe I or Is can do something? I'm sure..."
"Actually, don't be mad. That's the answer to your second question. Max and Isabel already know because Liz talked to them if they could help but when Max tried before I left for New York, it sort of made my heart go even slower. Isabel tried and the same thing happened."
"Then why don't I try? Maybe ..."
"NO Michael! That's why I didn't want you to do it? I didn't want you to beat yourself up when it doesn't work or to have your voice inside my head when it does work. I don't want to postpone what I know is inevitable. I don't want to get my hopes up because it gets really tiring pretending things'll work out fine, acting brave for Mom yet trying to believe in something that'll never come true."
Michael wordlessly pulls me in his arms. I didn't even know that I had started crying. "Michael, I'm so scared."
"God, Maria. So am I. I wish that I could do something - for all that we could do, why can't we fix this?" I feel his tears mix with mine. "Maria, I want to go with you. Please."
"Michael. Don't. I need to do this on my own and I need you to go on and do something. Be someone. Live."
"Stop saying that like it's good bye." He takes my face in his hands and brings our foreheads together, "Maria, promise me you'd come back"
"I wish I could speak with that kind of certainty but to do so would be cruel and presumptous and ... the point is everything is half-chance Michael. So if things go great then that's fine but I need to know that when it doesn't it wouldn't be such a bad thing for those who are left behind. Promise me that whatever happens, I wouldn't be your unfinished business."
Michael withdraws and just shakes his head. "Okay. But promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Promise me that you'll write every day and tell me the truth. No more hiding. No more lying. Just the facts." He stares into my eyes.
"Okay." I stop and smile at him through my tears.
"Okay but what?"
"You sure you're going to read it? I mean Michael what's the chance of that happening when you were loath to pick up anything and read it, if it even meant 20 % of your grade. Sometimes I wonder how you were able to graduate."
"Hey! Don't give me that. I read Ulysses. Whereas all you ever read was that teeny bopper magazine they sell at the grocery check out counter."
Then he took my hand and led me out of the field as the sun was setting, harmless bickering back and forth just like we never stopped doing it. The only difference this time is that we refused to take ourselves seriously.
TV Show: Roswell
Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell. In fact I don't own anything of value to anyone. I have no car. I live with my parents and about too many credit card bills. So there!
Author's Note: First-time fanfic writer so please be kind.
Rating: R for language
Summary: M/M. Maria confronts issues in her life when she was forced to face them right after graduation and before Liz's wedding.
Genre: Angst
Chapter 7: Coming to Grips
It was dark out when I came to. If not for the soft light, I couldn't make out anything at all. Then I see him sitting in the corner, his head bowed and shoulders hunched forward. I was hoping, he'd be gone and I wouldn't have to explain what's going on because it's easy enough to tell him what but I don't have any answers for why. Not even after all these years.
''Hey there. Don't go soft on me Spaceboy. I don't do drama that well.'' I try to make light of the situation but it comes out flat because my voice was too soft and scraggly like I just woke up with a head cold. Even before my Mom comes in with the attending physician, I know it's back.
He looks up startled, straightens out and pulls his chair nearer my bed. "How are you feeling?"
I couldn't resist goading him and I raise an eyebrow in what I hoped looked indulgent but incredulous. Michael rakes his fingers through his hair and he looks just like that time we were on our first road trip together. He clears his throat, ''Okay. Scratch that. Stupid question. Do you want anything? Are you comfortable?''
I can sense that he is getting nervous, like he's afraid I might die on his watch. So I have to be the calm one, much as I'd like not to pass up on this chance to piss him for some reason.
''Relax Michael. Where's my Mom?" I try to sit up but I couldn't and I have to accept his help. The effort leaves me short of breath.
"Do you want me to call her?"
I shake my head. "Sick sinus syndrome."
"What?"
"It's a heart dysfunction common in older folks where the heart is in flux and behaves erratically. I've had it since I was a kid. But then there are ways in which it could be controlled so it's no biggie. They first pegged it to be sinus bradycardia - it's like when your heart beats slower than usual. Nothing to worry about 'coz it just means my heart is efficient at pumping out the juice and all." I try to grin at him but it somehow misses the effect that I've been aiming at considering that I'm lying prone instead.
"Oh God." His voice quivers slightly at the end as he lets out a ragged breath, "How come you didn't tell me? Who knows?"
"Well, it isn't that serious really. Lots of young people and athletes have sinus bradycardia and lead normal lives."
He crosses his arms against his chest, "So if it isn't anything important, then how come you passed out? How come you're lying in a hospital bed? What aren't you telling me? I'm not a stupid little kid Maria."
"Michael, this is why I never told anybody. I don't like people fussing or worrying about me. I'm fine." I catch my breath and Michael's brow furrows in thought. I'm not ready for this verbal judo. "As interesting as this conversation is to you, my medicines are probably kicking in. I don't want to be rude and boot you out but I'm really tired." I close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep.
I remember reading in a book once how the eyes move rapidly from left to right in REM state and so I try to do that in hopes that Michael believes me but I can feel him watching me for a long time. I guess he was thinking he can catch me at my game but I've been an expert at this pretend-sleep. I used to do that before when my Mom would bring home her stray of drunkards and good-for-nothing bums she used to call her boyfriends - a collection of characters fashioned from a study of every woman in this world's moment of horrendous bad taste. Just another thing I should thank the Valenti men for. They saved my Mom and in a way they saved me.
I didn't see or hear from Michael for two weeks. Not even after I checked out. My trip to Ethiopia was -- not surprisingly -- cancelled pending a better prognosis. I still intend to go to my grand-parents' for awhile under pretense of getting more sunshine -- not that Roswell wasn't hot enough already. Actually, I am going there to avoid Michael (yet again), which wasn't necessary to begin with because he was determined to make himself -- in a word -- scarce.
By this time Liz and Max have left. Isabel was in a world of her own and Kyle was busy working two shifts to save up enough money to go to Michigan State. I'm glad that people are going on but I worry about Michael. I'm still holding out on the possibility of going somewhere far and making a difference there but I couldn't stand it if Michael ends up drifting to nowhere. I want him to do something and break through the inertia of his own making and I never got a chance to thank him. That and I feel guilty for being rude. For lying. For making a mess in his life yet again. So I look for him everywhere and find him at the topmost bleacher of Roswell High's football field in the middle of the day. You got to hand it to this guy because he knows I hate sweating and I'd never figure out where he'd be. But I am resolved and as I am coming from the opposite side of the field where he was sitting I know that he saw me. Between the distance and the height I'd have to scale I pretty much gave him every chance to walk out but he sits there, watching me as I come closer. So finally, sweaty and out of breath I reach him then he leans back and turns his head away from me
I hold my hand up with my middle and ring finger apart in the universal Star Trek gesture, "Hey there. Waiting for Scotty to beam you up to your rock?" Okay, that was lame and low but it was worth a try.
He looks at me, annoyed. Then blinded by the sun, he snaps his head back to some abstract point in the distance. Normally I know when to leave him alone and when he is looking like that, his brows drawn together in a scowl, I'd know better than to talk to him but this can't wait.
"Oooh. The silent treatment. So what's the occasion?"
He turns to me with his face inscrutable as it mirrors a myriad of emotions. Frustration. Anger. Regret. Pain. Fear. "Maria, so help me God, two things. One, will you need an operation to put in a pacemaker? And two, how come Max and Is knows but I, your "boyfriend"," and he makes air quotes while he says this, "-- okay I'm sorry -- EX-boyfriend don't know?"
I'm surprised and consider suing Dr. whats-his-face for violation of doctor- patient confidentiality. Then I jump to the conclusion that Michael -- the idiot! -- may have broken in and stolen my records. I mean he's done it before. "Hey buster! What were you thinking?! You could've gone to jail for breaking and entering into a doctor's office. How could you go through personal records? My personal records at that?..." My voice raised. All thoughts of being the bigger person, being contrite was erased from my mind. How dare he?!
He stands up in haste and snaps at me hotly "Relax Sherlock! I didn't do anything illegal. I looked up your condition on the internet which by the way you said was sinus bradycardia but when I looked it up guess what I found? Here let me read it to you." Michael fishes in his jean pocket a crumpled piece of paper and starts to read off it which I know by now means that I need not explain to him anything. " 'The most common cause of sinus bradycardia is sick sinus syndrome' and then I wondered. Wait, I remember you saying that you had that before and this brady-whatever was just a symptom of it and so, I read the rest. It says ' Patients with sick sinus syndrome have a relatively poor prognosis with 5-year survival rates in the range of 47 to 69 %'," He crumples the paper that he was reading and practically spits out the next words, "Jesus Maria! How long were you going to keep this from us? From me? And what are you so ruffled about? I used to know more about you INTIMATELY than that and it never bothered you before. So stop making it my fault and give me the truth!" Michael was coming closer at every word that our noses were only inches apart.
I let out a feeble whistle. If it's one thing I should learn maybe I should learn to do that. It's funny what kind of thoughts come to mind at the most inappropriate time. Instead I say, "If you only used that researching skill while we were still in school. It's good to know that my being sick has done wonders that the American public school system can't." I smile but he doesn't smile back. Afraid to meet his gaze again, I sit down and study my hands on my lap, "We've been coordinating with a cardiologist in Chicago and we have to go there pronto which is the other reason why I'm leaving and why I've been looking for you. I came to say goodbye Michael."
"What? When?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. I may be needing an operation very soon."
"How soon? Are we talking days? Next week? Next month? What?"
"Well, my doctor has been sending lab results to Chicago since I got brought in and the doctor there says it's a big probability that I would have to do that as early as possible... the thing is they're waiting for a better prognosis on my other tests."
He squats in front of me, "What do you me an?"
"I have low white platelet counts and doing an operation might be risky and I could bleed to..."
Michael scrunches his eyes shut like he was trying his best to block out the words I'm saying, "Can't Max help you? Maybe I or Is can do something? I'm sure..."
"Actually, don't be mad. That's the answer to your second question. Max and Isabel already know because Liz talked to them if they could help but when Max tried before I left for New York, it sort of made my heart go even slower. Isabel tried and the same thing happened."
"Then why don't I try? Maybe ..."
"NO Michael! That's why I didn't want you to do it? I didn't want you to beat yourself up when it doesn't work or to have your voice inside my head when it does work. I don't want to postpone what I know is inevitable. I don't want to get my hopes up because it gets really tiring pretending things'll work out fine, acting brave for Mom yet trying to believe in something that'll never come true."
Michael wordlessly pulls me in his arms. I didn't even know that I had started crying. "Michael, I'm so scared."
"God, Maria. So am I. I wish that I could do something - for all that we could do, why can't we fix this?" I feel his tears mix with mine. "Maria, I want to go with you. Please."
"Michael. Don't. I need to do this on my own and I need you to go on and do something. Be someone. Live."
"Stop saying that like it's good bye." He takes my face in his hands and brings our foreheads together, "Maria, promise me you'd come back"
"I wish I could speak with that kind of certainty but to do so would be cruel and presumptous and ... the point is everything is half-chance Michael. So if things go great then that's fine but I need to know that when it doesn't it wouldn't be such a bad thing for those who are left behind. Promise me that whatever happens, I wouldn't be your unfinished business."
Michael withdraws and just shakes his head. "Okay. But promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Promise me that you'll write every day and tell me the truth. No more hiding. No more lying. Just the facts." He stares into my eyes.
"Okay." I stop and smile at him through my tears.
"Okay but what?"
"You sure you're going to read it? I mean Michael what's the chance of that happening when you were loath to pick up anything and read it, if it even meant 20 % of your grade. Sometimes I wonder how you were able to graduate."
"Hey! Don't give me that. I read Ulysses. Whereas all you ever read was that teeny bopper magazine they sell at the grocery check out counter."
Then he took my hand and led me out of the field as the sun was setting, harmless bickering back and forth just like we never stopped doing it. The only difference this time is that we refused to take ourselves seriously.