Disclaimer: Roswell, and it's characters do not belong to me. Melinda Metz, Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox have that particular pleasure. I'm simply borrowing them until the Season 2 DVD's get released.

Tomorrow's Yet to Come

Rating: PG – R

Chapter Three – A Kind of Healing

We've been here for three weeks, and it's been a little bit easier each day. Maybe Max was right; maybe a change of scenery is what I needed. Something new and different to take my mind off of things. College is certainly different than high school. The work isn't any harder, Max saw to that when he healed me. It's the people; that's what's different. Most people in my classes really seem to care about learning, and doing well. High school was more about marking time until you graduated. Here, learning takes place. People talk about academic things. It's actually kind of fun. And then there's Fred. Poor sweet, socially inept Fred. He's been great, he really has. He gave me permission to paint the apartment. The only stipulation was I had to restore it to its original color before we moved out. That certainly won't be hard.

Liz paused and put the pen down and looked around the apartment. The combination living and dining room's soft yellow walls glowed with the reflecting light of the setting sun. The furniture was now covered in a dark green chenille material, and the coffee table was restored to a burnished honey color. Photographs of their friends covered the walls, and it made Liz feel incredibly safe to see Michael, Kyle and Alex watching her from one picture, while Maria, Isabel and Ava played the divas in another.

A fairly large entertainment center took up one wall, filled with all the electronic equipment Max felt was essential for living. But it was the picture above the television that caught Liz's attention. It had arrived earlier that day, left unceremoniously propped against their front door. Liz found it waiting when she arrived home from class. She pushed the door open; struggling under the bags of groceries she had carried. She dropped the groceries on the coffee table and went back for the large package.

Liz pulled the wrappings off of the package, and revealed a stunning oil painting. It showed a fountain of light. The color of the light ranged from a stunning purple, to glowing silver. Eight golden balls of light, arranged in two interlocking squares, surrounded the fountain.

Liz stared at the picture, and felt the icy wall that surrounded her heart start to crack. She knelt down to examine the picture closely, knowing exactly what she would find. Down in the lower right hand corner were the initials MG. Michael had painted this picture.

Liz drew her gaze away from the picture, and dragged herself back to the present. She shoved her journal into her backpack and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Max would be home soon, and Fred was joining them. Again. Liz didn't mind though, she liked Fred and his friends. They were always dropping by, looking for a place to hang out and watch TV, or to study. It wasn't the same as having Maria and Alex around, but it was nice.

Liz turned from the stove at the sound of the door opening.

"Hey," she called to Max. "Did you finish your research?"

"Yeah," Max grumbled. "And I found out today that I can log into the school's library from here. I didn't need to waste the day there, I could have been home, relaxing, while my willing slave peeled me some grapes or something."

"Sorry, there wouldn't have been enough room," joked Liz. "My slave was here, peeling me grapes."

"I'd be worried if I didn't know that you spent most of today in the chemistry lab," laughed Max. "Can I help with dinner?"

"No, I've got it tonight," said Liz. "You and Fred can clean up though."

"Fred again?" groaned Max. "Maybe we should just get him his own toothbrush for the bathroom."

"Be nice, Max. He's lonely, besides; I like him. He's harmless, and after the last few years, we could use some harmless in our lives."

"I know, I know," said Max. He launched himself onto the couch and reached for the remote. He pointed at the television, and stopped dead. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed softly. "Where'd that come from?"

He got up off the couch and walked closer to the painting so that he could study it.

"Michael?" he said when he saw the initials at the bottom of the picture.

"Either that, or there is another MG who was there when the Granolith joined us together," said Liz. "But since Michael included a note with it, I'd say it's safe to assume he's the artist."

"It's beautiful," said Max, his voice reverent.

"It is," agreed Liz. "And it made me remember just how lucky I am to have you in my life." She wrapped her arms around Max's waist and held him tightly. "I've been a real jerk, Max, but so have you."

"What?" Max said. He struggled to control the anger he felt at her comment. How could she accuse him of being a jerk? He'd been nothing but understanding, and compassionate with her.

"Yes, we've both been jerks. I've been wallowing in self-pity, but you let me Max. You never once told me how badly you felt, or let me know that you hurt. You never told me to snap out of it and deal, you just let me sink further and further into myself. And worst of all, I let you do it."

"Snap out of it?" Max asked. "You wanted me to tell you to snap out of it?"

"Well, maybe not those exact words," said Liz with a rueful smile. "But something to that effect. We lost something so special to us Max, and it was okay for me to feel sad, but it would have been equally okay for you to feel sad right along with me."

"I was torn apart, Liz," admitted Max. "But I was trying to be strong, for you."

"Maybe I needed you to fall apart with me, Max. Did you ever once, think of that?"

"Well, not on my own, but I seem to recall both Maria and Ava telling me something like that," said Max with a small smile.

"And?" prompted Liz.

"There was the time Isabel threatened to turn my hair green and give me acne on my feet if I didn't stop acting like such a man. Okay, I admit it. I was a jerk. There are you happy now?"

"No, and I won't be until you admit that I was a jerk, too," said Liz.

"Fine, we were both jerks," said Max, picking her up and swinging her around their small living room. "Feel better?"

"Well, not great, but better than I have in a long, long time," admitted Liz. "Now, why don't you give Fred a call, dinner's almost ready."

The simple dinner of chicken, rice and salad was made enjoyable both by the company of Fred, who seemed almost vibrant that evening, as well as the new found closeness of Max and Liz.

"Fred, you seem a bit over the top tonight," commented Liz as she reached for another dinner roll. "What's up?"

"Well, I sort of met somebody," Fred said, bashfully. "Say, that's a beautiful picture you have up there," he said, in a feeble attempt to change the direction of the conversation.

"Thanks, a friend painted it for us," said Liz. "He's Max's best friend, and he's married to my best friend."

"Convenient," said Fred.

"Yeah, now enough about that," said Liz determinedly. "Now spill!"

"Resistance is futile," deadpanned Max.

"Thanks so much, Locutis of Borg," said Fred. "Okay, fine. Her name is Glenarra, and she's fantastic."

"Well, she's new to this school, the school assigned her to this apartment, but since she's not married, she couldn't live here. It took a while to straighten out the mess, let me tell you. Did you ever try and argue with those goons in student housing. They never want to admit they mistake. She was actually half moved in before we got it all straightened out. And then I met Max, and well, the rest is history."

"So what is she like?" asked Liz. "Obviously, she kept in touch with you after the mix up, right?"

"Actually, no she didn't," said Fred. "I didn't see her for a week or so after the whole mix up, then one day, she just showed up. She was so friendly and nice about the whole mix up, joking around, asking if anybody had moved into her apartment, and all."

"You'll have to bring her over some time," said Max. "We'd love to meet her." He looked over at Liz, and his stomach warmed at the passionate look she gave him.

"Thank you," she mouthed to him, with a smile.

"That would be really great," said Fred. "Actually, I have to get going, I'm meeting her tonight. It's quite a coincidence actually. The last few times we've gotten together, she's called me to go out right after."

"You're just too popular for your own good, Fred," joked Max.

"I never was," Fred said, earnestly. "You and Liz must be good luck charms for me or something. Look I don't want to eat and run, but I need to meet Glenarra."

"Oh sure, weasel out of dish duty just because you have a new girlfriend," grumbled Max, good-naturedly. "Go ahead, Fred. Have a great time. Stop by tomorrow and tell us old married folks what the dating world is like."

Fred left, and Max and Liz made short work of the dishes, and then fell into bed. They were sound asleep when a pounding on their door woke them around midnight. Groggily, Max stumbled to the door and asked who it was.

"It's Steve, and Justin, man. Let us in, it's important.

Max opened the door part way, and Steve pushed it open and shoved past Max.

"Jesus, dude, it's late, keep it down, will you? What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's Fred," said Justin.

"Fred, what about him. We just saw him a few hours ago?"

"Yeah, well, he's dead,' said Steve, baldly.

"What!" cried Liz from the door of the bedroom. "What happened?"

"I don't know, exactly," said Steve, stumbling to the couch. "I saw him earlier today, and he said he was going to hang with you guys for a while, and then he had a date with that chick he met."

"Glenarra," said Max.

"Yeah, weird name," said Steve. "Anyhow, we swung by his apartment, cause we wanted to check her out, make sure she wasn't just yanking Fred's chain or anything. You know?"

Max nodded to show that he did understand.

"Fred's not a real sophisticate, and we were worried this chick might be playing him," continued Steve. "So we showed up at his place around 11:30, and knocked on the door, and it swung open, so we went inside." Steve stopped as his eyes filled with tears.

"The place was a mess, and I don't mean the usual I haven't done the laundry type of mess," continued Justin, taking over for Steve. "His apartment was torn apart. We called out, but nobody answered, so we went into his bedroom. God, he was lying on the bed, naked. His eyes were wide open, staring into nothing. There was a horrible smell of burned flesh in the room."

"He was burned?" cried Liz.

"No, that's just it, he wasn't," said Steve, trying to compose himself. "There wasn't a mark on him, except for a silver handprint on his chest."

Max grabbed Steve off the couch and rammed him against the wall. "You're lying! Who sent you here? Tell me, damn it, before I kill you myself!"

"Jesus Christ, man," shouted Justin, pulling at Max's arm. "Let him go. He's not kidding, we both saw it. But that's not all. There's more."

"Tell me," said Max, through gritted teeth.

"Not until you let Steve go," said Justin. "I already lost one friend tonight. I don't need to see another one die."

Max released his grasp on Steve, and he slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

"What's up, Max?" demanded Justin. "What has you so freaked? You know something, don't you? You know who did this to Fred."

"What else did you see," said Max in careful, measured tones.

"Fine," said Steve, still gasping for air. "The TV was on in Fred's apartment, but it wasn't your average television program. There was some pretty sophisticated surveillance equipment in his apartment, and it was showing this apartment on his TV.