Author: Katydidit aka PolarEmeralds aka Kat

Email:

Rating: PG-13 now, for a bit of language, violence and I think…what the ratings people call adult situations. thinks

Genre: Drama/Angst

Category: AU. Pre-shooting. Polar.

Disclaimer: They're mine! All mine! demented laughter Ooor not. They're Jason Katims and Co.'s. Evil demons. They should be vanquished. blissful grin Ahhh, if only.. cough Move along, folks. No evil plotting to see here. g

Summary: A not-so-short AU fic. Thirteen-year-old Michael is out one night, trying to escape Hank's fury for a while, when he stumbles across someone he hadn't expected to see and realizes that things aren't always what they seem.

Spoilers: Guys, the show's over. If you haven't seen an ep, you're not gonna. Lol. I don't think there's any, though.

AN: Oh! Historic moment or the point where everything unravels. For the first time in 17 chapters, I'm putting in a section that's in Liz POV. I know it doesn't exactly flow with the way everything else is, but I'm thinking that it's vital. We'll see how it goes. Also, there are only a few more chapters to this, I think. I guarantee at least one more, but I think that this story shall be finished by chapter 20.

Dedication: A birthday present for Dreamwalker75. Or, depending on what I manage to do, a get-well-soon present. We'll see. grin

Things Aren't Always What They Seem

Chapter 17

They wandered through the park for a while, not speaking. Michael was just enjoying having Liz close after so long. Their strides still matched, which was interesting. Liz seemed to be memorizing the way everything looked, but Michael was memorizing Liz. The sunlight fell through the leaves and settled in her hair, it seemed, making her glow a silvery-black. He wished he had his sketchbook with him—he could just picture Liz sitting on a park bench, surrounded by the shimmering golds, browns, and reds of the autumn beauty around her. Not that any of it could ever compare to the glittering radiance that emanated from Liz herself. As if on cue, Liz took a seat and patted the wood next to her. He sat and put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him with a soft sigh-a quiet puff of breath-and smiled.

"So…" She began. The tone in her voice made it obvious that she had something to say, so Michael didn't speak. He had a feeling that he knew what she was thinking, though, and a part of him didn't want her to have to talk about something that distressed her the way this did. But another part of him knew that both of them needed to talk this out—for his sanity, and for hers. After a while, she finally gathered her nerve. "Did you see everything that I saw?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know. I saw you and me—just before you left, and then I saw you meeting the family, and then that man—your Uncle Willie."

"That's it?" She asked, relaxing visibly. Something occurred to Michael, and he clenched his fists, trying to refrain from blowing anything up.

"No. Who was holding you down—what were they doing to you?"

Liz sighed and sat up. "When I went into tenth grade, the family had this…thing. Uncle Willie and Aunt Lucy came over and everyone except Janice went down into the basement. She took me upstairs and pulled out a dress she'd bought for me. She told me to put it on and that she'd do my hair—that we were going to an important ceremony tonight. I thought something was…weird, but I didn't say anything, since they'd been really nice to me lately." She didn't speak for a long time, so Michael took a closer look at her. She was staring at the ground with her lower lip firmly between her teeth, absently wringing her hands. Gently, Michael took one of her hands, nudging her out of her memories. Liz jumped and looked up at him, as though she'd forgotten he was there.

"Once she was done, she led me down to the basement. Before I could really do anything, the oldest son grabbed me from behind and pushed me down onto a table." Her voice faltered a little, but she continued. "Some of the other kids held me arms and legs, and Aunt Lucy pinched my nose shut. Uncle Willie waited until I had to breathe, then, when I opened my mouth, he poured this…this liquid down my throat. It burned…" She said, eyes filling with tears at the memory.

"What was it?" Michael asked.

"Once they let me up, they told me that it was poison, and that if I wanted to be a member of their family, I had to die for it."

"What?" Michael demanded. He felt a burning in his palm and made a fist. She placed her free hand on his forearm and went on. "So I ran up to the bathroom and made myself throw up until I couldn't anymore." Michael felt his powers surge as his mind conjured up an image of Liz kneeling weakly next to a toilet.

"Later that night, Janice came up to my room and told me that I'd disappointed her very much and that I'd never be a member of their family. She said that it hadn't really been poison that they made me drink. Then she left. Later that night, I was going to sneak downstairs to get something to eat, but the door wouldn't open. She'd locked me in," she finished in a disbelieving tone. She shivered. "Things just went downhill from there."

Michael found himself staring at the now-silent brunette sitting next to him. She'd been through so much since he'd last seen her, and she was still the same girl he'd known—quiet and thoughtful, and more worried about what the people around her were feeling than what she was. But he hadn't been there when she was kneeling over the toilet, or crying on her bed, or going hungry locked in her room for an entire weekend: all because he'd taken her to the hospital that night. Max could have healed her, but he couldn't. Because Michael hadn't tried harder to keep her awake.

Liz twisted so that she was sitting in his lap, and then put her arms around his neck, resting her forehead on his.

"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly, staring earnestly into his eyes. He went to look away, but she followed. "Michael," she said firmly. His eyes found hers. "Repeat after me." She smiled slightly. "I, Michael Guerin—"

He glared at her. She rolled her eyes and poked him in the chest. "I, Michael Guerin…" she prompted again.

"I, Michael Guerin," he repeated sullenly, figuring he'd just give her what she wanted.

"…do hereby acknowledge and accept…"

"Hereby?" Michael mimicked. She glared at him again, and he shrugged in defeat. "…do hereby acknowledge and accept…"

"…that what happened to the beautiful, talented, kind, loveable Elizabeth Parker…" she grinned and tossed her hair.

"…that what happened to the beautiful, talented, kind, loveable, modest Elizabeth Parker…"

She made a face at him and continued. "…was absitively, posilutely, one-billion percent none of my fault."

"…was absitively, posilutely, one-billion percent none of my fault."

"Thank you." She placed a hesitant kiss on his lips.

"Let me just say that no one else would ever be able to get me to say the words 'absitively, posilutely'."

"I know." She hugged him tightly and returned to her seat on the bench. "Feel better?"

"What, now that you've assured me that the fact that you were abused even words after you left, wasn't my fault?"

She gave him a level look.

"Yes. If it will make you happy."

"Good." She interlaced her fingers with his and brought his hand up to her mouth, placing gently kisses on his knuckles. Then, without warning, she leapt up and tapped his elbow.

"What?"

She looked around, eyes wide. "You're It," she replied, before darting off. Michael shook his head in disbelief, grinning, and then jumped to his feet and gave chase.

When he finally found her—hiding behind a tree and looking out into a clearing—he snuck up behind her and tackled her—holding her to him once more so she wouldn't get hurt. She'd looked frightened for a moment, but then laughed and punched his shoulder.

"We're playing Tag, not football," she said, eyes flashing playfully.

"This is Tag. Just…my own version."

"Okay. So I'm It. Let me up."

Michael laughed and rolled off her. Before he could get to his feet, Liz barreled right into him, knocking him on his back. She smirked cockily and stretched out over him. "Tag."

"Yeah, you got me." But she hadn't pinned his arms down. He reached up and began poking her in the ribs. She immediately began giggling and writhing, but refused to give up her prize. Finally, she collapsed on top of him, resting her head on his chest while she caught her breath.

"Truce?" she murmured. Michael poked her one last time, and then put his arms around her back, holding her tightly.

"Truce," he agreed. "Now let me up."

Liz sighed heavily, but rolled off, onto the grass. He mimicked her defeated huff, and she rolled her eyes.

"Don't make me tag you," she warned, jabbing a finger into his chest. He pinned her to the ground with his body, holding her arms captive.

"I dare you," he challenged. She pulled her lip between her teeth as she had before, but released it as soon as she realized what she'd done. Her tongue flitted out, nervously licking her lips. Michael took this as a cue of sorts, and moved closer. He pressed his mouth gently onto hers. He felt a small tremor run through her, just before she snaked her arms up around his neck. Michael pulled her closer, pressing his body tightly against hers, as if that could make up for all the time that he hadn't been anywhere near her. He broke away and rested his head on her forehead on hers, running his hand through her hair. She did the same to his, wrapping a strand of it around her finger, eyes glinting mischievously as she tugged gently on it.

"You're so mean," he said, rolling off her.

"I am not," she protested. "See?" She got to her feet and extended her hand to help him up. He didn't answer, and they headed back to the Evanses'.

They made it just in time for dinner, and slid into the two empty seats.

Michael saw Isabel shoot a questioning glance at Max, who nodded, his eyes now locked onto Liz's face. Isabel then smiled apprehensively at Liz, who returned the smile equally as nervously. Michael squeezed Liz's hand under the table, then realized that Isabel was still watching the two of them curiously. There were a few moments of awkward silence, and then Isabel spoke.

"So, have the two of you caught up yet?" she asked.

"Not quite," Michael said, just as Liz was replying in the affirmative. She cast a pleading look his way, but he didn't waver.

"Guess not," Liz said resignedly, making the blonde smile, and the meal went on.

As soon as they'd finished, Liz jumped up, the way she had when they were younger. Isabel stood, as though trying to stop her, but the girl wouldn't be deterred.

"You did the dishes last night," she said, trying to take Isabel's plate.

"Liz, you're a guest here!" Isabel exclaimed, trying to pull her plate away. "Do not make me bite you." Liz arched an eyebrow. "I'll do it," Isabel threatened.

"She will," Max added, examining his left forearm. "I've got a scar here…"

"Go look, Isabel ordered, finally wrenching her plate away. Liz sighed but obeyed, taking her seat. Max stuck his arm out to show her the scar, but she pushed it away, laughing.

Once Isabel had finished the dishes, they went into the living room, where Max stuck a video into the VCR.

"What's this?" Liz asked, leaning into Michael as the previews began. Somewhat surprised, he slid his arm around her.

"You'll see," Max said, his eyes sliding amusedly over the two of them as he sat in his father's chair. Isabel and flopped onto the far end of the couch after flipping the lights off. The name Stephen King faded onto the screen, and Liz groaned.

"You people are so weird," she said, turning her head so as not to see the screen. "Who actually likes these kinds of movies? Freaks…" she mumbled good-naturedly, but didn't press the issue. No one said anything else, and the movie played on.

Michael was startled awake by the loud, sudden hiss of the television screen becoming all static. He was disoriented for a moment, before he realized where he was—but that still left him with a mysterious weight in his lap. He looked down at the figure curled up next to him. Liz's dark head was resting on his legs, with her hand curled around his knee. His hand had somehow wound itself in her soft hair.

She stirred, obviously disturbed by the sudden noise as well. He hated to see her wake up from what must have been restful sleep, but she did, sat up, and looked around sleepily. Down at the other end of the couch, Isabel was waking slowly as well, but she was the only one who stood and turned the television off. Without saying a word, she stumbled away. Liz stood as well, but didn't leave.

"Lay down," she said hoarsely. Michael did, pressing his back as close to the back of the couch as he could, so there'd be room for her if she wanted to lie there too.

"I should go to Max's room, since he's out here…" she began reluctantly, her voice still sleepy. "But it's so far…"

"I'll be a gentleman," Michael teased, in a voice that was equally raspy as hers was. She rolled her eyes, but lay down anyway. It seemed like she was pressing closer to the edge of the couch instead of leaning into him. He pulled her closer, whispering, "You'll fall off."

She said nothing—if she wasn't already asleep, she was close. Michael lay awake a few minutes longer, remembering that night she'd passed out, then fallen asleep in his bed. It still felt right, having her so close. He let the warm, familiar smell of rain—of Liz—enfold him before he joined her in peaceful slumber.

He was in a room. Nothing was familiar.

Michael spun around, examining the room. It was small and dim—the late-evening sunlight and a small desk lamp were the only sources of light. There was someone at the desk—a small brunette. He took a few steps forward—it was Liz!

She was much younger than the girl Michael had just seen—she was about fourteen. He looked down at himself—he must be fourteen too: he looked smaller. He tried to put his hand on Liz's shoulder, to get her attention, but found he couldn't. Looking around for some other way to make his presence known, Michael realized that the walls were moving slightly—it was as though the angles were elastic. He stepped forward, another characteristic of the wall catching his eye. They were shimmering—blinking in and out of existence so quickly that you wouldn't notice it unless you were looking for it. He pressed his hand to the dingy blue wallpaper, half-expecting to be able to push his way through. But it was remarkably solid. Michael examined the room one last time. He'd seen scenery like this before. Not this room, of course—but the way the walls were…they were like this the time Isabel had somehow pulled him into a dreamwalk. Was this a dream, then?

Liz sighed and closed her textbook, then went over and sat on her bed, staring at the far wall. She didn't move for a while, but then Michael heard someone at the door and she jumped up in expectant fear. A tall but plump woman with thinning hair and an oddly sharp face stood in the doorway.

"Come on," she said coldly.

"Where?" Liz asked quietly.

"Don't talk back," the woman snapped, stalking down the stairs. Liz followed, and as Liz passed him, Michael stuck out his hand to touch her. She paused for a second, looking straight at him as though she saw him. But that passed, and she disappeared down the stairs.

Michael followed her to the top of the basement stairs. She paused again, and Michael noticed that she was trembling. He reached out his hand, wishing he could reassure her that she'd be fine—or throw her free of this nightmare. The woman, halfway down, turned around to glare impatiently at Liz before she continued.

At the foot of the stairs, two young men grabbed her and held her still. They looked exactly like the sharp-faced, plump woman, except there was nothing plump about them. They exuded strength—it nearly colored the air around them. They might have stood a fighting chance in the looks department, except for their eyes—which were small and hard—colorless and cold. They must be Liz's 'brothers', then: making the woman her foster mother.

Liz struggled briefly, but, judging by the defeated look on her face and the confidence with which the boys were gripping her upper arms, she knew it was useless. An ugly, balding man came to stand in front of Liz, sneering at her. He looked nothing like the boys that were holding Liz captive, except for his eyes. They were equally cold, and eerily familiar. Michael remembered with sudden clarity that man hovering over Liz, pouring that awful stuff down her throat. It was Uncle Willie. He ran at the man, trying to knock him away, but succeeded only in throwing himself to the floor.

Before Liz could do anything, the man had reached out and yanked her shirt over her head. She made a small cry of protest, and tried to cover herself with her newly freed arms, but the boys had resumed their grip. Just as quickly at before, the man reached out and pulled Liz's jeans to the floor. Her struggles became more wild, more instinctive, but, for all of her thrashing and whimpering, she got nowhere.

"We tried before, to make you one of us," the man said, pacing in front of her. "But you refused. At first, your parents were hurt, but the other day I realized—it's not your fault. You must be inhabited by an evil spirit." Liz opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a wave. "It's alright. You don't know any better. So tonight, we will cleanse you, and then you will be one of us."

It was written all over her face that Liz would rather die than be one of them—whatever they were—but she said nothing.

He took her silence as consent—perhaps even gratitude—and waved carelessly at the boys holding her arms. They dragged her over to a tub and held her under, not swayed by her pleading cries.

"The water's cold, is it?" the man asked with an air of plastic concern. He nodded at the boys, who lifted her out of the tub and dropped her into a chair. Michael wanted to go to her, but it felt like his feet were stuck. He'd long ago realized that this was one of Liz's memories, but he still wanted to stop it. Michael flung his arms to his sides and looked on in seething rage, counting the seconds until he could move again.

Uncle Willie lit a candle and went over to kneel in front of Liz. He was holding something in the flame, even as he chanted strange words to Liz. Then, with the swiftness he'd exhibited earlier, he'd pulled her knees apart and pressed something to the pale skin of her inner thigh. She howled in a frightening mixture of rage, pain, and panic, trying to get free, but he held tightly.

"First, cold, then hot," the man said reasonably. "It's the only way."

He pulled his hand away, holding the object over the flame once more. Michael couldn't watch anymore—he clenched his eyes shut, but couldn't block out Liz's sobs. He heard the woman—Liz's foster mother, pour something into a glass.

"Here, Liz," she said evenly. "Drink this."

"No!" Liz exclaimed, unable to hold back a few sobs.

"Just drink this, and we'll be done," she said patiently.

"Just leave me alone," Liz pleaded weakly chest heaving and tears staining her cheeks.

"She still won't do it," he heard one of Liz's other 'brothers', standing near him, whisper to another.

"Once a sinner, always a sinner," the other muttered back. "Even Uncle Willie can't save her."

Michael opened his eyes again. The woman went to dump the contents of the cup down a sink, and everyone was glaring at the trembling girl in the middle of the room.

"Get her out of her," Uncle Willie said in disgust. The two boys grabbed Liz once more and dragged her back up the stairs. Michael, having conveniently regained control of his own body, followed as quickly as possible, just barely sliding through her door as the older of the boys slammed it behind him.

She was still mostly naked, clutching her knees to her chest as she shivered on the floor. There was a scarlet mark on one of her arms, in the shape of a circle with an 'x' through it. Michael felt a vague burning in his hands—of his powers—but it disappeared. He reached over to pull a blanket off of her bed, expecting not to be able to do it. But he managed, and wrapped it tightly around her thin shoulders. She jumped and looked up in terror, but then saw his face. Confusion replaced fear in her features.

"It's a dream," Michael said. "This isn't real."

"B-but I'm s-so cold…" she hiccupped, still shivering. Michael got down next to her on the floor and managed to get inside the blanket, so that her body was pressed against his own.

He awoke with a start, and immediately felt Liz shivering. He shook her gently, and she, too, jumped. When she realized that Michael was awake, Liz brought her hands up to hide her face in shame.

"What'd you just see?" Liz asked, her voice mumbled by her fingers. Michael reached up and softly pulled her hands down, pressing his chin into the soft, warm spot between her shoulder and her neck.

"You know," he replied quietly, pulling her closer, as if to shield her from the horrors of the night. Yet they both knew that the only thing that was hurting her was the memory of the horrible people she'd been forced to endure.

She sighed. "I was afraid of that."

Michael rolled up her sleeve and tenderly kissed the scar on her arm. "That's the worst they did to you, right?" he asked, still holding her tightly. "They never did anything like…rape you?"

"You have such a one-track mind," she admonished quietly.

"Did they?" His tone was all business.

"No."

"No? No one? Not even that man? None of your so-called brothers?"

"That was just about the last time Uncle Willie or Aunt Lucy spoke to me. Everyone else mostly ignored me. She paused. "Michael, do not dwell on this, okay? I'm here now, away from them. Just…stop. Before I get angry."

"Fine," Michael sighed. There was no use arguing with her now-not when they both were exhausted and still haunted by what they'd just seen. Liz squirmed a little.

"Could you…not hold me so tight?" she murmured, reaching down to stroke his hand. She must have known that, if she hadn't done that, he'd have pulled away entirely. But he loosened his grip, and Liz pressed closer to him. "What time is it?" she yawned.

Michael somehow managed to get his watch up to viewing level without letting go of Liz. "Four." She sighed and put her head back down with another yawn, and soon her breathing had evened out.

Michael felt familiar disgust with himself for not having been there to warm her when the nightmare had actually happened, and resolved to make up for it by protecting her from reliving the same horrors again. He didn't care what that meant—he'd do anything.

A few hours later, Michael slowly awakened, unsure of what had roused him. He lifted his head to look around, and saw Max and Maria standing in the doorway, watching the two of them trying to stifle their laughter. He glared at them and lightly shook Liz. She sighed and opened her eyes, blushing when she saw the two of them watching her and Michael.

"Good morning," Maria said cheerily, grinning at the two of them. "Sleep well?"

Liz sleepily flipped her off, then sat up and stretched, leaning back on Michael's legs. Unable to resist the temptation, Michael reached down and playfully grabbed her side, and she leapt up, glaring at him. He winked at Max, who came up stealthily behind her and grabbed her around the middle, tickling her more. Liz, still half-asleep but giggling nonetheless, tried to push him away, but finally threw herself to the floor to get away from him. He grinned and returned to Maria's side, while Liz glared at the three of them from the floor.

"Men," Maria said in mock-disgust, stepping forward to help Liz to her feet. "They just can't leave a girl alone." She dusted her old friend off, then gave her a sort of 'good morning' hug. "Are you going tonight?" She seemed to have forgotten that more information was necessary for that sentence to make sense.

"Going…where?"

"There's a dance at school tonight—celebrating the football team's undefeated season or something." She shrugged. "The Whits are playing."

"The who?" Liz asked, getting to her feet.

"No," Max said gently, as though he were speaking to a four-year-old. "The Whits."

Liz rolled her eyes. "I know that, egghead. Who are The Whits?"

Maria laughed. "That's Alex's band. They changed it once we hit high school. So are you going, Michael?"

He sat up. "I don't do dances."

Liz flung herself onto the couch next to him. "Pleeeeeeeease go," she begged. "Because then you can take me. I can't go on my own, since I don't go to school there, and I'm sure as hell not going with those two." She stuck out her lower lip. "Please? You don't even have to dance if you don't want to."

Michael rolled his eyes at her long-winded plea. "Fine. If you want to go, I'll take you."

Liz grinned triumphantly and threw her arms around him.

"Get a room," Max teased.

"What time is the dance?" Liz asked, pointedly ignoring his comment.

"We're leaving at eight." Maria waved her hand distractedly. "What am I saying? I'll have to come and help you pick out your outfit. Don't worry about what time it is. Anyway, I've got a shift at the Crashdown still. I'll come over after." Her eyes flashed. "I'll bring my best stuff. And I'm sure we can find stuff from Isabel's closet." She laughed excitedly. "You're going to look so hot!"

Liz blushed and stammered out a sort of protest, then quickly exited.

"Oh, and if you come over before the dance, Michael," Max said, mocking Maria. "I'll give you my leather hot pants and all that stuff—you'll have all the girls drooling over you." He leaped into the air and gave a little squeal. Maria punched him in the chest.

"He doesn't want all the girls drooling over him," Maria said in a tone of voice that clearly said that it should be obvious to him. "Just one little brunette in particular."

"You're right…" Max said. "Pity…she's not the drooling type."

Michael flipped them off the way Liz had, then stood and stretched.

"Seriously, did you sleep well?" Maria asked, grinning evilly. "Because you looked pretty comfy."

"Goodbye, Maria," Michael said, pushing past her.

Maria's voice followed him outside. "—all cuddled together…"

Liz looked down at her watch. Six forty-seven. She'd been sitting out on the porch, waiting for Max and Maria for thirty-two and a half minutes. She figured they must still be at the Crashdown. But just as she thought that, Max's Jeep pulled into the driveway, and Maria leapt out, dragging a huge duffel bag behind her.

"Are you moving in?" Liz asked with a grin, standinng to greet her.

"No. This is our stuff," she said, rolling her eyes. "What were you waiting out here for?"

"It's as good a place as any, isn't it?" Liz asked. "Better than playing video games." Max made a face at her over Maria's shoulder, and she returned it. Maria shook her head and pulled Liz into the house. "Is Isabel home?"

"I think so."

"Good," Maria said, thundering through the house and knocking on Isabel's door. She opened it, dressed in a robe. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready," she said.

"Good," Maria repeated, pushing her way into the room. "We're going to get ready too."

Isabel just kind of looked at her in fear for a second, but then smiled and shut her door. Maria had flung the duffel bag onto Isabel's bed and was now tearing the clothes out of it.

"What would look best on Liz?" she asked, mostly talking to herself. Maria uncovered a hideous (or so Liz thought) army-green miniskirt and eyed it for a second before dropping it like a hot rock. "You wouldn't want to wear that," she explained. "I wore that on my first date with Billy Whatshisface in tenth grade. Lasted a week. The guy slobbered like a dog. Not ideal." She shuddered and kicked the skirt away from her.

"What about this one?" Isabel asked, pulling a gold tube top out of the bottom of the bag. Liz looked at it and snorted.

"I have nothing to hold it up," she said, taking it from the girl and burying it under the still-growing reject pile.

"Yeah, it's uncomfortable as hell," Maria agreed. "I hate tube tops." She pulled out a sparkly red tank top, then flung it away. She looked at Liz, and then dove for the shirt, holding it out in front of her. "Oh!" she squealed. "This would look perfect on you."

Liz looked down. It was pretty, she had to admit. But there were no sleeves. Her arms would be exposed. Shit.

"What's wrong?" Maria asked, concerned. "Don't you like it?"

"Ye-no. I do. Just… My arms are… I have these…"

"Oh. Cosmetic stuff." She waved her hand in dismissal. "Isabel can fix it." Liz looked at her in confusion. "Michael and Max told you, didn't they?"

She nodded. "I didn't know they…told you."

Maria waved her hand again. "Oh yeah. A few years after you had to leave. Don't worry about your arms."

Liz bit her lip and nodded, forcing a smile. "So, what? Am I wearing this with my jeans?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Please, girl. You're wearing a skirt."

Isabel stood and rifled through her closet. "I have one that would go with…" She pulled out a long skirt with a flourish. "Yep." She pressed it against Liz's hips, studying it carefully. It was made of a sort of black, gauzy material, with something a little thicker underneath. The top layers and the hem were uneven and at odd angles, but it worked.

"It's so pretty," Liz said. "But it's too long." Damn. It was a really nice skirt.

Isabel snorted and waved her hand along the bottom hem of the skirt, and instantly, the whole skirt became smaller—it looked like it would fit Liz's smaller frame perfectly.

"Guess not," Liz mumbled, feeling sheepish.

"Now, the most important accessory," Maria said, dumping the rest of her bag onto the bed. "Shoes!"

Liz had to stop herself from rolling her eyes—she couldn't stand talk like that—but managed to not say anything, stepping back as Maria and Isabel held pair after pair up to the outfit they'd picked out for her. Finally, they decided on a pair.

"Okay. We've got you all set," Maria said, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "Now we dress."

The dressing commenced.

"So," Isabel said, pulling on a miniskirt and glancing up at Maria. "How goes it with my brother?"

"Oh, you know," Maria said innocently, wiggling her eyebrows. "Same old, same old. He gets to dance the funky chicken tonight."

"Why?" Liz asked. That was random.

"Just a bet we made," Maria said even more innocently, wiggling her eyebrows some more. "Of course, I owe him five dollars."

Isabel snorted. "Speaking of, Miss Parker… what's happening with you and Michael?"

Liz felt her face turning red. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Liz," Maria said. "We saw you two this morning. You don't spoon with someone on a couch if nothing's happening."

"It's nothing like that!" Liz exclaimed, her eyes going wide. She paused in pulling off her shirt, trying to figure out how to manage this without letting Maria see her scars. "I don't know…"

"Do you like him?" Isabel prodded.

Liz cursed the heat still rising into her cheeks. "Yes!" she said emphatically, then once more, a little less obvious. "Yeah. I do." She felt herself grinning like an idiot.

"Well that's obvious," Maria said, pulling on her own tank top. "And you know that he likes you."

Liz said nothing, studying her feet.

"Okay, girl," Maria said, stepping forward. "I admit it—I know you two have kissed. What's it like?"

How—you couldn't even put it into words. Liz blushed at the memory of their first kiss. How would you say that it made you feel like you were flying through space on a comet, without sounding like a moron. She shrugged.

"I never kiss and tell," she said, donning what she hoped was a mischievous grin.

"You little minx!" Maria shrieked, throwing the gold top at her. Liz dodged it and laughed. "Now put on that shirt, dammit, so we can get started on makeup."

Shit. "Isabel, do you think you could… do your thing now?" Liz asked hesitantly, turning to the tall blonde.

Isabel gave her a strange look. "Sure."

Liz turned so that Maria wouldn't be able to see, and then pulled her arm out of her shirt. Isabel looked at it for a moment in shock before putting her hand over it. Liz felt a slight tingling in her arm, and then Isabel pulled her hand away. Her skin was just as clear as it had been when she was thirteen. Liz breathed a sigh of relief and turned the other way, holding out her arm. This one had the burn from Uncle Willie—the night she'd remembered last night.

"Liz, what—" She began, but Liz cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. Isabel laid her hand on her arm and did the same thing as before. Now Liz had two scar-free arms. She grinned while inspecting the skin of either arm then pulled Maria's shirt over her head. Isabel was still looking at her in shock, but then snapped out of it, shaking her head vigorously. Maria watched the two of them for a few more seconds, and then leapt off of the bed, brandishing a large black bag.

"What's that?" Liz asked, though she had a feeling that she already knew. She backed away as Maria unzipped it.

"This is my makeup, of course," she said, digging through it. "Here," she decided, pulling out a dark pencil. "This eyeliner, and…" She pulled out several cases before settling on one. "…this eye shadow." She studied Liz's face. "Ugh. You make me sick. You don't need foundation or blush." She looked over at Isabel. "Though I doubt you'd need blush even if you didn't have that complexion."

Isabel snorted.

"Why?" Liz demanded.

"Whenever you're near Michael, your face, like, lights up."

"It does not," Liz protested, fidgeting with the skirt.

"Like a light bulb, baby," Maria laughed. "Spill."

"Even better…" Isabel said, pulling her desk chair up to the bed and grabbing the selected makeup from Maria. "Sit on the bed, and then spill."

Liz obeyed, letting Isabel put the makeup on her. "There's nothing to spill."

"You said you like him, right?" Maria prompted.

"Yes."

"Well…why? I know it's not because of his hair. How'd you two meet?"

Liz shrugged. She didn't know if Maria knew about Michael's foster father, and she sure as hell didn't want to be the one to tell her. "I went to the park one night, and he was there, and…we sort of talked for a little while. Then he forgot his lunch the next day, and I gave him some money."

"No way," Isabel decided, gently smudging the makeup across Liz's eyelids. "Michael would never take money."

Liz shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I told him it was a loan."

"Sneaky," Maria said appreciatively. Isabel laughed and blew gently on Liz's eyelids, then snapped the makeup case closed. Maria examined Liz's face and clapped her hands.

"Beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Now. Your hair."

Liz's hand immediately went to the top of her head. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing!" Maria exclaimed, fluffing the dark shiny locks. "Just…if we want Michael to trip over his own feet, it needs to be something different."

Liz bit her lip and allowed her friend to mess with her hair for a while. Finally Maria stepped back, as if in awe of her own brilliance. She looked over at Isabel, eyes shining. "Waves. Can you just…make it sort of wavy? Like—"

"Oh, yeah," Isabel said, stepping forward. She ran her hands through Liz's hair, and when she was finished, Liz's hair was tumbling down in soft waves. Maria grinned.

"Michael is going to drop dead at your feet," Maria said.

"I hope not," Liz mumbled. The other girls laughed. Maria stepped back.

"You're just missing one…thing. Isabel, do you have, like…some sort of necklace? Uhm….old-looking, maybe?"

Liz jumped up. "I do. It's in my bag. I can go get it." She headed towards the door, but Maria grabbed her arm.

"We don't want to run the risk of Michael seeing you," she whispered. "Isabel…"

"Yeah." She headed from the room, returning shortly with Liz's tattered backpack. She grabbed it and dug through one of the compartments. She pulled out an antique-looking pendant on an equally antique chain—it looked sort of lacy, except made of silver, with an oval-shaped emerald in the center. Maria took it gently.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "Where'd you get it?"

"My grandma Claudia gave it to me when I was ten," Liz said, taking it and fastening it around her neck. "Just before she died." She pulled her hair free of the chain and sniffled.

"No crying," Maria ordered, hugging Liz. "You'll ruin your makeup, and we don't have time to redo yours and do our own."

Liz laughed and sat back on Isabel's bed to watch the other girls get ready. She tried to tell herself that the pterodactyls in her stomach were just because this would be her first real dance, and not because she was nervous about what Michael would think when he saw her.

Michael had agreed to Max's half-in-jest offer of borrowing some clothes, and had been ready for about forty-five minutes—just waiting with Max on the couch. He checked his watch for the sixth time in—five minutes, and sat back with a sigh. Max looked over at him.

"Dude, relax," he laughed. "They're girls."

Michael rolled his eyes and looked up towards the staircase. Maria and Isabel were hurrying down the stairs, and adopted poses like the women on The Price is Right. Sort of. Michael got to his feet.

"And now, it is our pleasure to introduce the new—"

"—but not necessarily improved—I mean, who could do such a thing?" Maria broke in.

"Miss Elizabeth Parker."

On cue, Liz appeared, biting on her lower lip. She descended the stairs, keeping her eyes averted. Once she reached the final step, she looked up into his eyes and took a nervous, ragged breath.

"Hello," Michael said, feeling a grin steal slowly across his face. Liz gave him a shy smile.

"Hi."

"Now that we've exchanged pleasantries," Maria said, pulling Max out the door. "Now it's time to go."

When they arrived, the dance was already in full swing. Maria and Max disappeared into the throes of people; Liz sort of hesitated and looked nervously at him. She looked oddly at home in the surroundings: the gym had been decorated to resemble a sort of fairy glade—large knobby tree trunks lined the walls and different shades of green crepe paper was strung across the ceiling, giving the feel of a thick canopy of leaves. There had been someone standing over the door with glitter, letting it rain down on the partygoers, and it was sparkling from inside her dark locks.

"You look great," Michael said. She blushed and smiled.

"This stuff…it's Isabel's and Maria's."

"It looks better on you," he murmured close to her ear. She laughed and pushed her hair out of her face. Michael looked down at her arm.

"The scars are gone," he observed, grabbing her upper arm. She pulled away.

"Isabel…did something to them." She looked around nervously.

"Oh. Right. Do you want to dance?"

Liz smiled slightly. "You don't dance."

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Just figured…it was the right thing to ask?"

She laughed. "No. The correct thing to ask would be, 'Would you like something to drink?'"

"Yes, I'd love something, thanks."

She laughed and nodded, sort of skipping away. Michael caught up to her, stopping her. "I was kidding."

"I wasn't. I'm thirsty." She downed a plastic cup of punch, then grinned.

Someone sneaked up behind them and grabbed Liz around the middle. Michael saw her tense and was ready to blow them up, when he saw that the someone was Alex. He laughed and released Liz.

"Did I scare you?"

"No. Of course not." Liz grinned.

"Well, since you're here with Michael Guerin aka the non-dancer or something a little catchier, would you care to dance with me, your oldest and bestest friend?"

"Of course I would," Liz said, giggling. "But isn't your band playing tonight?"

"Surely they can be without me for one song. I mean, I'm a vital part of the band, of course, but I think they can survive."

"I see. Then lead on, Mr. Rock Star," Liz said, allowing herself to be led into the crush of people. As if on cue, the rock song stopped and a slower song came on. Alex pulled Liz to him, and she put her head on his shoulder, looking totally comfortable in his arms. Michael suppressed another surge of jealousy, reminding himself that Alex and Liz were just friends. Still, the song couldn't end soon enough for him.

Finally, it did, and Alex returned to the stage, while Liz headed back to him. She grinned, and he tried to wipe any remaining traces of jealousy from his face.

"Okay, guys," Alex said into the mic. "Yesterday, I found someone really important to me, just about when I had given up on ever seeing her again. I know that this isn't exactly the type of song you're used to hearing from us, but I wrote this for her when we were thirteen—try as she might to persuade herself that it's for someone else, and… I don't know. Love you, Liz.

Maybe when the room is empty,
Maybe when the bottle's full,
Maybe when the door gets broke down love can break in.
Maybe when I'm done with thinking,
Maybe you can think me whole,
Maybe when I'm done with endings this can begin.
This can begin, this can begin..."

Michael looked down at her as the now-familiar beginning bars of Alex's song began playing. Liz was flushing prettily and looking down at her shoes. She looked up, grinning, and stuck out her lower lip. "Dance with me?" she asked.

"I don't dance, remember?"

"Please?"

Who could refuse her? He sighed in agreement and allowed her to lead him onto the floor. Liz immediately began moving to the music, while Michael could just sort of sway as he looked around in order to catch anyone laughing at him and turn their eyeballs into jelly. No one did, though, lucky for them. Liz opened her eyes and watched him, still moving. When he caught her looking at him, she giggled.

"What are you looking at?" He demanded.

"You," she said simply, twirling around him. "You really don't dance."

"Shut up." He stopped moving, and headed off of the dance floor.

"Oh come on, you big baby." Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him back to her. "Let me show you." Just then, the song stopped.

"Oh. No music. Looks like you can't. Tough luck."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Stay," she ordered, heading over to the stage. She got Alex's attention just as the band was about to start the next song, and she talked to him for about thirty seconds, gesturing towards Michael. Alex looked over at him, grinned, and nodded, then returned to the band. Immediately, a faster song started up.

"What did you do?" Michael demanded warily.

"Nothing. Okay. I'm going to show you how to dance." Liz stepped in front of him and grabbed his hands, placing them on either of her hips. "Now, just follow me. It's easy." She began rocking out the way she had just been, making Michael choke. She threw him a stern look over her shoulder, and he began following her movements, which she had slowed down a little. "Yes!" Liz cried happily, stepping away and giving a little jump. "You got it!"

He did! His body was actually moving in time to the music! Michael caught Liz's eyes, and she grinned, resuming her motions. It was a good thing he'd caught on when he had—the stimulation of Liz practically gyrating that close to him might have caused an awkward scene, had it gone on much longer.

This song ended quickly, and Liz threw her arms around Michael, laughing. "You're a natural!" she exclaimed. "So what are you going to do now?" She cocked her head and grinned, as if she already knew.

"I'm going to dance with you, of course," he said, pulling her to him. She laughed but said nothing, and they danced for the next few songs.

As much as he would have liked to dance with Liz all night—to watch her, touch her, feel her tight body against his, he was nearly dying with thirst, and knew Liz was too. They went over to the punch, which was now being supervised by the principal (must have been a spiking scare or something), and filled their cups to the brim. Liz downed hers so quickly that some spilled out and down her chin. Michael watched, transfixed, as the red droplet made its way down her neck then continued down the swell of one breast. Liz looked down and giggled, quickly wiping it away and refilling her cup and snatching his away to do the same to it.

"You're going to get dehydrated, dancing like that for so long," she said, thrusting the cup back into his hands and snapping in his face.

"Wha-oh. Thanks."

She looked at him strangely. "You okay? Seemed like you went somewhere else for a minute."

"Yeah. I'm fine." He drank the punch quickly, crushing his cup and belching. Liz groaned.

"Oh, that was attractive," she said, heading back.

"You know it."

Finally, the band began playing the slow songs. Michael saw Liz looking at him hesitantly.

"What?"

"Do you slow dance?" she asked, half-teasing.

"Get over here," he growled, pulling her to him. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. Michael slid his arms down around her waist and they moved in time, both with the music and with each other.

"May we cut in?" asked a familiar voice. Michael opened his eyes to see Maria and Max standing there, matching grins on their faces. Liz stepped away and grabbed Maria. Michael stood there awkwardly for a second, before the girls laughed. Liz stepped over to Max, freeing Maria to grab Michael. She began leading—not a surprise. Michael only halfway listened to her—he was trying to catch a glimpse of Liz and Max. Maria tugged on his hair, trying to get his attention.

"Hey!" he exclaimed indignantly, glaring down at her.

"Hey, yourself, SpaceBoy," Maria said, glaring right back at him. "I was talking to you."

"Fine. What? And stop calling me that."

"I said, stop worrying. Neither of them is going to do anything. There's only room in Liz's heart for one alien, and that is you."

"Shut up."

She smiled and shrugged. "Anyway, you two looked awfully cozy just before we cut in."

"So why'd you do it?" He asked, still looking for Liz. Ah. There they were. Liz looked just like she had with Alex. But there were no guarantees—Max had had a crush on her when they were younger. Maria tugged on his hair again.

"Were you listening?"

"You touch my hair again and I'm stepping on your little feet."

"I'm terrified, SpaceBoy."

Michael rolled his eyes. Maria was fine in short periods—he could stand her—but she was nothing compared to Liz.

"All right, all right," she said, settling against him. "I'm done."

After what seemed like forever, the dance came to an end, and the four of them piled into the Jeep. Michael sat in the back seat, with Liz right next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. He could tell she was asleep, and was absently running his hand through her hair as he looked out the window.

"So, Alex tells me that you and Liz were dancing pretty close earlier," Isabel teased. "She show you any new moves?"

Michael didn't reply, but Liz stirred. "Fuck you, Isabel," she mumbled sleepily, adjusting her position. Michael and Max laughed, while Isabel huffed and turned around.

When they reached the Evanses', Michael gently shook Liz. She groaned and pushed him away.

"We're here," he said. "You gotta go in and go to bed."

"You just move your ass and I'll sleep here," Liz murmured.

"You're not sleeping in the Jeep," Michael said. "Come on."

Liz voiced her annoyance with him at the moment, but followed him inside. She disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging shortly, wearing her pajamas. She said nothing to Michael as she wrapped herself in the blankets Max had set out before he went into his room, but once she was settled, she smiled up at him.

"I had fun tonight…" she said, trailing off in a yawn. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "No problem. I had fun too."

Liz laughed. "You were pretty damn hot, dancing like that."

"I'm pretty damn hot all the time."

She rolled her eyes and nodded. "Whatever."

"So you agree."

Liz cast a pleading look his way. "I'm tired."

Michael laughed and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Goodnight." He meant to pull back, but something was stopping him. His eyes locked onto Liz's, and they moved together slowly. For the third time since they had been reunited, Michael felt her warm lips pressing against his own. He moved back a little, so she could sit up, which she did, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Finally, they pulled away, and Liz bit her lip and smiled.

"I thought you were tired," Michael teased, brushing her hair away from her face.

"Shut up," she said. He laughed. "Where are you sleeping?" she asked, settling back down into the blankets.

"Max's room. Figured I'd let you have the couch all to yourself."

"You're so generous."

"You're so right."

She rolled her eyes. "Good night, Michael," she said pointedly. He nodded and flipped off the light.

"Good night, Liz."