Disclaimer: I do not own any part of this series. Nor am I the intellect behind Bennie's fic Conspiracy.

Summary: Liz always knew a return to Roswell was in the cards. Five years after she left, Fate plucked that one from the deck. AU inspired by 'Conspiracy' (details inside).

Author's Note: Title for this chapter is from the song "Control" by Puddle of Mudd.

…

I can't control you (You can't control me)

…

My team made no outward reaction. The rest of our Antarian audience drew back—a movement en masse, as if afraid I would lift my loosely-held weapon and wildly shoot into them. The ache which came from hurting another man intensified.

I was doing my job and it wasn't a pleasant peaceful one. It was gritty and tough and nasty.

Rath knelt beside Zan, hands a manacle on the agent's wrists. Zan rose from his crouch. Eyelids closed once and reopened to normal, to the eyes I was used to seeing in people's skulls. The change betrayed no further emotion.

Sully came forward to take custody of Pierce in the time it took for me to holster my weapon. Pierce made no move to resist, face betraying his utter lack of care for the well-being of his wounded subordinate. He truly was mad. Something else in my chest twisted.

Correct about aliens or not, he had gone far off the deep end if he thought the men who followed him deserved none of his care. My move was calculated—medics were with us, it was only a gut-shot, painful but treatable if they reached him in time—but it failed to evoke any conscionable reaction from him.

Sully pulled Pierce upright. His head tilted to the side, and I waited to hear what he thought was a vital parting shot. "Should have guessed," he snarled, the light of intelligence glimmering behind the madness. "Which one are you fucking, Stone?"

No fear. He was too far gone to fear what I could do to him.

I pretended that Zan's eyes stayed human. That Ava did not physically prevent Oeri's hand from rising.

My only response was a correction. "The name's Parker."

Then I turned my back to him and Sully and the other traitorous agents and my team. Turned my back to the Antarians clinging to each other on the far side of the hall. I headed to the table layered with papers that I could see at a glance were military issue. Any Antarian meeting documents must have been sealed as evidence.

Pierce's rustle of stubborn non-resistance echoed in the room. Pierce's breath grew sharp, a low growl of understanding and anger. He knew, then, who I was and why I was invested in Roswell.

I said, "You have your orders, Agent."

Before my SUV reached Roswell, I said, "Agent Sully. There's a rock quarry to the east. When we have Pierce, deal with him."

"Yes, ma'am."

I expected more from Pierce than slurs against my parentage (and more about my sexual activities).

I circled the table and refrained from touching anything until I got a good look at all of it. Yes, it was federal. All of it was likely illegal (the whole operation was illegal). I gingerly lifted a single sheet, eyeing the lines for a clue.

Analysts and grunt workers, patrols and search parties… I pulled out my radio. "Team leaders Bravo through Echo, proceed on schedule. Teams Foxtrot and Golf, be prepared to escort Speck Oon back to base. Unbalanced Cargo is in custody en-route to the military, under heavy guard. All others, sit tight." After I received acknowledgments, I lowered the radio.

I ignored the shiver I got at the eyes. Always with the eyes…

Team Bravo filtered into the room, quietly encircling the perimeter. The Antarian council members huddled away from them, wary. I distracted myself by calling for the leader. "Klein." He jumped to attention, snapping a smart salute and only letting it fall when I added, "Get started on these."

"Yes, ma'am!" Several agents converged on the table, starting the clean-up. Backing away from the table, I lifted the paper I looked at earlier. Let the lines of text float in front of my eyes without gaining traction.

Our unit had almost come too late to prevent Pierce from doing some serious damage to the Antarian king. Their sense of peace was irrevocably shattered. And our mission was far from over.

The other members of Team Bravo were making the Antarians uncomfortable. But I had to present myself as the controlling agent in the room. I had to make my authority clear so they would take me seriously, even if I was a former young thing under their supervision. Now I had a reach they feverishly magnified beyond any reasonable proportion, and I had to use that against them.

It felt dirty. Manipulative. Pierce.

This was the harsh reality of my job and their existence—and all the lies that drove me away in the first place. Those wounds weren't healed, I could admit that. There was even a secret thrill in my gut at being so in control of the flow of knowledge in that room.

Just over the edge of the paper, I let my eyes linger on one form, avoiding his face. That was easy enough, as he was in consultation with the curly-haired queen bee of my high school years. I kept my gaze away from the familiar face of my best friend and her boyfriend, from one of my ex-boyfriends and his best friend. I surreptitiously watched the man who once told me that he loved me (before I turned him down and left town).

Because Zan, you see, was Max.

Essence transference to a suitable genetically modified body which was well adapted to specific planetary elements.

To put Larek's explanation more simply: Antarian bodies could not handle Earth's atmosphere. So they created new ones.

The aliens of Roswell were all transferred, in a process of many years, into new hybrid bodies. Many of their people were still in stasis, slowly being transferred and awoken, and this allowed Roswell's population to grow at a projected, suitable rate.

So Rath and Oeri: Michael and Maria, actual old married couple (from another life). Vilandra the princess, Isabel the sister. Lameh the royal guard, Kyle my ex-boyfriend. And Ava the queen was Tess the cheerleader in this lifetime.

It's still a little hard to take in on top of the alien revelation. I've found this kind of knowledge is more manageable in smaller doses.

The conference table was cleared within five minutes. Team Bravo left while Team Alpha took up the perimeter. The Antarians mingled and stared at me and murmured to themselves. I knew I was running out of time. Still, I tried. My heels clicked on the tile floors as Vasquez approached with a report folder, and I let our paths intersect on my way toward Max.

She gave me a considering look, knowing my history, and I simply raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am," she said, handing over the folder.

"Thank you," I replied, taking it and flipping briefly through. Everything impeccable. "Agent Sully?"

"On track. He just radioed in his route."

I nodded and turned to go back to the conference table. Stalling, placing the folder down before calling over the Antarians.

Behind me, the air moved. Voices quieted to the faintest murmur. I felt tingles shoot through my skin as a wide-palmed hand fell to my arm and turned.

Just as I expected. The eyes were easy to read.

Max's swirled, dark flecks betraying sorrow and pain, the size of the whites telling of his shock at what I had done. Lines at the corner of his mouth deepened with the flex of muscle. Just beyond him were too many familiar faces, not nearly as close but enough to make me feel trapped.

I didn't wait for him to speak. "That was a stupid, reckless move."

His eyebrows lowered, shock flashing to anger. "He was going to kill you," Max snarled.

I steeled myself. Pulling my arm out of his grasp with a sharp yank, I turned away to re-solidify my competence. Control. "You interfered with a federal investigation and the apprehension of an armed and dangerous suspect." I walked to the head of the conference table. "I trained specifically for situations like this. You have not."

When I turned, I saw what I had felt. He followed me halfway, lingered yards away from the table. The faces of my peers remained peripheral. Max assessed me, crossed his arms, and excused himself with, "He threatened me."

"I'm the agent. It's my job to take care of people like him and protect civilians. I have the authority here." With a flick of my wrist, all agents except Vasquez moved for the door.

He eyed the movement, turned his head to track the progress of the agents. "I understand."

"I doubt that." I suppressed a wince at the sharpness. Trying for more diplomacy, I gestured to the table with my free hand. "We're going to have a conversation. This is highly sensitive information. Any others remain at your discretion."

The tension felt like a pressure headache. I looked away from them and paced to the far side of the table. Flipped open the folder in my hands casually.

From the corner of my eye, Max's arms lowered stiffly, a forced casual gesture that would have tipped me off if I didn't know already. He valiantly tried to gloss through. "I can give you a statement, but I'm not sure—"

Time to nip that right in the bud. "Take a seat, Zan."

The air was sucked right out of the room.

I lifted my head, enforcing it with my eyes. Trying to push away the emotions I felt at speaking my hard-found knowledge aloud.

Max seemed to be a statue. Maria was the one to speak, eyes wide and glistening. "Liz?" Wavered like a child.

I focused on Max. Something came to his eyes, some emotion I couldn't place. I brushed it aside without taking it in. "Sit down, or get locked up somewhere. Your choice." The faint stuttering flicker turned into slapped-face dampness, a steel mask over clear pain. Michael stepped in front of Max before my eyes rolled in realization. "That's not a threat, Rath."

"Sure sounds like one," he said, taking one more step to place himself full in front of his king. His arms were bunched and ready, and the angle of his arm was odd (like he was ready to raise his hand).

I crossed my arms and stared him down. "It's a warning. You think he—" I jerked a thumb to the doorway Pierce had passed through. "—was working alone? We don't have much time, but there's enough that I can share our information with you."

Maybe it was my words. Maybe it was the memory of who I used to be. Whatever made Michael believe, lingered only for a moment before stepping aside.

Max and I looked at each other from across the table. Never had the divide seemed bigger.

That was when I knew why.

"You don't trust me."

As though it was a test of some sort, Max flushed slightly. "That's not—"

I shrugged, the folder grasped in one hand jabbing into my ribs. "I don't trust you." He winced. I tried not to let it bother me. "But I can promise that if you sit down, I will not lie to you."

And that was the truth.

I had to work with him on this, had to get him to listen and think about the information I was going to share. And in the end, I saw the decision light his eyes.

He turned to Michael and spoke in a lowered voice I could not hear. The Commander nodded and spoke only a few short words to the others. Then, slowly, the Antarians drifted out of the room. I refused to look at Isabel and Kyle, whose hand tugging gently on Maria's arm. Max and Tess exchanged looks before the queen joined the others. Eventually, the doors closed beyond one last fretful gaze from my former best friend. Michael reassumed his position behind Max.

Max didn't turn back to me the entire time. Then, finally, he spun on one heel and strode to the table. There was sharpness to his movements I had never seen before, calculated awareness that took me off-guard when I saw older eyes in that youthful face. There was a flicker of darkness, like that which had covered his pupils earlier, and the same shadow fluttered in Michael.

Peaceful Zan was still in Max, still a king, even as a refugee in an alien land. And Rath had always been a warrior.

Despite knowing how dangerous they could be, I felt no fear. Maybe because of my memories, or since I knew their reputations, or due to vibe they emitted. Somehow I knew they wouldn't hurt me.

Max and I pulled out our chairs at the same time. Our eyes met over the table as he sat. I didn't bother to instruct Michael not to loom behind his king's chair: he had every right and reason to be wary.

I remained standing and tossed the folder onto the table. It slid across the surface, pale cream with a rectangular box printed on the front. Inside the box was stamped the Homeland Security logo, and a second symbol underneath. That of my department: five dots arranged in a column, looping line weaving between them, sealed inside a triangle.

He glanced between it and me, his hand stretching out as I remained motionless and wordless. One finger flipped open the cover casually, attempting to conceal his concern. Surprise that flickered as he saw the first page. "The agent," he said. Michael leaned over Max's shoulder, just enough to see the page. "You called him Pierce." Max tapped the edge of the paper, where biographical information was listed in neat twelve-point font.

I sank into the opposite chair. "Agent Pierce. Marine, honorable discharge. He never actually qualified to be an agent, never went through training. He has been under contract with Homeland Security for fifteen years. Officially, he's a special operative with advanced skill sets. Unofficially, he works the crazy cases, ones the government at large doesn't know about and doesn't want to be made public or connected to. Things classified as supernatural and extraterrestrial." At this, both men returned their analytic gazes on me. I maintained my composure as well as I could. "He's their pet alien-hunter."

Michael demanded, "Does Homeland Security know about us?" His shoulders rolled back.

"There are internal divisions. Only a select few even know Pierce works for them, let alone what he does." I shrugged one shoulder. "Extra-terrestrial life on Earth is strictly need to know."

"And you need to know?" Michael crossed his arms.

"I work with a division that is aware of Roswell. Pierce was not part of that division. There are people that the Director does not believe should be made aware." I knew what question was coming and headed it off. "The Director can discuss this with you at a later time. We need to focus on here and now." Michael frowned, but let it go. For now.

Max lifted his head. "If Pierce was not part of this division, how did he find out about us?"

I swallowed. "I can tell you what we have gathered so far. Six months ago, Pierce went on a leave of absence. In code that means he stopped coming into the office for his morning cup of coffee. Usually when that happens, the agent is working on something that the rest of the office can't, or shouldn't, know about."

"Us."

My fingers tapped against the table. "Maybe. Pierce hasn't been acting rationally, though. He was supposed to return to the office at the start of the month, but applied for extended time. Then last week, he returned to HQ. The director he usually went to with these cases was available, and yet he chose to approach a different superior."

"So he told someone who wasn't on the need-to-know and, probably the reason they weren't in the know," Michael snorted, "they freaked out?"

If only it were that simple. "He told them there was a terrorist cell in Roswell stockpiling ammunition and intending to gather nuclear weapons."

Max shuddered. "That's…insane."

Face pale, eyes wide, Michael insisted, "He's lying."

Their reactions gave me comfort. A tangible proof of a personal, prior certainty.

"He was told to get a psychological evaluation before returning to work." I crossed my legs and leaned into the side of my chair. "Pierce is smart and driven. He's always had a clear limit. And he's a master manipulator. He knows damn well who he could approach in HQ for permission to take an offensive in an extraterrestrial case. At the moment, we don't know why he made up a story or what he hoped to accomplish by it." I paused to breathe around uncomfortable memories.

Max had noticed, though. "You knew him."

Something in his tone made me look at his face, and I caught a brief glimpse of a depth of emotion quickly shuttered.

For a moment, I had seen Max. And I remembered the last time I was in his car.

My fingers dug into my thigh. "I went undercover in his office for a time." It felt like a lie. I clarified, "We worked together. I know what he's capable of." Nothing more than honest truth.

I couldn't quite meet his eyes and, thankfully, Michael had questions. "How long did it take for him to change the mind of the director he spoke with? Or did he just shift gears and approach one he knew would let him come?"

"Three days ago, he went AWOL." My arms crossed against the chill of memory. "Took a select number of agents with him. He didn't cover correspondence quite as well as he may have thought, so we know that at least three-quarters of them were lied to and thought they were in search of weapons and on an authorized mission. They were all from Homeland Security."

Max released a long breath through his nose. "And the remaining quarter?"

"They're in on whatever he's planning. They've all been personally linked to Pierce in the course of some of his other work." I rested my elbows on the table, gripping opposite forearms tightly. "Whatever he wants from Roswell he knew he wouldn't get permission to do."

At this point, with most of the story out, I finally paid attention to the little gestures between Max and Michael. The Commander, now standing beside his king, made a few tiny hand gestures to which Max's head inclined in response.

The alien king looked at me. I saw only the unknown in his expression. My spine straightened. "What is it?"

Michael had turned into stone, staring down over the table. Max's voice was slow, soft. "You clearly know who we are. And this organization you're with also knows. An agent has put his entire career on the line to come here and threaten my people. You've been trained to kill." I refused to allow myself the luxury of wincing. "We are reasonable suspects. So why are we having a conversation at a conference table?"

My warning truly hadn't been taken as such.

It was sad to hear that the people who raised me thought I could turn and destroy what little peace they had left. But I could have been such a danger if not for Larek and Brody. If Pierce had found me, seeking his answers…

The people who built their refuge here needed something more than a lone human's heartfelt promise of loyalty. What could I say that rang with truth?

Not words of my own.

I repeated the words Larek used when telling me the truth about Roswell. "Zan the Great is a peaceful man. Treat him well and he'll do you no harm."

Max's inhale came sharp. "Who told you that?"

"The Director." I shook my head. "Part of him." Sucking air between my teeth, I added, "It's complicated. Zan—"

"Max." As startling as my revelation had to have been, his correction startled me more. He leaned forward, pleadingly, and I sank back into my chair as his eyes glowed with something much more familiar than the kingly disguise. "Please. My name is Max."

Instead of responding to his request, I avoided the name altogether. "I knew Pierce. The man who was here today, that's a man I've never seen before. But I've caught glimpses of him." I pushed aside memories that rose at the thought. "He was never brought into our unit despite the work he's done."

"Your Director didn't trust him," Michael said.

His quiet re-involvement in the conversation allowed me to look away from Max's slowly-closing off expression. "No one did. Homeland Security did not want him to be anything more than a consultant. My director's superiors take the attitude that a live wire which serves a useful purpose can be kept. Until it is no longer useful."

Michael understood immediately what I was so ashamed to say aloud. "Let me guess. Coming here proved it." His jaw twitched.

My eyes lowered. I had never disliked it more than in that moment. "I could tell you about bureaucracy, and politics. But that's a weak excuse."

"Yeah."

"Michael."

Michael relented as much as he was able. "It's true." One shoulder lifted and lowered. "But you've done your best, I'll admit that. So what did happen?"

"Pierce found it out about Roswell on his own," I said. Pushing my chair back from the table, I slipped my hands behind my back as my feet slipped into pacing. "That's what I think happened. The question I have is what tipped him off."

Max sat up straighter in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"Roswell's been the epicenter of exactly nothing for years. No activity should have made his radar. We keep everything under our control so things like this don't happen. Yet somehow, Pierce did exactly what our Director always tried to prevent."

Fear flickered in his eyes. "We haven't done anything to draw attention to ourselves. All the years we've been here, we have gone out of our way to keep a low profile. No one wants us to stay secret more than my people, and they would never risk discovery."

I could only nod. Of course they hadn't done anything to deserve this treatment. We were well aware of Roswell's activities. Even if they had a hidden serial killer in the basement, they wouldn't deserve Pierce's plans.

But those very plans were why I had to push. "He was in Roswell for four hours before we arrived. You were in this room with him for at least one. Did he tell you anything?"

He seemed startled by the question and shrugged, a familiar discomfort. "Not really. Nothing about why he was here."

"One hour, Zan. What did he say?"

His eyes narrowed. "I already told you. Nothing."

"Think harder." I knew I was pushing it, knew it sounded like an accusation—knew that I needed to do my job.

"I'm telling you the truth!" My hands rested on the back of the chair when he exploded: a sharp hand, slicing through the air, a slight rise out of his seat—but no pressure, no wave of extraterrestrial force. The king seated before me glared, but even as his eyes blazed he analyzed my words, my expression. "What is this about?" he asked, frown deepening. "There's something else. Something more."

I gestured to the file before him. He looked at it without prompting, flipping a page and taking in—at a single glance—the data. Over his shoulder, Michael's hunched shoulders wriggled under his shirt in apprehension. "Weapons. Pierce's cover story."

Like a Band-Aid. "That isn't a report Pierce filed. It's from a military base not far from here." Michael straightened as if electrified. "Two trucks loaded with those materials went missing overnight. Two of Pierce's agents in the know would have had the means and opportunity to pull it off." "

"This much is missing." It wasn't a question: Max stared me down, a cold fury building in his eyes. "That could destroy the entire downtown area." I couldn't tell if he was angry at me, but I wouldn't have blamed him.

Hastening to reassure, I was also careful when I pushed again. "My teams are already searching. But is there anything—anything—that he said, or did, that stood out to you?"

Michael shook his head. "Nothing. Threats, xenophobic crap, that's all he was saying! This stuff is out there?" he added, jabbing one finger angrily into the paper.

The answer to that question was obvious. "We'll do our best. Some of the best agents I know of are on my teams."

"Are my people in danger, Agent?" Of course the king would think of his people, and the man would care about those he knew and loved. "How seriously do we need to treat this threat? Is it time to start an evacuation, or are you truly certain that you will succeed in time to prevent harm coming to any of us?"

It's not easy to tell an alien what you think an alien hunter wants. It was a testament to their belief in human goodness that an explanation was required.

And that said a lot about humans, too.

I looked at the table again, somehow unable to meet the king's eyes as I told him, "I don't have proof. Just a gut feeling."

"Intuition is acceptable," said Max. "Go on."

"I think he meant to plant the evidence, so that the agents he lied to would believe him. I think that his end goal was for every agent under his command to believe him above any information they would eventually hear to the contrary. The Pierce I knew truly believed that his work was in defense of human beings and his country. He would do whatever he thought was necessary, ends justify the means, that kind of thing. And recently, in this country, what treatment do terrorists receive?"

They went where I led. I finally looked up to see Max's face break, as if his heart was bruised a little more, as if something had been proven. I realized then that he had thought of it first, had assumed that was Pierce's end game, but was willing to build the evidence before proclaiming his suspicions. He was saddened, not by reality, but by his own failed optimism.

"He could experiment. All he wanted, and no one would stop him. The other agents would think the torture was to get information."

There was nothing I could say to that. It was a possibility that had me in nightmares when I thought of my parents, Maria, Alex, in cells or being tested. Being hurt by people who thought that these loving, kind souls wanted to hurt anyone. Without bothering to think of their history and why they were even on this land in the first place.

I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for all of them. While I grew up thinking that the worst thing was to be insulted, they dreaded scalpels and probes.

Even my theory wasn't enough. "Regardless, Pierce is being too unpredictable. I can't be sure I know his mind anymore. So I can't take a risk based on gut feeling. We assume that there's a clear and present danger. That said, with him in custody, evacuation shouldn't be necessary."

Max nodded and pushed his chair back as Michael said, "We have to find the bombs."

I eyed Max as he rose to his feet. I had made no move to dismiss them from this meeting. "I already have teams canvassing the town."

"Thank you, but we can handle it." Even knowing he was a ruler in a former life hadn't prepared me for such an easy dismissal. He looked at me serenely, certain I would obey. "This is our town. We appreciate your assistance, and belief that we mean no harm. But this is our territory and we will take care of any incursion." The lines around his lips softened. "Despite the situation it's nice to see you back, Liz."

His attempt to placate me placed a spark to the kindling in my veins. Suddenly, the anger I always struggled with surged forward. My shoulders pushed back, my chin tilting at an upwards angle, I looked across the table at a suddenly-wary alien king. "Agent. Special Agent, actually. And no, you are not taking charge of my investigation."

My own move rattled him as much as his had startled me. "This is our territory."

"Actually, this is the territory of the United States government. You are, for all intents and purposes, a refugee camp subject to your host country's laws and authority. You may have been a king, Zan," I reminded him, "but here, you are a civilian in the eyes of the law. Unless you declared Roswell an Antarian territory and we just didn't get the memo."

His lips pressed together tightly.

Great job, Liz. Piss off the alien king. Time to leave.

The acid on my tongue would only grow worse. I strode toward the end of the table, reaching behind me to flick the small radio back on. A low hum of communication started up, just below the range of coherency. I needed to shake this off, get back into work, be prepared for field updates and the commotion of HQ—wherever it was set up. Probably waiting to take over city hall (our one sure safe spot: Pierce wouldn't have rigged the building in which he was conducting his performance).

Behind me, I heard Michael mutter, "Interview over, huh?"

"Michael." Max's admonishment did nothing to settle my crackling nerves. "Liz—"

My name on his lips was only a reminder. One I didn't want to deal with, not now. I did not look back at either of them as I rounded the table and headed toward the door. "We're done here, sir. You're free to go." On the last word, I made my own exit.

My heels made sharp clicks against the tile floor. How dare he treat me like a child! How dare he undermine my authority! I resisted smashing my fist against the wall as I strode down the hallway.

A faint squeak of rubber soles on the tile echoed behind me, mingling with the rapid clip of my own shoes. For a moment, I thought about increasing my pace. But to escape this, I'd have to start running.

And I didn't want to run.

It had hit me like a truck when I stepped foot on home soil for the first time in years: I wanted to stay again. Wanted to feel the summer wind and the winter sun. Wanted the arms of my parents and the laughter of my best friends. Wanted to taste sand in my mouth, grit between my teeth. Wanted to feel a lean body against mine again.

The realization was scary. It was also impossible while this mission was ongoing.

I stopped when his firm hand closed around my shoulder, again.

His eyes were so dark. So sad. And so determined. I was not the only one who wanted something.

"This conversation is not over," he said, leaning towards me, looming over me, pressing his height advantage. "I know we both have responsibilities. And I know your reasons for being here are not what I'd perhaps prefer." My emotions ricocheted. "But you are here and we do need to talk about the fact that you came back." There was passion under those depths, and hurt. "We need to talk about why you left."

"Zan—"

A weak response. His other hand came up, brushing my arm, fingers curling around the bicep. "Stop calling me that name," he pleaded. "It's from another life. Liz—"

My name on his lips brought cruel reality crashing down. I couldn't let us get swept up in a conversation like this right now. My hands settled on his forearms.

"Neither of us has the luxury of being anything but agent or king right now!" I broke his grip on me. "We have a town full of civilians who might be in danger. We have several units of federal agents who need a commander. We have several other units of specialized forces and no way of knowing for sure who may be an ally and who is definitely an enemy. I have a director coming down here within thirty-six hours if I don't wrap this case up in the next twelve, ridiculous reports to file, a fucking budget to—"

I stopped. No, that was too much to say. No, I hadn't wanted him to know all that. No, I shouldn't have let my composure fall. I stepped back from him, running a hand over my hair as if to soothe the stress in my head.

Max always was the responsible one, even when I didn't know how much weight was on his shoulders. He moved backwards as well, hands slipping into his pockets. A habit of discomfort. A move that signaled his dislike of the necessary.

I stared and another piece slipped in place.

"This conversation is over." Inhale. "For now."

Because I had a lot I needed to talk about, too.

And I was finally ready to do it.

As if to emphasize fact, my radio emitted a chirp which signaled high priority. Instantly, I pulled it and turned up the volume. "Report."

"We have a situation, ma'am."

I looked up. Watched as the emotions were raveled neatly back up into a compact knot, as the king superseded the man, and pressed the button to reply. "Continue."

"Unstable Cargo has escaped custody."

Fuck. "Location?"

"Temporary base is set up in Crashdown Café."

Fuck. "On my way."

Max stared back at me. He would not try again—not until this crisis was over. He called over his shoulder for Michael to join us, eyes never leaving mine. I replied only with a nod.

The three of us set off at a fast clip toward my parent's restaurant.

Entering the Crashdown for the first time in five years, I saw my mom behind the counter and my dad serving mugs of coffee alongside several of those sent away from the meeting hall. They hesitated when they saw me, uncertainty lining their bodies as they each turned toward me, then back to the agents. My mom brushed her hair out of one eye, my dad's hands shook on the mugs. Maria and Kyle moved closer to each other. Tess and Isabel stood apart with hands on their hips. The Café was closed for business to tourists or locals, so it was us and my underlings.

Everyone I used to know was in the room with me, and for the life of me I couldn't think of a single word to say to them.

My agents worked, ignorant of or ignoring the tension crackling down the walls.

Slipping around myself and Max, Michael walked straight back to the kitchen. He detoured only to exchange a kiss with his wife. And after a moment of inaction, Max approached Tess. The queen watched one of my agents with interest. Kyle sidled close to Isabel, resting a hand on her forearm.

Much as I wished to address Maria's twitching arms or my father's reddened eyes, I only had time and heart for my job.

I had to deal with a madman's escape.

"Zimmer, I want that report by the end of the hour!" I snapped across the table. Turning, my eyes narrowed on the next nearest agent. "Where is my pickup, Lane?"

"Almost on-site," she replied, not glancing up once from her computer. My agents were professional, and we all understood stress leading to high volume commands. It was nothing against them. I'd still apologize later. After the fact, I felt bad for letting my temper get the better of me. But for now—

"I gave you that order five minutes ago! Why are they not there yet?"

She tapped a few keys. "Medics needed to grab alien-friendly materials." I ignored the stifled gasp from the vicinity of the peanut gallery.

"Excuse me?" Without waiting for a reply, I turned to Vasquez. "You have my damn numbers and haven't reported them?"

Her expression said I wasn't going to like it. "Two civilians, three agents."

A low hum of pain battered at the edges of my conscience. Pierce's escape could have cost a lot more, but it was not at all acceptable for civilians to be in harm's way. Someone would be answering to the Director for this, and I'd be right up on the block with them.

"The damn medics better be reporting there now, Lane!" I shouted.

"Confirmed, ma'am." Finally.

"Ma'am," Vasquez added, with a hesitance completely unusual for her. "Agent Sully has requested a coroner." The words completely derailed my momentary surge of relief.

"For who?" Max's commanding voice cut through the bustle.

For a brief moment, my agents slowed in their work. They weren't used to anyone but me issuing orders and questions. I almost snapped at them, but Vasquez answered first.

"One civilian, two agents."

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Bad enough to lose agents. But civilians?

"Someone tell me why the fuck that convoy was anywhere near civilians." None of my agents replied. "Now!" My shout careened into the ceiling. My heart pounded against my ribs.

"It was the shortest route, ma'am." Klein. I whirled on him. "Agent Sully thought a faster trip was imperative."

Sully. Of course. He knew how dangerous Pierce was, had banked on making it out faster than an escape attempt—and might have paid for it. My fingers rubbed my forehead.

I pushed back the red haze (anger) and pushed the blue haze (sadness) and tried desperately to get my head in this moment (because I had no time to feel emotion).

My teams were counting on me.

The Director was counting on me.

Zan and his people were counting on me.

I had to stay in control, stay focused, stay present.

I kept telling myself that.

I opened my eyes, only just realizing they had slipped closed. Faces loomed out of the brightly lit restaurant at me. My agents peeked up from their screens at intervals, working while awaiting their next orders. Maria and Isabel bused drinks and sandwiches to agents. Michael peered out from the kitchen. Kyle stood with his arms crossed beside my parents. Tess and Max, side by side, watched me quietly. Both their eyes had gone alien-dark, likely the moment they heard that two of their people had been injured in Pierce's escape. If not, then when a death had been reported.

I focused on the table scattered with papers taken from city hall and Pierce. Hands on my hips, I inhaled the familiar, slightly greasy air of my parent's restaurant.

A thousand and one meals had passed in the time since I left, and it all came rushing back as if it were yesterday.

I looked at Vasquez. "Draft the Director's report." To Klein. "Call the base. Let them know the prisoner's escaped and we have already started a manhunt." As I spoke, my agents erupted into a flurry of activity. I raised my voice and walked through the center of the commotion to reach all corners. "No, we do not need assistance; yes, we have already notified all branches required; and yes, they still need to prepare for a prisoner." Zimmer. "Send a report to the police station in Roswell and flag it as a federal investigation." Lane. "Call it in to the Bureau and flag it as our jurisdiction, no help necessary." Niao. "Call in to HQ. Request a Kill Order."

My agents didn't react, but under the chaos I heard a pan bang against a stovetop, a woman's voice raised in shock, murmurs.

I looked at Herman. "Radio my sniper unit. Get them on the rooftops. I want him dead."

I waded my way out of my buzzing, busy people. Phones going and voices speaking and the chaos of knowing what other jobs they had to do, things I left unsaid to protocol. I strode towards the table spread with files and papers for the head agent. Me.

An arm blocked my way. I looked up, recognizing this pattern. Max's alien-dark eyes were unreadable to me, but the downturned corners of his mouth told me of his conflicted disapproval. Tess's expression was far less conflicted—in fact, she seemed almost approving.

At least one of the rulers would back me up. "Do you have something to add, Zan?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I'm no stranger to ordering deaths," he confessed. A tidbit he probably wasn't aware I knew. "But it's always been my last resort, and I don't know if it's the right thing to do here."

"You're not my supervisor. I don't need your permission," I said, slipping around him and resuming my course to the table.

"There has to be another way," he insisted, following behind me. "We shouldn't have to kill him to protect ourselves. Especially when we have done nothing to need extreme measures." The Antarians clustered near. I couldn't bring myself to even glance at our silent audience.

"First, it's not you, it's us. And second, I'm not sure what else you want us to do with him," I replied, slipping my suit jacket off my shoulders.

"You were taking him to the military base before," he said. "You still requested them to be prepared for a prisoner. Why a kill order when that plan is still in place?"

I ran my tongue over the outside of my teeth. "He was going to meet a tragic accident before reaching military custody. It's just different paperwork now." Silence. I looked up. His expression would have hurt, if I'd been letting emotions in at the moment. "Zan, he knows about you. About Roswell. He'd talk and he can't be allowed to do that."

"So you were just going to come here and kill him? No asking questions, no figuring out why he decided we were a threat?" His questions were spot-on and exactly what I had already asked. "Isn't the 'why' important to your organization? Doesn't he deserve a trial, if you're going to be executioner?"

But it's not like he would know that I had the same questions. That his last word stabbed me and I stowed the pain for later. "I follow orders—"

"Is that how you avoid taking the blame?"

My jaw tightened. "And my orders," I continued, "are to deal with the threat by any means necessary. I consider him far too great a threat to be allowed to talk to anyone about anything he knows. So yes," I stepped forward, my chin tilting upwards to keep locked on his. "I requested a government pardon. And if I have to I will kill him myself."

Max crossed his arms. "I respect that you're doing your job. I'm grateful for your efforts to keep my people safe. But I'm worried that you're acting emotionally—" How dare he. "—and forgetting about Pierce's supporting agents. Those he brought with him are just as intent on seeing his goal through to the end, and they are not going to go away. You may want Pierce to be killed, but you are not going to commit a mass murder."

I swallowed. He had a point. But I was hardly acting emotionally, a charge that tugged at my careful emotional control with fiery tendrils. "All the agents are going to be assessed by our department. If they're clueless, they'll get a cover-up story. If Pierce told them the alien version, the Director will figure out how to handle it. We have that under control."

His eyes narrowed a fraction. "And how is this Director going to handle it?"

"He has his ways." I crossed my arms. "Zan, you're for peace. I don't enjoy making this decision. But Pierce was never going to stop coming for you." I swallowed hard. "You listened to my gut instinct before."

He nodded, slowly, remembering and frowning as he tried to figure out what I meant.

An unsubstantial idea had grown in the back of my mind ever since hearing of his escape, and now I spoke it. "He made a break for it. Pierce would have counted on the military base for an escape attempt, for supporters, to disappear. He only would run if he knew he would never reach it." Max's scowl deepened and I spoke the words that chilled me when I realized them. "It was already important that we locate the weapons: now it's vital."

Michael swung through the door to the back room. Only Maria's gentle hand on his arm stopped him from full-on charging me. "He's going to use them," he blurted, an epiphany borne of a strategic mind, operating on the same wavelength it seemed I was capable of achieving with the right stimuli. "If he wasn't planning to already, they just went from planted evidence to a suicide run."

"He's got no hope, he knows he's dead, so he'll try to take himself out with them," Max said. His eyes tightened at the corners. "And as much of Roswell as he can in the process."

I stared him down. "One man or a town full of civilians. I think I can live with killing Pierce."

They must have had some sort of conversation via eyes, or vibes, or whatever it is Antarians communicate by. I didn't hear anyone telling Max to back off. But that's just what he did.