Part 8
Maria woke with a jolt when the bus pulled into a stop, the large vehicle rocking gently as it made the wide turn. As it slowed and rolled to a stationary position near the doors of the bus station she sat up and stretched. The feeling that she had been having, the push to go north and follow some instinct suddenly felt stronger as she stepped down off of the bus.
Whatever was causing the feeling was here, she was sure of it. She turned to look at the driver when he stepped down off of the bus. "What stop is this?" she asked.
"Santa Fe," he answered as he bent over to open up the storage compartments where the luggage was stored. "We'll be here for an hour while we fuel up and give folks a chance to rest a bit before we get movin' again."
"Thank you." She grabbed the small bag that held her few belongings inside and looked around as she debated which way to go. The station was in a rundown part of the city and a lot of the buildings in the area didn't look like they were currently inhabited. She walked inside to the ticket counter to get directions to the downtown area, figuring that would probably be the best place to start.
She declined the clerk's offer to call a taxi, not wanting to waste what precious little money she had when she could keep it and walk. She lost track of time as she walked along the streets, following the woman's directions into the heart of the city. There was little activity going on around her and she stopped to rest when she reached a small park where benches surrounded a water fountain.
She closed her eyes for a moment, physically weary from her travels and mentally exhausted from the efforts of controlling her thoughts. The vision of Michael's face as he had drawn his last breath surfaced, threatening her sanity and she quickly forced it back down, fearing that if she didn't she would collapse right there, in a public place. She thought about Kyle's ramblings about Buddha… breathing and focusing on something to meditate. Maybe she should've paid a little more attention to him when he had gone on and on about his enlightenment.
She tried to follow what she could remember of his instructions so she could pull her thoughts together and focus on her mission. She was there to save Michael, she was there to save Michael, she was there to save Michael… she repeated the mantra over and over again, and eventually she began to feel a calm settle over her once more. She could have easily fallen asleep right then and there but the feeling that her reason for being in Santa Fe was close by became insistent and she stood to look around, frantically searching the area. She wondered if it could be some sort of guidance from the Granolith, maybe providing her with an internal map of sorts. Could it be directing her in the direction she needed to go? She didn't know but she had no choice but to follow the pull, to seek out whatever she was supposed to find here.
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Michael was slouched down in a chair, long legs stretched out under the table he had been sitting at for the past couple of hours. He was barely paying any attention to the women onstage, his thoughts focused on the newspaper insert lying open on the table in front of him. He circled one of the articles detailing the sales conditions for the motorcycle pictured in the ad and flipped to the next page.
He propped his elbow on the edge of the table and rested his chin in his hand as he scanned over the listings inside. He reached for the bottle of non-alcoholic beer and froze when he realized that his hand was shaking. He slammed the bottle back down on the table and he placed his hand flat on the scarred surface, forcing the tremors to cease. He sat up straight and held his other hand out in front of him, feeling unsettled when he saw that it was trembling too. Fear seized him as he stared at the physical evidence that something was wrong with him. He had almost started to believe that maybe he wasn't sick; he hadn't really had any major episodes since the fiasco with that woman at Indigo's house. The nightmares were still occurring at odd times and the feeling that he was off was still there, but it hadn't been quite as intense as it had been several days before.
Michael's gaze was locked on his hands, unable to look away when the trembling began to get worse and he realized he was losing control of them. He was terrified of the possibilities as he watched the tremors escalate and wild thoughts began to cross his mind. Maybe it wasn't an alien disease as he had first feared; maybe it was a human disease. There were diseases that caused this sort of physical response, right? Brain tumors, nervous system disorders… maybe it was some form of cancer? It could be something he had caught while serving his tours overseas… there were all sorts of things in the jungles, diseases and epidemics released when humans encroached on nature and stuck their noses into things they had no business interfering in. How many times had he and his unit been sent into areas just like that without benefit of protection? He hadn't been sick a day in his life, but there was a first time for everything.
He suddenly felt dizzy and as he shoved himself to his feet the room shifted crazily. He made his way to the back of the bar and pushed his way into the men's room, locking the door behind him and leaning back against it. He kept one hand on the wall as he walked to the sink, doing his best to maintain his balance until he could brace his hands on the white porcelain.
His hands were shaking badly as he turned the faucet on and leaned down to splash cold water on his face. He grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and dried his face before looking at himself in the mirror above the sink. The feeling that he was staring at a stranger came over him once more and he backed away from the mirror, hands still shaking as he unlocked the door and rushed out. He hurried out of the bar, barreling through the side door and stumbling along the alley that ran next to the building.
He leaned back against the wall and bent over to brace his hands on his knees. His head dropped forward, chin almost touching his chest as he tried to bring his breathing back under control. His heartbeat was erratic, his palms were sweating, and as the dizzy feeling swept over him once more he feared that he was going to lose his lunch.
He had spent countless months in Africa where the risk of death by diseases he couldn't pronounce, a kill shot by a sniper or a soldier fighting for the opposing military, and death at the hands of rebel forces were all very good possibilities. Had he really managed to survive all of that so he could come home and die of some alien/human-related illness?
He was a soldier, a fighter, and he had long ago accepted that he would probably die a violent death, either in a fight or on a battlefield. Dying from some sort of alien sickness or cancer, or something equally as horrible would just be too unfair. That was no way for a soldier to die; he deserved to go out fighting.
"Michael!"
He pushed away from the wall, barely registering the sound of a woman's voice calling his name.
"Oh my God, Michael! It's you!"
He was in the process of lifting his head when a blurry figure suddenly barreled into him and in his uncoordinated state the woman's slight weight easily took him to the ground. He was trying to get his bearings when she started kissing him and crying, rambling incoherently about him being dead and then not being dead.
He let it continue for several minutes and in a completely uncharacteristic display of human behavior his arms slipped around her and he accepted comfort from the physical contact. As a rule he avoided contact unless it was sexual and he blamed the lapse on his most recent reminder that something was wrong with him.
He suddenly realized that the tremors had stopped and he was no longer feeling dizzy, and he surged to his feet, dragging the woman up with him. He held her at arms length and his dark gaze swept over her, swiftly cataloging her assets.
She was blond, cute, and a bit on the short side, but she was curved in all the right places and he'd be willing to bet that her sassy mouth could be put to some very interesting uses. His eyes suddenly narrowed and he reined his thoughts in as he remembered that she had called him by name. He rarely had any recollection of the women he screwed but he was pretty sure that if he'd fucked her he'd remember it. His gaze strayed back to her full lips and when the tip of her tongue slipped out to moisten them his dick twitched in interest. Oh, yeah, he'd remember her, he thought.
Maria watched him as she tried to bring herself under control. Logically she knew that he wasn't her Michael, that it wasn't possible, but emotionally it was more difficult. He was Michael, but at the same time he wasn't, and it was proving to be very hard to make her heart understand the difference when she was still trying to grasp it herself. She drank in the sight of him, unable to tear her gaze away from him as she searched his features for similarities with her Michael. His hair was short, not military short, but it wasn't as long as Michael's had been the past few years. He wore cargo pants and a tee shirt under a leather jacket. Her Michael had preferred jeans and shirts most of the time. This man had a small scar under his left eye and she wondered how he had gotten it, who had hurt him, and when it had happened. At the thought of him being hurt her mind automatically went back to Hank and how her Michael had spent years with the abusive monster. She was doing her best to control her emotions, to stop any further tears from tracking down her face, but she was having a hard time stopping them.
Michael shook her hands off of him, wondering when she had wrapped her small hands around his wrists and how he hadn't noticed, and he backed away from her. There was something mesmerizing about her and he couldn't let anyone have that kind of control over him. She was going to be trouble, he could feel it, and he had to get away from her.
Maria frowned when he took several steps back before turning away to leave her alone in the alley. "Don't you dare walk away from me, Michael Guerin…" When he didn't stop she knew she was going to have to get his attention, say or do something that would make him come back. She had to strike hard and fast because it was easy to see that this man had very little patience or tolerance unless it suited him. She tapped her right foot in irritation when he continued to walk away, wondering if dropping the Czechoslovakian bomb was a good idea. But, since he apparently had no intention of changing his mind about listening to her she decided to throw caution to the wind and just go for it. "Must be difficult being an alien refugee from Roswell, New Mexico."
He froze and turned to look at her, immediately pissed off by her know-it-all tone and her confidant stance.
All right, this was working, she thought. Relieved with her little success, Maria wondered if mentioning something specific to Antar would trigger a reaction… just so she could assert what this Michael really knew about his past. "Oh, I know everything there is to know about you, Michael. Or should I call you Rath?"
Michael visibly bristled when she called him Rath; merely hearing the name pass her lips made him crazy and he didn't know why. He stalked back to her and grabbed her arm, his fingers gripping her hard enough to leave bruises as he dragged her to a deserted backstreet. Reaching his destination he shoved her up against a dingy brick wall and pinned her there with his forearm pressing into her windpipe, cutting off her ability to breathe. He leaned in closer to her, his expression menacing as he snarled threateningly into her face, intending to scare the hell out of her. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he was forced to back away from her so he could lean over and catch his breath.
He cursed his bad luck and wondered who or what he had pissed off to deserve this shit. Having one of these episodes in a back alley, in front of this girl who already knew more than she should about him, had the potential of being detrimental to his existence; the knowledge she possessed was dangerous and she could destroy the life he had built. Hell, she could probably kill him right now and he wouldn't be able to defend himself in his weakened state. Killed by a human girl! Michael snorted. Talk about karma, he thought, shaking his head. After years of using women for sex, his use-once-and-throw-away policy in regards to them was going to come back and bite him on the ass. Just the thought that he could be killed by a human girl seemed like some ironic form of divine justice.
After a few minutes he straightened up once more and leveled his angry gaze at her. She was supposed to be afraid and try to run away from him, not still be standing there watching him and waiting to see what he would do next.
"This isn't something we should talk about in public," Maria said, conscious of the lack of privacy and the possibility that they could be overheard.
"We talk here and you tell me what I wanna know or I'll kill you!" he snarled. The words felt wrong even as he spoke them but he ignored the feeling.
Maria watched him, her green eyes scanning over his intimidating features as she shook her head. "You'd never be able to kill me, never. Just try."
"Don't tempt me, bitch." Michael slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, satisfied when the unexpected action caused her to jump. His hands closed into fists as he leaned back, certain that the only reason he hadn't gotten physical with her and forced her to talk was because he didn't need to draw any unwanted attention to them. He glanced around as he checked his pockets, making sure he had his keys with him. He wasn't about to admit that she was right, but he needed a secluded place for this conversation to happen.
She hissed in pain when his hand clamped down over her arm once more, his steely grip settling over the same place he had already managed to bruise. When he didn't so much as pause at the sound she made, she had to remind herself that despite the similarities he wasn't her Michael. She was counting on her instincts to prove her right, certain that even though he was different, he had that same core of integrity and strength that her Michael had always had.
He manhandled her along the backstreet, back through the alley, and out onto the main street in front of a seedy-looking bar. He released his hold on her when they reached a motorcycle and he motioned at it as he swung his right leg over the seat and settled into the leather saddle. "Get on," he ordered as he slid a pair of mirrored sunglasses on. "And don't bother runnin'."
Maria rolled her eyes at his authoritative tone. "Just so you know, if this weren't a matter of such crucial importance, I'd run just to make you chase after me."
"Go ahead, but if I have to chase after you I'm gonna be fuckin' pissed off and I'm not gonna be pleasant when I catch you."
"You haven't been pleasant yet," she muttered as she climbed on the bike behind him. "But, far be it from me to be the one to piss you off." She welcomed his arrogant attitude and his rude disposition because it gave her a place to focus her attention and it kept her from losing control of her emotions.
The motorcycle roared to life, drowning out her thoughts and her arms slid around his waist to avoid being thrown into the street when he pulled away from the curb. Her hands slid under his jacket unintentionally and she couldn't help but notice that his body was very toned… more than her Michael. That thought had her shaking her head. Good Lord, she was going to be certifiable soon, with the constant yo-yo her mind was mimicking as it kept pushing her thoughts back and forth between her Michael and this Michael. But she couldn't help it; he wasn't her Michael. She didn't know why the Granolith had sent her to this place… there had to be a reason, but she had no idea what it was. Why hadn't it just sent her back in time? Why send her to a completely different universe where the version of Michael she had encountered was an ass? She had no idea where he was taking her and even though the differences between this version of Michael and hers were so obvious, she wasn't afraid of him or concerned for her safety.
This man was raw, unrefined, cold, and emotionless, and she wondered if her Michael would have turned out the same without the influence of her and their friends. When he finally stopped the motorcycle and the dust settled she looked around and realized that he had taken them out of Santa Fe. What surprised her was the location he had chosen to extract information from her. The church was old; small, but well-kept, and surrounded in all directions by miles and miles of lonely desert. She looked up at the two large juniper trees that stood on either side of the entrance to the adobe mission. Greenery in the middle of the desert seemed to defy explanation, but it was absolutely breathtaking. Two bell towers rose up on either side of the old building, the bells still intact and their ropes swaying gently in the soft breeze. Small white crosses stood at the tops of the bell towers and a larger one stood in the middle of the manicured path that led up to the white double doors. A statue of some saint, carved from white stone, stood in the middle of the yard, hands outstretched as if welcoming passersby inside.
She was leaning over to look at some tiny flowers growing along the front wall of the mission when she was roughly pulled off of the motorcycle and practically dragged up to the mission's entrance. For just a brief moment she had allowed the serenity of the setting to lull her thoughts away from the task at hand and she had forgotten her surly companion.
"Hurry the fuck up," he snapped.
His irritated tone and boorish behavior quickly reminded her of her reason for being there and she jerked her arm out of his painful grasp. "It is completely unnecessary for you to drag me around like - "
Michael jerked the door on the left side open as he leaned forward and grabbed her once more, shoving her inside ahead of him. She rounded on him and her right hand came up to slap him but he caught her wrist in an iron grip, pinning it between them as he pulled her up against his body. "Get your ass inside before your big mouth catches someone's attention."
"We're in the middle of the damn desert!" she yelled. "There's no one around to hear anything!"
"Yeah, maybe you should've thought about that before you came out here with me… you don't know me. I could do any damn thing I wanted to you and you couldn't stop me." He nodded, pleased when she fell silent. "No comeback this time?"
"Go ahead, Michael, hurt me," she taunted, growing tired of his threats. She moved back as far away as his grasp would allow and sparks flew from her angry green eyes. "Stop making idle threats, you bastard! If you think you can hurt me then go ahead, you have my permission."
Michael released her and shoved her away, pissed beyond belief that she had enough backbone to challenge him. "I don't need your fuckin' permission!" he yelled, slamming his fists down against the back of a pew. Fuck, that hurt!
"We're in a church," she hissed. "Watch your mouth!"
Watch his mouth? Michael repeated silently. "What're you, my mother?"
Maria laughed, her tone filled with irony. "Your mother? Oh, no, trust me, that definition is so far removed from the truth that it's not even funny."
He shook his head, trying to connect the dots and figure out how exactly they had gone from him threatening her to this suddenly confusing conversation. Somehow he had completely lost control of the situation and he had to get it back before she was allowed to confuse him any further.
"Look, I'm not interested in this… this… whatever this bullshit is! Just tell me what you've got to say so - "
"You're so impatient." She looked around the interior of the mission, taking in the warm, comforting feelings that it produced. It was easy to see that everything inside had been carved by hand and it had been well cared for over the century that it had been standing. She drew in a deep breath, once again letting the serenity of the place wash over her as she collected her thoughts.
While she was busy calming herself Michael was in the process of experiencing a major meltdown. His hands curled over the back of the pew in front of him, his knuckles white from the strain. The sound of wood splintering drew his attention and he looked down, frowning when he realized that he was unintentionally damaging it. He was gonna do more than that if she didn't start talking soon. As if she had read his mind she suddenly turned to look at him, her expression oddly calm as she began to tell a story that he wasn't expecting.