Part 21

Maria looked over at the front of the bar as they drove by on their way out of the parking lot. "Do you know how the bar got its name?" she asked, unable to control her curiosity.

"What?" He turned his head to glance at the bar. "Why?"

"It's just interesting that the owner, bouncer, and the bar itself are all named after archangels. But, Azrael is the name of the archangel of death, so Azrael's Sanctuary is… interesting."

"I'd say it's appropriate," Michael said, shrugging his left shoulder. "We're all killers in the name of justice and it's a safe place to hang."

"Hmmm, I guess that would make sense. Y'know, Michael is the name of one of the archangels too."

He grunted. "I wasn't named after anything like that."

"How'd you get into this line of work?"

"Why? Not the kinda job your Michael would've gotten into?" he snapped.

"Well, no, it's not a job Michael would've pursued."

"Right, because he's nothin' like me - "

"I wasn't trying to start a fight, Michael." She slouched down in her seat, readjusting the seatbelt and staring out through the windshield with a sigh. "I was just wondering how you got involved in your… profession."

Michael could feel his temper boiling just below the surface and he didn't understand it; nothing had happened to set him on edge but he could feel it just waiting to break free. "Why d'you wanna know anyway? What's it matter why I do what I do?"

"I guess it doesn't," she said with a shrug. "I was just curious." She frowned and looked at him, deciding to change the subject before he threw a fit. "Gabriel said I could start day after tomorrow."

He was surprised when she extended an olive branch instead of continuing with the topic and picking a fight. "Guess Thursday's a good day to get started. Most of the regulars are in and out durin' the week, so it'll give you a little time to get settled in." He rested his elbow on the open window and rubbed his left eyebrow. "You already got somethin' planned for dinner?" It was early in the afternoon but he was already hungry.

"Umm-hmm, I'm making homemade lasagna with salad and garlic rolls." She paused, smiling when Michael's stomach growled in response to her answer. "I made cheesecake for desert; it has a special strawberry glaze that's laced with a spicy hot sauce that I think you'll probably like."

The edge of Michael's temper dulled in response to the conversation and he felt himself calming as he listened to her talk. "You like wine with lasagna?"

"I don't know. I rarely drank at home because Michael has no tolerance for alcohol and it just didn't seem fair somehow."

Next to her, Michael was gritting his teeth at the mention of her dead lover. "Why does his name have to come up every fuckin' time we talk?" he snarled, pissed off for no reason that he could readily identify and he wasn't interested in dissecting it any further.

"Maybe because he's the only reason I'm here."

"Yeah, let's go over that again, because that story never gets old." He reached out to punch the button on the stereo, turning it up and drowning out anything she might have said. He was getting tired of constantly being reminded of the other man, being measured up to a ghost and always being found lacking in one way or another.

Maria sighed and leaned back in her seat, wondering what it was going to take to turn his mood around this time. Dinner might do the trick, she thought, aware that he tended to be easier to deal with after he had eaten. Especially since after dinner he usually settled down in his chair in the living room, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and got involved with whatever sport was being aired that night. She was certain he would calm down once he had dinner and settled down for his nightly ritual, essentially forgetting about her existence while he focused on hurling obscenities at the television

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Michael stood under the pounding spray early the next morning, letting the water from the shower head beat down on his head and shoulders. He had woken up after another nightmare and tried to outrun the disturbing images, but he hadn't been able to shake them. He had even tacked on a few extra miles, hoping that if he exhausted his body his mind would follow suit, but as plans went, it hadn't been a very good one.

His mind was perfectly alert and the images wouldn't leave him alone; he had no real description for what he had seen in the nightmares. The images themselves were disturbing enough, but it was the addition of genuine fear that was making him so edgy. He didn't like to feel as if he had no control over things, but to have no control over feelings and emotions? No, that was just unacceptable. Maria had some explaining to do, he thought as he reached for the faucet to turn the water off.

Maria was just putting the finishing touches on breakfast when Michael wandered into the kitchen. As she had predicted the night before, he had calmed down and retreated into his own little world once he had been fed, handed a beer, and settled down in his favored chair. She smiled as she thought about his predictability. In a lot of ways having him around was comforting; it was kind of like having a rather large, moody pet.

She glanced to the side when he opened the refrigerator at the end of the counter and had to amend her last thought. He was wearing his preferred cargo pants, but he was bare from the waist up and she couldn't stop her eyes from following several droplets of water as they dripped from the ends of his recently-showered hair to trail down along his spine. Scratch that, it was more like having temptation at her fingertips every second of the day, and that was disturbing on too many levels to think about.

Michael reached for the milk and poured it into a tall glass before scrounging around in one of the cabinets for the strawberry powder. He shook a liberal amount of the pink powder into the glass and mixed it up as he stared at the circular motion he was making with the spoon. He tossed the spoon in the sink and took a long drink of the sweetened milk, turning to lean back against the counter as he thought about the nightmare that had assaulted his mind the night before.

Maria frowned when he took a drink of the milk without cringing. Well, that was odd, she thought as she watched him for several minutes. He wasn't normally tense this early in the day; as a rule he was relaxed after his morning run and shower. His expression was moody, which wasn't unusual for him, but he was pensive as he stared into space, and that was slightly odd.

"How was your night?" she asked, hoping it wouldn't set him off.

"Fine," he snapped. "You got a reason to think otherwise?" He wanted answers to his questions but he didn't want to seem too eager.

"Well, I've never seen you drink that without mixing hot sauce in it, so it stands to reason that you've got something on your mind."

"You're too fuckin' nosy." He forced the rest of the too-sweet milk down and set the glass in the sink before straightening up and stretching. He just barely managed to keep from cringing at the taste, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of being right about any damn thing.

"Maybe so," she admitted as she dished scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns onto two plates. She reached for the pan at the back and slid the French toast onto two smaller plates before sprinkling powdered sugar and fresh strawberries over it.

"Guess it doesn't matter whether you know or not; it's your fault anyway."

Maria bristled at the implication that his problem - whatever it was - was her fault. "How so?"

"Because until you showed up I had never once had a nightmare about aliens, and now, for some fucked up reason I'm dreamin' about aliens tryin' to exterminate me." He reached for his plates, easily distinguished by the mountains of peppers, onions, and jalapenos. "Oh, and just for kicks, their skin's peelin' off throughout the whole damn thing."

And he was off to sit in front of the television, leaving her to fly solo over yet another meal, she mused in annoyance. She paused as she realized what he had just said and she spoke before he could leave the room. "Wait! You had a dream about aliens whose skin was peeling off? Are you talking about the Skins?" For a moment she flashed back to the church in Santa Fe as she tried to recall what all she had told him… she had probably told him about the Skins when she was trying to convince him that she knew what she was talking about.

He jumped on that. "Skins? That's what those fuckin' things are called? Why?" She knew something and he wanted some kind of explanation for the demented images that were now stuck in his head.

"What's it worth to you?" She was under the impression that he wasn't interested in her 'fairy tale' and anything concerning her Michael.

"You wanna negotiate?" He glanced at her and shook his head. "Just tell me what I wanna know."

"Sit down and have breakfast with me like a civilized person," she said.

"Fuck that." Michael shuddered at the domestic scene that her suggestion created in his mind and walked into the living room without a backwards glance.

Maria rolled her eyes and carried her plates to the table before going back and getting a glass of juice. She was just sprinkling salt and pepper on her eggs when he appeared beside her, setting his plates down with a lot more force than necessary, and jerking a chair out. He practically threw himself into the chair and started drumming his fingers on the table expectantly as he waited for her to pick up on his cues and begin speaking.

"Well? I'm sittin' at the fuckin' table like a civilized person, so tell me what's up with those Skin things."

Should she be concerned because she was so happy that he was joining her for breakfast? Even though she had basically had to blackmail him in to doing it. "You remember what I told you about Khivar - "

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get to the part with the freaky skin-peelin' aliens."

She made a face at him when he started shoveling food in his mouth while making a rolling motion with his right hand. He had all the manners of a pig at a feed trough… actually, the pig might have better manners. Why had she wanted his company again? "Anyway, if you remember, Khivar was the alien that killed the royal family on Antar - "

"Can we skip to the interesting part?" he growled around a mouthful of eggs.

Maria huffed at his impatient tone. "Fine. Khivar sent the Skins to Earth to kill the re-created royal family and to bring Vilandra back, because she was his great love, the one who sacrificed herself - "

"Okay, seriously, I'm not the slightest bit interested in the bullshit love story." He pointed at her French toast with his fork. "You gonna eat that?"

Her appetite was taking a severe nosedive while watching him eat and she shook her head as she slid the plate across the table to him. "Skins are powerful and their greatest power is probably their ability to virtually rape a person's mind, taking their memories and thoughts; if they get in your mind they can take anything they want."

Michael hid a shudder at that thought. "So, why're they called Skins?"

"They can't survive on Earth in their natural form, so they wear these husks… they have some sort of technology that allows them to genetically manipulate materials to resemble human bodies; the Skin's relationship to it is essentially parasitic and because they don't adapt well to hot weather they peel…" She trailed off when she glanced at Michael and she almost laughed at his expression of revulsion.

"That's disgusting."

But, apparently not disgusting enough to slow down his appetite or stop him from eating, she thought, shaking her head when he started in on the hash browns next. "In my universe, they came to Earth in 1950 and they were led by Khivar's second in command, Nicholas; he was the one responsible for killing Rath on Antar. Oh, and they also have devices that allow them to manipulate time, too."

"So, these Skins were on Earth in your universe to track down your aliens and retrieve the two-faced princess who betrayed everyone to be with this Khivar guy?"

"Yeah, but, there's also another faction of Skins, renegades, loyal to Rath, that infiltrated the Skins on Earth. They believed that he could've united their planet, pulled the warring factions together, and brought about peace." Maria made a face when she realized she was practically parroting Courtney's explanation. Ewww! The girl was a clear reminder of a really rocky spell in her relationship with Michael and she didn't want to think about her or that time. She shook her head and continued with her story while he was focused on her and what she was saying. "Their intention was to dethrone Zan and put Rath in his place."

She really had his attention now. He'd had followers? "Really? Loyal to me?"

"Courtney was one of the renegade Skins, but that's nothing to brag about."

Michael's ears practically perked up at her mention of the name; the inflection in her voice was enough to tell him that this Courtney person wasn't someone she liked. He suddenly remembered her commenting on the other woman… Skin… whatever, a while back and he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "She was fine, huh? Bet she had a great ass."

Maria glared at him. "I wouldn't know since she kept shedding everywhere… all that skin just peeling off and falling everywhere - "

"Okay, that's enough of a visual!" He couldn't hide the shudder as he stood up and carried his dishes to the sink, placing them inside without bothering to rinse them off.

"That's pretty much all I know about the Skins," she said when he looked at her expectantly.

"Huh." He opened the refrigerator door and pulled a beer out, leaning back against the counter and taking a drink before he looked at her again. His brows pulled together as he studied her, seeing the look of intense concentration on her face. "What're you thinkin' about?"

"As the rightful heir to the throne Max carried the royal seal of Antar… " That damn seal! She wished it didn't exist.

"All hail the King," Michael muttered sarcastically.

Maria rolled her eyes as she continued with her point. "Anyway, when he died the seal was passed on to Michael and he lost it… I mean, he just went crazy; wanting to kill everyone from the humans who knew the truth about them to Max when he came back from the dead. You would've been about 14 when Max died in your universe, so I was just wondering if you felt any differently at that age, if at some point you felt something change inside of you."

"Nope, don't remember anything like that." He smirked and nodded, knowing by her disgusted expression that she knew what was coming next. "I was already pretty wild by the time I turned 14 and about the only thing that changed was my knowledge of the opposite sex." He patted his crotch fondly before taking another swallow of beer. "Yep, that was a great fuckin' year."

Maria ignored his attempts to bait her into yet another fight about sex. "So, there was nothing that made you feel like you had more power? Nothing that made you wanna be - "

"I'm a soldier," he interrupted, wanting to get his point across. He knew what she was about to start in on - the role of the king. No way! She might as well put a bullet between his eyes because there was no way he would ever become the next king of Antar. "It's what I'm good at - action, reaction, protection, and war. I have no interest in sittin' on my ass an' makin' political, economic, or diplomatic decisions; I'm not gonna concern myself with the well-being of people I don't give a fuck about. I have a job, Maria; I protect this country and all of the selfish, petty, and ungrateful people who live here. I've seen what leaders do, I see it all the time in my job, and it doesn't matter whether you're talkin' about presidents, kings, or whatever… the one thing that I do know is that I don't wanna be a leader," he concluded, hoping that she had gotten the message loud and clear.

"But you might have to!" she insisted. "What if the Antarians come looking for their king and discover that Max is dead? You're the next in line, Michael!" Maria felt bad for trying to change his mind, but it was a possibility and he should be prepared for it. She could see that being the king would be like a death sentence for him; it would be the end of who he was, the end of his freedom, but he might have to accept the title, even if it was only for a short time before passing it on to someone else. It wouldn't be forever; abdication might be possible.

"Fuck that!" he exploded. His arms and hands waved wildly as he went on. "I told you, I'm a soldier, nothin' more and nothin' less. Gimme a war and I'll fight it, but don't expect me to lead a country or some planet I have no association with. And as for the King role? It's a trap; a golden trap, but a trap nonetheless. I'll be damned if I'll sacrifice my life to their throne or anyone else's. I'll live my life the way I'm supposed to, the way I want to, and my predecessor knew that… he understood it. You said it yourself - Rath didn't want the throne despite his followers asking him to take it." And even if back then, on Antar, Rath had refused the title, that was telling enough of the weight that the job of king would place on someone's shoulders. He had been clever to refuse it and to do what he was good at and what he wanted to be - asoldier.

"I'm just saying - " Maria tried to protest, but he didn't give her time to finish her sentence.

"It's true that loyalty might have made a difference, but there's more than just one reason for anyone to accept a position like that. But, I can tell you one thing - Rath didn't want that role; he didn't want to lose his sanity to be the king, doin' stuff he hated, makin' decisions, conducting peace talks, economic treaties, or any of that other interior political shit! I know that!" And the fact was that it was true, he knew it in his gut. It was like Rath was waking up inside of him and speaking through him. Rath had never wanted to be the king, he had turned down the proposition to be one, and he'd bet that if his double had inherited the royal seal that it had been something that Rath had been against back on Antar.

"You might not have a choice, you know, and Michael - my Michael - he wanted the job!" Maria could easily remember how cruel her Michael had been when he had been in possession of the seal and it was something that was still a sore point even after several years.

"There's always a choice." He started to pace around the kitchen, building his argument in his head. "That guy you talked about, Larek; he knows how to rule, he knows the game and the players involved. He could be the king. Hell, there are probably other resistance fighters who have been opposing Khivar, others who would be a helluva lot more deserving of that title than I am." He shook his head. "And as for your Michael wantin' the job? Believe me, baby, he didn't want it. You told me he spent most of his life bein' treated like shit by that worthless asshole Hank, that he wanted to leave, and that King Max refused… is that true?"

"That's all true," she agreed.

Michael nodded, satisfied with her answer. "He never had the chance to really be the second-in-command that he was supposed to be; he was stifled, so when he inherited that seal he was power-hungry because it was somethin' he'd never had and it went straight to his head! But, he sucked at it, didn't he?" Her silence was answer enough. "I can see it on your face. He wasn't good at it because that's not who we are, little girl." He leaned in close to her, staring into her eyes to make sure she was getting the message. "Get that through your thick skull. Rath, your Michael, me… we aren't king material. Never have been and never will be. We're soldiers, and that's it." He tossed his empty bottle in the trash can and retrieved another one from the refrigerator, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink. "So, what's the deal with all this king talk, huh? Your Michael got the title and you got turned on by playin' Queen to his King?"

Maria forced down the hurt that tried to surface at his comment. "That's not true! You think I'm that shallow that I'd want him to be king just to - "

"Please," he scoffed, ignoring her hurt tone, "impressionable girls dig royalty. They don't see the work or the sacrifice behind that golden image; they just hear the word 'king' and practically trip over their own feet to get to the poor dumbass who's become their unwitting prey."

Maria saw red at Michael's little speech. "Well, that is not a description of me. For your information, I fell for Michael when he was living in a trailer park on the wrong side of the tracks. He didn't have a job, he didn't have any money, and he was angry and just plain mean a lot of the time, but I could see that underneath all that he had a soul and a good heart, and I fell for him. There was no king or second-in-command bullshit; he was just Michael from the crappy trailer park at the edge of town and I loved him!"

Michael remained silent when she finally began to wind down from her rant and he watched her as she withdrew into herself. Hell, maybe she wasn't just some superficial girl who had fallen for her superhuman alien; maybe she was just that Maria girl who fell for the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, the girl who had been able to see beyond his past and present to see the real guy lurking behind the barriers he had created to protect himself. And maybe he needed to make his escape before he let himself get drawn any further into her drama.

"I'm gonna go work in the shop for a while."

Maria leaned back in her chair and stared at her plate after he had left the room and a few minutes later she heard the patio door slide shut. "So much for civilized behavior," she muttered.

In the shop Michael was humming along with the radio as he used a wrench to loosen a bolt, his mind occupied with the things Maria had told him. Were there still Skins - good or bad - in his universe? Would it be worth it to look for them to get information from them? What if they knew why he had been feeling off lately? Maybe it wasn't worth finding them, he thought, remembering what she had said about their ability to get inside people's heads. The last thing he wanted was for some fucked up, skin-peeling-off alien to get in his mind and start poking around.

What had caused him to dream about the Skins when he had never heard of them? he wondered. Maria hadn't mentioned them during her little speech in Santa Fe; all she had said was that there were some pretty bad aliens out there - he definitely would've remembered if she had mentioned aliens with peeling skin!

Nah, he decided, he must've seen them when she kissed him after telling him her story in Santa Fe. That was the only plausible explanation for him dreaming of something he couldn't possibly know about; he must've seen it during all those flashes. He shook his head and went back to working on the engine, determined to focus on it and nothing else.