(*NOTE*Tnis is not my story. This is a Roswell Liz/Michael Polar Romance that was written by Peachykin that I am putting here for people to enjoy, its original format is a web posting that can be problematic to read for some)

Chapter 1

Michael looked down at his watch reading the late hour then turned his attentions to nearly deserted bar. There were a few stragglers sharing old stories or drowning their sorrows hoping to find salvation in at the bottom of a shot glass. The band had played their last set two hours earlier and the sad haunting voice of Billie Holliday serenaded the lonely souls that had picked the bar as company.

"Hey Sweet, " Michael elbowed the old African-American bartender, "Better make this last call."

"Got a hot date Boss man?" The much older man asked him, knowing already what the younger man's answer would be.

Michael grinned, "Only with my pillow, Sweet."

The old man chuckled, "Son, I still say you're too young to have the blues." His graveled voice drawling.

Michael slapped his weathered friend on the back, "And I still say you haven't walked a mile in my shoes, Sweet."

"Never could. You walk around in boats there, Boss." Sweet returned, with a hearty chuckle, before letting out a loud whistle and announcing the night's last call.

"When are gonna stop calling me Boss, Sweet? I hate that." Michael said with a smile, moving his lips to Sweet's standard reply.

"I call you three things. Michael, cause that's the name God gave ya. Son, because hell boy I'm a good forty years older than you. And Boss, because that's what you are, my boss. Now unless any of those things change, that's what I'm gonna call you." He informed Michael, before taking a few final orders.

Michael shook his head laughing. Never in his life did he ever think anyone would be calling him, "Boss". But here he stood behind a bar, twenty-four years old and the proud owner and proprietor of Ulysses. It was a small, but moderately successful bar just off Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Hank Guerin had one thing right about his boy; he made a helluva barman.

It had been six years since he'd left Roswell with his small family: Max, Isabel, Kyle, Maria and Liz. And it had been five years since he left the group, cutting all his ties. Life in the group had become too confined, too controlled and he was dying. Max had Liz, and while Isabel had loved Jesse, they couldn't make their marriage work under such stressful conditions. But Michael felt she had Kyle to lean on.

Maria had left him, them, only two months before he had decided to leave. He should have known their relationship would never survive the hardships, the constant moving, the odd jobs, and the uncertainty. In the end they parted as friends, but he knew it was the last time they'd ever see each other. Surprisingly he was okay with it.

The only ones who seemed to be thriving, at least outwardly, in their life on the run had been Max and Liz, or moreover, Max. He loved their life no matter where it seemed to take them, but Michael knew it was only because Max finally had Liz. They'd been so damn happy after their wedding it nearly made Michael sick, but as the months wore on Michael began to see a change in Liz, and not for the better.

Michael started to sense a sadness about Liz about six months into their departure from Roswell. Maybe she was missing her folks or the life of a small town girl. Maybe she resented missing out on Harvard and the opportunities she could have had with that kind of education. Maybe it was all those things. Max had promised to make her dreams come true; he'd even said it in their vows. But Michael couldn't help but feel that somehow, not intentionally, Max had taken away those dreams.

What threw Michael was that even now nearly five years later he was still thinking about the dying light in Liz's eyes. Maybe it had been the confined space they'd been forced to share in that first year, but Michael found himself caring about Liz. Not in a romantic way, or at least not that he'd admit to, but as a person.

In the two months before Michael left, he and Liz started talking about nothing and everything. They had helped each other through the finality of Maria's departure, both finding acceptance in her reasons and while they would miss her, they envied her freedom and her bold pursuit of her dreams.

Michael never told anyone he was leaving. No long letter explaining his regrets or reasons. Not even a damn post-it note. He hadn't even told Liz how he was feeling. He never told anyone that. He simply packed his bags late one night, throwing everything he owned into the beat-up Nova he'd bought a few months earlier, and crept out of the house he shared with the remaining group.

He'd just thrown the last bag in when he caught Liz out of the corner of his eye standing on the bottom porch step. She looked so small and weary standing there wearing her worn cotton robe. Michael approached her with a guilty look on his face.

"I…" he started to say looking away nervously, but Liz just shook her head.

"I just wanted a chance to say goodbye, Michael." She whispered, her voice catching with emotion.

Michael met her eyes, finding they had tears welled inside them, for him, and while it broke his heart, he was confused, "You aren't gonna try and stop me?"

"Why would I?" she asked as though he should know, then let a smile touch the corners of her mouth, "Like you'd listen?"

"I might." He found himself saying. He'd been so sure only minutes before that he could leave and never look back, but seeing Liz cry, over him, he felt his resolve crumble.

"I won't lie to you Michael, part of me wants you to stay." She sighed in resignation, "But you have nothing holding you here. You're stifled, living the life Max has chosen for you instead of the one you want. We envied Maria her freedom, now you have a real chance at it. How can I not let you go?"

Michael felt a lump forming in his own throat. Liz wasn't giving him her permission to leave, she was giving him her blessing and in a way her hope that he could live the life she'd given up to be with Max, "Why do I feel the need to ask you to come with me?" he said scratching his eyebrow.

"Because you know I'm not happy." Liz stated bluntly.

Michael's eyes widened at her words. He'd been sensing it, but she never said it out loud, now there it was. "Liz… you could…"

Liz shook her head, "You need to find your own path Michael, without me, or Max, or Isabel…or anyone. If I came with you Max would be after us and we'd still be on the run. I couldn't do that to you. That's not freedom. That's not what you deserve."

Michael knew she was right, but he hated it. He wanted to take the girl, who'd become such a good friend to him, away from a life he knew was killing her, but she was right. If he was ever going to find his place in the world, he'd have to do it on his own.

He nodded at her looking back at the Nova then the house, "I…uh, didn't leave a note or anything. I didn't know what to say." He told her.

Liz returned his nod, hugging her arms around her body for warmth, "Probably best. They'd all read into it what they wanted to, twist it to fit their needs. You know why your leaving and so do I."

"That's enough for me." Michael told her.

There was a long silence as they stood in the cold night air prolonging their goodbye, once again feeling the finality of it. Liz finally spoke, breaking the quiet of the moment, "Just promise me you won't look back, Michael. If you do, you'll just get sucked back in. Please?"

Michael nodded, but it bothered him, "Liz if you hate it, why are you staying?" he asked boldly.

"For better or worse, Michael." She offered lamely, seeing him roll his eyes she dropped her hands to her sides, "I forgot what my dreams were and I'm not brave like you."

"Yes you are Liz." Michael said unconsciously bringing his hand up to brush away the tear that had fallen down her cheek. "And when you figure that out, you come find me."