Title: Finding Ulysses

Author: Peachykin

Rating: YTEEN for now will go ADULT

Pairing: Mi/L

Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell. Unfortunately Katims did and now we're all just cleaning up his mess.

Spoliers: None

Summary: Six years after Graduation, Michael's got someone on his mind.

Chapter 4

Despite getting to bed late the night before, Michael rose early the next morning, out of habit. The mornings were his best creative time. He'd spend hours in his studio painting and sketching, Sweet even got him to try sculpture. Clay was fun, but he really enjoyed marble. Chipping away and smoothing a piece of stone into something beautiful. The metaphor wasn't lost on him.

Michael's paintings were in demand at the moment and he had a show in one of Sweet's "lady friend's", Miriam, gallery next month. He had plenty of pieces for the show and he knew they'd sell, but lately they hadn't been giving him the sense of satisfaction he used to get from them. He felt, bored, uninspired and idle. He felt like he was just churning out what people wanted, instead of painting for himself. But while he wasn't happy with what he'd been putting out, at least it was something. It wasn't as though he'd felt inspired to really create anything new and his sculptures were far too amateurish to even consider showing.

He grabbed a cup of coffee and headed for the studio. He didn't really feel like drawing or painting, so he grabbed an old sketchpad and sat on the balcony and decided to wait for inspiration to come to him. But all he could think about was the dark haired girl still fast asleep in his guest room.

Michael knew Liz would never let him regret leaving, but after hearing how suffocating her life had become with Max, he couldn't help but wonder if things might have been different, better for her, if he'd stayed. At least then she would have had someone to stand up for her. And he would have.

"But then Liz wouldn't have stood up for herself." He muttered to no one.

Michael flipped open the sketchbook finding he'd grabbed the he'd managed to take out maybe once a year, just for sentimental reasons. It was worn and the pages had yellowed with age and from the humid bayou air, but the drawings inside never lost their luster.

He should have thrown it out for the pain it caused him to look at it, but he needed to remember her face. Every page was filled with Liz's face, as he remembered her, sad, but still with a little glimmer left in her eyes. She was all he could draw the first six months after he left. He had no photos of her, or any of the group, but she stood out in his mind so vividly that he had to preserve her on those pages with charcoal. It was no mystery to as to why. Michael missed the hell out of Liz.

But one morning, after Michael had first arrived in New Orleans, he drew his final sketch of the girl who haunted his heart. He realized that he'd never truly begin his new life if he couldn't let go of his old one. He'd never forget Liz; she was permanently etched on his heart and he didn't need a drawing to see her.

Michael ran a finger over the lines of the final sketch. It was Liz, the last night he saw her. Her hair was hanging loosely over her shoulders and her tiny body was wrapped in that worn out robe. Her arms were wrapped her waist looking as if she wanted to disappear inside herself. Her dark eyes were glistening with tears, for him, and her lips… those lips, swollen with their kiss.

The kiss. The one he could still taste, and feel the softness of her lips against his, five years later, even stronger now that Liz was there. They hadn't talked about it last night and in a way Michael was glad. When he'd kissed Liz that night he'd thought it was goodbye, but instead it woke something up in him. He crossed the lines of friendship in so many ways with that kiss, but he would never have taken it back, because it was then he realized he loved her.

Somewhere between the day she was shot in the Crashdown to that night on the porch, Michael had fallen in love with Liz. What Michael didn't realize until that kiss, was that Liz, or at least a part of her, loved him back.

Michael had told himself that it was just going to be one kiss, one less regret, a need to taste what he could never, in is mind, have. But then she had to go return the kiss. Liz loved him. She couldn't say it, but did he ever feel it.

Michael knew then, it wouldn't be the last time he saw Liz. It's why he asked her to look for him when she found her feet, to "Find Ulysses." He wanted her to know that when she did leave Max, that she wouldn't be alone and that someone out there would be waiting for the woman she could become, once she found her strength.

It had taken five long years, but here she was, back in Michael's life, filling a void he hadn't realized existed until he held her in his arms again. But she also wasn't the same woman he imagined she could become. God, she was so much better. Stronger, happier, despite the pain, and most importantly, free.

Michael never forgot he loved her, he just set it aside to live his own life, but it slammed into him full force, the second he saw her reflection in the bar's mirror, how much he wanted her in his life. But he also knew it was way too soon to even consider pursuing anything but a friendship with Liz at this point. Michael was still very guarded about giving away his heart, despite the ever-increasing hold Liz's mere presence, had on it. He'd waited five years, he could wait longer.

Liz was still discovering who she was without Max. Not to mention the fact that she was still married to him. It might have been in name only, but married was married. The way she talked about Max the night before, he saw there was no love left for her husband, but for some reason Liz wasn't ready to cut that final thread that tied her to Max. Michael knew it was because she was scared, not necessarily of Max, but of letting go of the very thing she gave up her "normal" life for.

Michael knew Liz, even after the years apart. She still had the same doubts she told him about when the two of them would sit on the roof of the house they'd all shared. If her marriage to Max failed, was it worth everything she sacrificed? Alex? Never seeing her parents? Never being able to go home? Giving up her education? It couldn't have all been for nothing. Michael knew then that was what was holding her marriage together with a man she was falling out of love with, but was so proud of her for leaving despite those same questions.

Michael also had questions he knew Liz couldn't, or wouldn't, answer for him. He needed to talk to someone who was there during the years he'd missed, someone who was inside the group, but outside Max and Liz's relationship. And he knew there was only one person who fit that description.

He quickly finished his coffee, already having forgone his ritual of painting that morning, and went back into the apartment. He knew Liz was the only one who would have the phone number he needed, but she was still sleeping and he didn't exactly want her to know whom he was calling. Not yet anyway.

Michael knew that Liz kept her address book in her purse and the last place he'd seen that was on the armchair in her room. This was going to require covert actions, and he was a little out of practice. But it was like riding a bike, right? God, he hoped so.

Trying to be as stealthy as possible, Michael carefully opened Liz's door. Cursing under his breath at the creaking the hinges made. Looking across the room he spotted her purse on the armchair and slipped into the room, absently letting his eyes fall to a slumbering Liz. Maybe those teachers in elementary school were right; if you keep staring straight ahead, you'll be less distracted. And Liz made for quite a distraction, as Michael's breath caught at the simple glimpse of her sleeping peacefully.

She laid on her stomach, obviously naked, the olive skin of her bare back bathing in the morning sun, and the sheets gathered at her waist. Her impossibly long hair spilled all around her, wisps of it floating in the gentle breeze of her bedside fan. Michael could just make out the curve of the underside of one breast when he forced himself to close her eyes, though it did little good. His artists mind had already imprinted her every line, curve, and dip into the forbidden, onto his brain.

Michael forgot the universal truth when it came to sleeping in bayou country. No one wore pajamas to bed, especially in the summer. Hell, he didn't either. It was far too muggy and sticky for anything aside from a sheet. He just hadn't counted on seeing so much of Liz's body when he walked in or he might have just saved his phone call for later.

But it was too late now; he was already in the room and more than obviously affected by seeing so much of Liz's skin. He could have dismissed his physical reaction as a result of his self-imposed celibacy, but he wouldn't cheapen her beauty like that. Liz was just that simply beautiful and he'd have to be stone cold dead, not to be affected by her.

Michael's eyes flew open when Liz began to shift and mumble incoherently, as she sensed another presence in the room. Remembering why he was there, Michael grabbed Liz's purse and darted out of the room before she could turn over.

Once he'd shut the door, Michael leaned his forehead against it, hearing Liz settle back into sleep. While his hormone driven body was chastising him for not at least getting a glimpse of the full body Liz, he knew by his suddenly labored breathing, that it might have been too much for him.

"That was dangerous." He whispered, shaking his head.

Yeah, Michael Joyce's life was considerably different than Michael's Guerin's, when the biggest danger in Joyce's life was a naked Liz…Jeffries.

Removing himself from the temptation Ms. Jeffries unwittingly provided, Michael settled himself in the kitchen, pulling out the red address book from the purse. As he opened it to the name he sought a sudden fear gripped at Michael. It had been five years since they'd heard anything from him and he was just calling out of the clear blue sky? Would they even want to talk to him? What was he thinking?

Just as Michael was talking himself out of making the call, a picture tucked into the book fell into his hands. He held it up, immediately captured by the utterly charming little girl staring back at him. Isabel must have sent it to Liz at her last stop. He flipped the photo over and read the writing on the back:

Alexis Michaela James: Age 2

Auntie Liz,

We miss you.

Kyle, Isabel and Alexis

Michael trepidation was still there, but even in just a picture Alexis had already wrapped her Uncle Michael around her dainty pinky. If only for that little sprite, Michael could stop being afraid of his past and those he left behind. He picked up the phone, dialing the number and unconsciously holding his breath.

After two rings, Michael glanced up at the clock, admonishing himself. They were at least an hour behind him and he was probably going to wake them up. He was about to hang up the when a chipper little voice answered the phone.

"Hi!" the child said, "Whatcha want?"

Michael's eyes widened and a smile crept on his face as he realized who he was talking to, "Uh…Alexis. Is your mommy or daddy around?"

"Mommy workin'. Daddy's watchin' cartoons wit me." The little girl replied.

"Lexi…" Michael heard Kyle grumble in the background, "Give Daddy the phone."

"No Daddy. I talkin'." Alexis said obstinately, before turning her attention back to her caller, "Who dis?" Definitely Isabel's daughter

"Um… my name is Mich…" he paused, grinning, "This is your Uncle Grumpy." He took the phone away from his ear at the child's high-pitched squeal.

"When you come see me?" Alexis asked her uncle when he managed to put his ear back to the phone. He could hear Kyle in the background demanding the phone from his precocious child.

"Sorry, Alexis. I just don't know." Michael answered her honestly.

"Alexis James!" Kyle raised his voice, before giving her a surrendering sigh, "At least tell Daddy who it is."

Michael chuckled as he heard Alexis growl in annoyance and he could practically see her rolling her eyes dismissively, just like Isabel, "It's Unca Grumpy, Daddy. You go back to Scooby."

Michael heard a "Holy. Fuck!" from Kyle and a sudden tussle for the phone.

"That really you Guerin?" Kyle asked, his shock obvious.

Michael was about to answer when he hear Alexis giggling in the background, chanting, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

"Lexi. No." Kyle scolded her half-heartedly, "Daddy shouldn't have said that. Please stop."

Michael nearly fell off the chair when Lexi began to sing louder and as Kyle tried to stop his daughter's bout with cursing.

"Baby girl." Kyle pleaded with his daughter, "If you love your Daddy at all, you'll stop. Or Mommy will cut off Daddy's… well you won't be getting a brother or sister, even if you ask Santa."

Alexis stopped her blue tune immediately, "Kay, Daddy. Gonna watch Scooby. Bye Unca Grumpy!" Michael could hear here skipping away singing, "Daddy said a bad wo-rd."

"I am such a dead man." Kyle sighed into the phone, before perking up, "So. Michael. You don't call. You don't write. How the hell are ya? Where the hell are you? And most importantly…How's Liz?"

Michael was a little thrown, but hearing no malice in Kyle's voice he fell in step, "Phone calls are overrated and expensive. I hate writing my name, let alone a letter. I'm okay and in New Orleans. And Liz is sleeping, but how the hell did you know she was here?"

"Deduction, my wayward friend. I was raised by a sheriff you know?" Kyle quipped, "First, the only possible way you could know that Lexi calls you 'Uncle Grumpy', was if Liz told you and I just have a gut feeling Liz wouldn't just call you. Second, I knew once Liz found your invisible ass; you'd call wanting the full skinny on the past five years. Or am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong." Michael admitted.

"The third reason, "Kyle offered, "Is that out of all of us, I think Liz missed you the most. Or at least it became pretty damn obvious to those of us who were not Max."

"What are you talking about? You know cryptic always annoyed me, Kyle." Michael grumbled, trying to hide his curiosity

Kyle chuckled, "Okay. Okay. Well, the first clue was the day she went into town, shopping with Isabel, and came back with just about every Metallica album ever made. Liz Parker… Phillips…. Whatever, never gave Metallica a second listen until you left."

Michael scratched his eyebrow; "I used to play them in the garage in the morning when I worked on the Nova, or in my room after work…"

"Yeah, well thanks a ton, because until Isabel and I got our own place we were rudely awakened every morning by Master of Puppets. When Max asked her to quit it she switched to Unforgiven. My particular favorite," Kyle snickered, "was when she was pissed at Max, which was more often towards the end, she'd play King Nothing."

Michael laughed loudly, clamping his hand over his mouth so as not to wake Liz, "I used to do that when Max pissed me off, and that was all the time." He shook his head, "I still can't believe she got into Metallica."

"Believe it, Michael." Kyle said emphatically, "Don't believe me? Play some when she gets up. The woman knows every damn one of those songs by heart. And Liz mouthing the words to Whiskey In the Jar, is an experience not to be forgotten."

"I'll have to try that." Michael said with an amused chuckle. "Not that a change in music taste proves anything, but what else?" he asked unable to hide his curiosity.

"Let's see, there was the denim jacket, that you left behind. If she still has it, the thing is about ten sizes too big for her, because lets face it Michael, you're a friggin' giant compared to her, but it was practically the only coat she'd ever wear."

"I wondered where that was." Michael mused, wondering if Liz really did still have it with her. The thought alone of her scent mixing with his on the fabric nearly gave him goose bumps.

"I remember we were going out one night, I think it was when Isabel and I got engaged and Max shrunk the coat to fit her when she went to put it on." Kyle half chuckled, "Dude, I have never seen Liz get that angry. Pure fury, man. We're talking beyond a Maria-sized tantrum. She demanded he restore it, which he did, because he valued his own life, and I believe he slept on the couch for a couple nights after that."

"Okay," Michael said, trying not to sound amused, "I get it. She missed me."

"To say the least." Kyle said in mock exhaustion, "So, did you take on any Parker-esque traits when you left?" he teased.

Michael rolled his eyes, deciding against telling Kyle about his propensity to sit out on the balcony of his apartment and the reason he bought the particular building in the first place was for the balcony, "Uh yeah, I grew my hair down to my ass and I've started listening to chick rock." He joked, "I've also taken an interest in molecular biology. I'm getting my doctorate some time next to never."

Kyle knew Michael was covering any hidden truths with humor and also knew not to press, so he changed the subject, "So…Liz is sleeping huh?" he asked playfully, "Wear her out did ya?"

"Shut up Valen…I mean James. She walked into my bar late last night and we caught up a little. She's staying in my guest bedroom." Michael tossed back.

"For now." Kyle coughed, and then quickly moved on before Michael could say anything, "You. Owning a bar? Wonder what Dr, Freud would have to say about?"

"He'd say I'm good with drunks." Michael joked, then chuckled, "So you and Isabel huh?"

"Yeah." Kyle said in a mock sheepish tone, "Finally gave into her incessant come-ons."

"More like the other way around, Cowboy." Michael returned.

Kyle laughed, "Okay so you're right. Glad she did though, now I've got two girls attached to my name… well my dad's… but you know what I mean?"

"Yeah. Uh…Lexi's beautiful, man. Liz showed me a couple pictures. But I still can't believe you're a dad." Michael said, amused.

"Me either." Kyle laughed, "The fact that I'm responsible for another life is completely ridiculous. But God I love it." He paused for a moment, "So, do you still go by Hetfield, or have you moved on to Ulrich, Hammet or maybe another band all together?"

"Joyce." Michael provided.

"Joyce?" Kyle said in comical confusion, "Okay Miss, you win the prize for Most Changed. Geez, I've heard of going undercover Michael, but don't you think that was taking it a bit too far?"

"Michael Joyce you idiot." Michael snickered, "After James Joyce…the author." He was met with silence, "Ulysses."

Kyle snapped his fingers, "So that's what that meant?"

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked.

Kyle sighed dramatically, "Well, since you've decided on popping out of the woodwork and all I might as well tell you the fourth reason I knew Liz was with you."

"Please. Enlighten me." Michael said, waiting for another round of Kyle's playful sarcasm.

"Because Liz wasn't the only one who saw you leave that night. I was coming back from Isabel's room, nothing happened by the way, just talking. If you remember right, my bedroom window faced the driveway."

"Oh." Was all Michael could say realizing what Kyle had seen.

"Yeah. Oh." Kyle replied, knowing he and Michael were on the same page, "I saw that kiss, Michael. Now, you know I've never bullshitted you. I think that's why we got along so well. So, I gotta tell you what I saw between you and Liz that night sure as hell wasn't, 'Goodbye'. That was 'I love you', whether you want to admit it or not. Or am I wrong?"

This time Michael sighed, he never could bullshit Kyle, "You are definitely not wrong."

~*~

TBC…