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.

Chapter 7

After the initial shock of hearing his former sister-in-law's voice on the other end of the line, Jesse was more than happy to help Liz. He and Isabel had parted amicably and he helped the group out with legal affairs when he could. After his and Isabel's divorce had been finalized, he settled down with his current wife, Melinda, finally having the life he'd sought with Isabel.

Rather than being jealous, Isabel was thrilled for Jesse, finally realizing she could never give him the normalcy he so craved, and she having fallen for Kyle, someone who could embrace her life and it's many quirks. So she stayed in touch with Jesse, exchanging photos of their new families, Jess now had a son that was a few months older than Alexis. Their contact also allowed Jesse a window into the rubble that had become Max and Liz's marriage and when he heard she'd left, he'd been anticipating a call from Liz, but the shock of actually hearing her voice was a bit jarring.

Liz explained calmly and plainly her requests, which were few, but important, pertaining to the divorce from Max. The most important request was that Jesse not reveal her current location. Liz may have been ready to break from Max completely, but she wasn't ready for him to come barging in on the new life she was building.

"Liz…" Jesse said with some trepidation, "of course I understand you not wanting to see Max…But you do realize he'll want to see you."

Liz sighed into the phone, "I know, Jesse. But he's just going to have to accept that I don't feel the same way. I don't want him telling me how we can work things out, when we can't and never will. I don't love him… I love…" she stopped herself before she spilled her feelings for Michael to Jesse, quickly changing the subject, "Um…Look I realize this is awkward Jesse…and I'd understand if you would rather hand this divorce to someone else…"

Jesse chuckled, "Someone who understands that you were on the run from the FBI because my ex-wife, your husband, and Michael are aliens? That you had to change your names more often than you changed your socks and that your estranged husband has never quite gotten over his king complex from a former life? Sorry Liz, I think I'm the only one qualified to handle such a delicate case."

Liz laughed at the absurdity of the situation, "Well, when you put it that way…" she let her laughter fade, "Thanks Jesse. You've always been good to us despite everything. I guess I'm kinda throwing you into the lion's mouth aren't I. I mean we all know how belligerent Max can get. Especially…"

"When it comes to you." Jesse finished knowingly, "I know. But I'm your attorney Liz, I work for you. You can trust me. Max might have been family once, but that won't stop me from protecting your needs. You were family too."

Liz was rendered speechless for a moment, touched by Jesse's selflessness. She took a deep breath and continued, "I can't believe I'm really doing this."

"Long overdue from what I hear from Isabel and Kyle." Jesse told her.

"Unfortunately you're correct. " Liz sighed, "So… All correspondence will go through you, right?"

"Exactly." Jesse confirmed, "I'll call you when I hear from Max… and I will hear a lot I can imagine. If he has anything to say to you it will have to go through me first."

"Good." Liz said relieved.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Jesse said a lilt of confusion in his voice, "But why so secretive about your location? I mean I can understand not wanting to see Max, but New Orleans is a big place…"

"It's not just me I'm thinking about Jesse." Liz explained, "I'm not exactly alone here."

"Pardon?" Jesse asked even more confused.

"I'm staying with Michael." She confessed.

There was a long silence on the Jesse's end that worried Liz a bit. She was about to call out to her lawyer friend when she heard him chuckle a bit, "Well, they were right… although how you found him I'll never know. Isabel had me looking for him forever when he left."

"Michael's very good at hiding, you just have to know where to look." Liz mused, then it occurred to her that Jesse didn't sound entirely shocked, "What do you mean 'They were right'?"

"Isabel and Kyle said you'd probably be the one to find Michael." Jesse admitted.

Liz rolled her eyes, "I give those two far too little credit when it comes to figuring things out."

"So, I take it Michael isn't exactly anxious to reunite with his brother either?" Jesse asked.

"Not really." Liz provided, "And he doesn't know I'm doing this, so if you call and Michael answers…Tell him…tell him…"

"Liz," Jesse said, "I'm a lawyer. I think I can bullshit my way through a conversation with Michael."

"Bless you." Liz laughed.

"You not wanting Max to know your location gets clearer by the second." Jesse laughed. "I mean it gives you that much more time alone with Michael." He teased.

Liz snorted, he was right, but did he have to be so damn right? "Okay, you, Mr. Ramirez, have been talking to Isabel way too much. You're damn lucky your spouses are so understanding."

"Way to evade the subject Liz." Jesse chided.

"I'm not evading." Liz said a bit defensively, "It's just…"

"Complicated." Jesse finished with an amused sigh, "It always is with you guys."

Liz heard Michael's music turn off in the studio and the heavy sound of his footsteps as he headed towards the door. She said a quick "Goodbye" to Jesse and hung up the phone just as Michael entered the kitchen.

"Who was that?" he asked. Refilling his coffee mug and snagging one for her, reminding himself that he needed to move some stuff down for her.

"Uh, no one. Solicitor." She half lied. Well, that's what they called lawyers them in England.

"Really?" Michael asked with a furrowed brow. "I didn't hear the phone ring."

"How could you?" Liz laughed, " You had our stereo on pretty loud."

Michael looked at her sheepishly, "Damn. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to wake you up."

Liz shrugged her shoulders at him accepting the coffee mug, "Ms. Holiday can wake me up any day. Actually she's a bit more easing that Lars and the boys." Her eyes roamed over Michael's body admiring how his jeans slung low on hips, leaving just enough to the imagination and traveled upward finding speckles and tiny streaks of paint on his bare torso and arms.

"Um…you've been busy." She observed, unconsciously wetting her lips.

Michael looked down at his paint-spattered body and smirked, "Just a little."

The urge to tease the tiny brunette about her none too subtle once over of him, had Michael chomping at the bit. But he could hardly justify the ribbing when he'd been doing the same thing since he walked in the kitchen. Two great loves in one deadly package, Liz in a hockey jersey…and only a hockey jersey. The red cloth may have ended at her knee, but Michael's imagination couldn't. No, it kept going straight up to the slight curve of her thigh muscle and the tan skin that surrounded it. Didn't they make hockey jerseys in a smaller size? If the didn't, they should.

Michael of course allowed himself the mental torture of wondering if Liz chose to wear anything underneath that material, but never answered the question. That was something, maybe in time, he'd discover on his own.

"So," Liz said, unknowingly rescuing Michael from reverting back to telling time with a sundial, "You're muse has returned." Her voice had the lilt of discovery and the determination to uncover Michael's newfound creative streak.

"Yup." Michael answered cryptically, folding his arms over his chest. They may have been apart for several years, but Michael could always tell when Nancy Drew was on a fact-finding mission.

"Anything you care to share with your roommate?" She asked sweetly, even batting her eyes.

Michael grinned, "Nope."

Liz's shoulders slump with animated disappointment, "You mean I have to await your next masterpiece with the rest of your adoring public?"

"Yup." Michael answered, knowing full well he was annoying the hell out of Liz with his monosyllabic answers. But it brought that same redness to her cheeks as when she was… well he enjoyed it.

Liz growled at him in frustration, "You know 'mysterious', only holds a small amount of charm, Michael."

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Fine. You can see what I'm painting," He said in what appeared to be surrender, but he leaned in closer, trapping Liz, willingly, against the kitchen counter, fixing his gaze on her, "If you tell me what, and who, that phone call was really about."

Liz narrowed her eyes at Michael, inwardly cursing his uncanny knowledge of her and when she was lying or covering something up. Seems he was the only one in the house allowed to be something of an enigma

"So," he asked he continued, not moving from his spot, "You gonna tell me?"

Liz looked up at him, her eyes losing their glare and a grin coming over her deceptively angelic face, "Nope."

Michael grinned back, "And you said 'mysterious' wasn't charming." Laughing again as Liz's brow furrowed at her own quip being used against her.

Just behind her on the counter Michael noticed that next to her red address book sat a worn leather journal. He'd imagined she'd gone through a few of them in the years since he'd left. He'd been the one to encourage her to start writing in them again, knowing she'd need an outlet when he wasn't around.

He leaned in even closer, closing his eyes as Liz's breath danced across his collarbone, sending goose bumps to the sweat laced skin. Liz was hardly unaffected, barely believing that Michael was letting himself get so close to her, given their unspoken agreement. She had just taken a major step for them, but was hardly as free as she knew she needed to be for Michael.

What kind of resolve were they supposed to have when temptations like this were presenting themselves? Did he even know what his scent, the paint, thinner, sweat, mixed with the fading smell of the previous days cologne, did to her senses? Did he know how easily he could throw her up on the counter and…?

"Were you planning on doing this here?" he asked, inadvertently flustering the poor woman in front of him.

"What?" Liz asked, her eyes flying open, not having realized until that moment that they had been closed.

"This." Michael said tapping her nose with the journal, now in his hand, "Were you planning on working on this here in the kitchen?" he clarified.

Liz blushed furiously, before taking the journal from his hand, "I…uh, was planning on doing it…I mean writing, here…or maybe on the couch… I could do it in my bedroom. Write, I mean." She stammered, finding innuendo in nearly every word she spoke.

Michael broke out in a grin again as an idea struck him, "I know the perfect spot to do it." He told her turning around, then turning back to face her, "Write that is." He corrected, apparently Liz's penchant for innuendo was contagious.

Liz arched an eyebrow at him, but kept quiet as Michael took her and led her out of the kitchen, and down the hall. They stopped abruptly at the studio door when realized the "spot" he'd picked.

"Michael," she protested, " The studio is your space. I don't want to invade that."

Michael held his hand up, "The balcony, however, is not in my space, therefore it's yours."

"But the balcony is attached to the studio and therefore part of your space." Liz argued, deciding two could play the frustration game, and enjoying the red that was coming to Michael's cheeks, biting back said frustration.

"Technically," he corrected, "the balcony is outside the studio, therefore outside my space."

"But…" Liz began again, but Michael gripped Liz's hand, neither of them realizing he'd never let go of it.

"Liz…Please. If I wanted to argue I'd call Isabel. Take the balcony please." He told her sincerely, absently running his thumb over the back of her hand.

Liz bit her lip, trying to hide her suddenly labored breathing and Michael gentle gestures, physically and emotionally. "Okay." She said quietly and thankfully.

Michael hung his head a bit grateful to have at least semi-won the argument and discovered he'd been holding Liz's hand far to long for someone who was doing his damndest to be her "friend". The line was getting easier and easier to cross and he was allowing himself far too many liberties. He reluctantly dropped her hand and put his own through his hair.

Liz sensed the awkwardness Michael was feeling and covered with some humor, "Are you sure?" she asked in an impish tone, "I could, accidentally of course, see one of your new pieces in progress."

Michael smirked, "Honor system. I'm gonna trust you not to peek."

Liz nodded thoughtfully, "Although… by all rights I think I am allowed at least one casual glance. You did tip toe through my journal once if I recall."

Michael rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Even eight years later, I'm still paying for that?"

"Well, you read some pretty personal stuff," Liz answered, placing her hands on her hips "I figure I should get a sneak peek at something that's equally as… personal, to you."

Michael laughed, "How long have you been waiting to use that particular card, Liz?"

"Forever." She answered in an exhausted tone.

"Fine." Michael conceded, "But will you at least let me choose which piece you see, and when?"

"Of course." Liz agreed, "But don't keep me waiting too long."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Michael returned, opening the door for her, neither of them missing the other's innuendo.

~*~

One week later Jesse finalized the divorce papers and sent them off to Liz. All she needed to do was sign her name in the designated spots, return the documents to Jesse and he would send them off to Max. After that, it was up to her estranged husband, a wholly unappealing scenario in Liz's mind. Once again she was relying on Max to determine her fate and the prospect of him even remotely being understanding about her need for freedom from him, seemed, to say the least, very grim.

The night she'd received the paperwork, Sweet and Michael noticed that Liz was distracted, but neither of them knew why. Normally a diligent and attentive waitress, Liz messed up orders left and right and almost ignored customers flagging her down. When things slowed down later into the evening Michael sent her upstairs, sensing she needed some time alone. To his surprise she didn't argue.

When he and Sweet finished closing up the bar, Michael ran straight up to the apartment making a direct path to the balcony, where he and Liz would stay up for an extra hour talking, like they used to when they lived together all those years ago. Only on this night, to his disappointment, Liz was nowhere near the balcony.

Dismayed he went back inside the studio and headed down the hall, seeing light coming out from under Liz's bedroom door. Needing to make sure she was all right, Michael gently knocked on her door, hearing papers rustling as she scrambled out of her bed. She opened the door slightly, peering out at him.

"Is everything okay?" Michael asked the obligatory question, "You, uh… seemed a little distracted tonight." He scratched his eyebrow, debating on his next observation, knowing it might leave him a little vulnerable, "And um… you weren't out on the balcony… like you usually are… so…"

"Oh!" Liz said raising a hand to her mouth.

She'd lost all track of time going over the paperwork, like Jesse had advised her too, and had forgotten about her nightly ritual with Michael. She too had come to love their talks about nothing and everything and her heart sank that her distraction might have hurt Michael in any way.

"I'm sorry Michael." She apologized, " I just um… had some stuff on my mind… I uh…"

"You don't have to tell me, Liz." Michael rescued her. He was admittedly disappointed that she felt she couldn't confide in him about whatever was bothering her, but he was unwilling to force the issue, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Liz gave him a small smile and touched his forearm gently, "I will be."

She shut the door behind her, leaving Michael more confused than when he'd first knocked.

The next morning Michael woke, feeling more tired than usual. He'd been unable to sleep until he he'd heard Liz finally go to bed in her own room. Why couldn't she just tell him what was wrong, if there was anything? Maybe she'd just been writing a letter to her parents and the pain of missing them was catching up to her.

He rubbed a hand over his face and trudged out to the kitchen immediately heading for the coffee maker to brew his "de-grumpinator", as Liz liked to call it, only to find a fresh pot all ready and a note from Liz explaining that she'd gone to the post office that morning and would be back soon. Once again Michael felt the sting of disappointment at another foregone ritual he and Liz were settling into.

In the past week, after "giving" her the balcony, Michael would rise first, fixing the coffee, and then knocked on her bedroom door to wake her up, as he made his way to the studio. He'd be pulling out paints and a canvas when she'd come in ten minutes later, coffee in one hand and her journal in the other, swathed in that same beguiling hockey jersey.

She'd greet Michael with a mumbled "Good morning" and a small smile. He'd grunt back in feigned grouchiness, but maintain his trademark smirk. After their pleasantries were exchanged, Liz would head out to the balcony, settle in the lawn chair and would begin writing. They'd remain that way until Sweet showed up at his usual time. And Liz kept her promise not to peek at Michael's paintings despite the overwhelming temptation.

But Michael was finding that this particular morning was proving to be different in more ways than one as Sweet walked in the door. Michael looked up at the clock and found that he'd slept in, no doubt a result of his restless night worrying about the pain that seemed to lay heavy on Liz's heart.

Sweet was a bit perplexed to find his young artist friend not in the studio, and the charming brunette nowhere in sight.

"Where's our girl Elizabeth?" he asked, setting down the bag of baked breakfast goodies and accepting a cup of coffee from a bewildered Michael.

"Post office." Michael replied, "Left early. Be back soon."

Sweet chuckled Michael's attempt at coherent speech when it was clearly obvious that he'd just risen from bed, "Shouldn't you be in your cave drawing prehistoric elk?" he teased.

"Ha. Ha. Old Man." Michael said dryly, rubbing a hand over his face, "I didn't sleep very well last night, if you must know."

"That have anything to do with Liz?" Sweet asked, trying to project innocence in his question.

"Yeah." Michael answered honestly, then saw his elderly friend's smile turn devilish, "Whoa Sweet. Not that way, you old pervert. Something was bugging her last night and she wouldn't tell me. She just holed up in her room all night and didn't go to bed until three. And now this morning she got up early and went out…"

Sweet patted the concerned young man's back, "I'm sure Liz is fine, Son. Women are a truly strange breed. I'm sure she'd tell you if it was serious."

Michael nodded, but was hardly soothed by Sweet's advice. He would have to resign himself to trusting that Liz would come to him if it were serious. He wouldn't be like Max. He wouldn't push, no matter how much it was killing him.

Five minutes later a decidedly different, and much happier, Liz came through the door at a near skip. She held the day's mail in her hands and a smile on her face that no one could take away.

"Well, if it isn't my two favorite men." She said flirtatiously, accepting a good morning hug and kiss on the cheek from Sweet.

Michael stood dumbfounded at Liz's transformation, "I know you were up early this morning, Liz. There is no way you should be this chipper." He told her, "It's inhuman."

Liz's eyes widened and she smacked her forehead lightly, "Oh! So that's why you're so grouchy in the morning." She teased.

Michael growled low at her and sent a less than threaten glare for joking about his not-exactly-human status. She snuggled into Sweet's one-arm embrace in counterfeit fear.

"Now, now, Boss Man," Sweet played along, "We can't all be like you… Born grumpy."

Liz giggled and mouthed, "Hatched," to Michael as she left Sweet's arm and scurried past the brooding alien, to the coffee pot. Michael did not miss the opportunity, slapping Liz's backside playfully, eliciting a yelp from her.

Sweet cleared his throat at Michael in mild admonishment. Michael just shook his head, "Trust me, Old Man, she earned that."

Liz turned around a dangerous grin plastered on her face, "Don't worry, Sweet. It's been so long since Michael's had a piece of ass he has to justify it when he can."

Michael choked on his coffee while Liz and Sweet burst into laughter. When he recovered Michael once again shook his head, "I'd love to argue, but she's right." He winked at her suggestively, "Thanks Liz."

In far to good a mood to take offense, Liz curtsied at Michael batting her eyes, "Glad my ass could be of service, Sir."

Before his young friends got any more suggestive, Sweet interrupted them, "So Ms. Liz… does your cheery disposition have anything to do with that envelope in your dainty hands?"

Michael glanced down at the manila envelope clutched in Liz's hands, watching her draw it closer to her chest when attention was brought to it. "Yeah Liz." He spoke up, "What's in the envelope?"

"Nothing." Liz said quickly bringing the envelope behind her back and out of view, a small giggle escaping her throat.

"Yeah right." Michael rolled his eyes and began advancing on her, determined to find out what had her so damn amused.

Liz squealed and began running away from Michael protecting the envelope from his grasping hands. Liz soon found herself in trouble when Michael trapped her by the couch. She could have used her powers to zap Michael enough to move, but with Sweet wiping away tears of laughter watching them, powers were hardly an option. And from the glint in Michael's eyes, he knew it too. Michael wiggled his fingers Liz, knowing that the mere threat of tickling would send her into a fit of laughter.

"Michael…" Liz said already giggling, "No… Don't even… Michael!"

It was too later as he had already pounced, pinning the tiny woman to the couch as he straddled her hips, careful to rest his formidable weight on his own haunches. Liz, never one to give up easily, fruitlessly tried to keep the envelope away from Michael, but as his wiggling fingers drew closer to her hyper ticklish ribs she felt herself utterly weak.

"Michael!" she panted almost breathlessly between her giggles, "Please! You'll make me bend the photos!"

Michael immediately halted his comical assault, but remained seated on his helpless prey, "Photos?"

"Yeah." She answered her laughter subsiding, "Don't you remember? A few days ago… when you called Isabel? Once you got her to stop talking nonstop, you made her promise to send us new pictures of Lexi."

Liz watched the recognition pass over Michael's face and she handed him the now precious envelope. He handled it so delicately, Sweet thought Liz might have handed him the finest crystal.

The old man cleared his throat again to gain Michael's attention, "Now, I could be wrong, but my momma always taught me that it was rude to sit on someone bearing gifts. Especially such a lovely delivery person."

Michael looked back at Sweet in confusion then felt Liz wiggle beneath him; "Oh!" he said quickly leaping off of her and seating himself at the other end of the couch. If she'd wiggled one more time… "Uh…sorry Liz."

Liz shook her head laughing and sat up moving herself next to him, "It's okay. Now, will you hurry up and open it?"

Michael looked over at her with a furrowed brow, "You mean you haven't looked at them already?"

Liz shook her head, "No. I wanted to wait so we could see them…um… together."

"Oh." Michael said touched by Liz's gesture and finding a great amount of rightness in the moment, "Uh… thanks."

After Michael and Liz opened the photos, he, Liz and Sweet gushed over the pictures Isabel had sent of her precocious toddler. Michael was thoroughly convinced that Lexi was the second most beautiful woman on the planet. The first seated next to him clinging to his shoulder as they flipped through the new pictures, her laughter bouncing off of the walls of the apartment and straight into his still semi-guarded heart.

Michael was still on the couch marveling at the pictures when Liz excused herself to get more coffee, fatigue quickly catching up with her after the previous night's restlessness. Sweet followed her into the kitchen on the premise of refilling his own cup.

"Are those photos the only reason you're so chipper this morning?" he asked her.

"Partly." Liz answered, knowing Sweet could read her, so it would be useless to try and hide anything from the wise old sage.

"And the other part?" he pressed on.

Liz smiled, taking a sip from her coffee, "It a 'big ol' scissor' thing." She whispered to him as she headed back out to the couch to join Michael.

Sweet chuckled at the woman, 'Devious Ms. Liz. And with the face of an angel"

~*~

Another two weeks passed and even though she'd been anxious about Max's response to the divorce papers, Liz made a concerted effort to not let it affect her time with Michael. They'd, gratefully, fallen back into their routines after the brief interruption and Michael had really thrown himself into his painting. So much so, that Liz had taken to opening the bar for him a task she was more than happy to take on and found she enjoyed. Running a business seemed to suit her and Michael trusted her with his bar implicitly. And with a week before his show, Liz certainly did not want to interrupt his creative flow with her worries. Silly girl.

One morning while Michael was in the studio and Liz was retrieving her coffee, journal in hand, when the phone rang. She answered it mumbling a groggy, "Hello."

"Hey Liz. It's Jesse. Did I wake you up?"

"No." Liz said quickly finding little need for coffee, "I was up. Um…so…"

"So, I just got off the phone with Max." he supplied an exasperation lingering in his voice.

Liz heard his defeat and her shoulders slumped, 'Well, we knew he wasn't going to take my serving him with divorce papers with a smile."

"That is an understatement." Jesse mused, deciding to skip the various colorful expletives Max had leveled at him that morning, "I'm not sure furious even begins to describe his state. He's demanding I give him your location. He wants to see you. I, of course, told him 'No'."

"But that didn't do a thing." Liz observed.

"Right. He says he won't sign the papers. Period. And said he'd contest it. Along with more demands to see you immediately. I'm sorry Liz, but there's not much more I can do. I'll fight everything. No judge can make you see him I can tell you that."

"It's okay Jesse…" Liz sighed, "And thanks. Not that it'll do any good, but I'll wait him out a little longer. I'm just not ready to see him yet."

"Take all the time you need. You absolutely do not have to do anything you don't want to. Max has no legal recourse aside from contesting the divorce." Jesse reassured her.

Liz felt a little lost. She knew Max wouldn't just simply give her up, but a small part of her had hoped that seeing the divorce papers might actually make Max see how over their marriage was.

"Liz?" Jesse asked a bit worried by the silence and shaking breath on the other end of the line.

"I'm okay." Liz answered, "I was just holding out a little hope…you know?" Thanks Jesse." She quietly hung up the phone, staring at it for a moment as it blurred with her unshed tears.

"Why can't he just let me go?" Liz asked no one in a strangled whisper, one tear finding it's way down her cheek.

She glanced down at her journal and heard Michael whistling along to some B.B. King on the local jazz station; unable to help the smile it brought to her face. A little time spent in Michael's presence and letting out her sorrows in her journal might be just the balm to sooth her aching heart. She wiped her eyes, erasing any trace of sadness from her face, and headed into the studio, intent on keeping this as normal as possible.

"Hey." She greeted Michael as she walked into the studio.

Michael peered out from behind the canvas, a brush between his teeth and simply winked his "Good morning". He might have been content to go back to his painting, but the sadness Liz had been trying to hide glistened in her eyes and took Michael back to that night two weeks prior when Liz seemed so lost, without an anchor.

He removed the brush from his teeth and stood back holding her gaze, "Who was on the phone?" he asked, sensing that the call might have been the source of her apparent sadness.

Liz shrugged her shoulder, "Solicitor." She said quietly.

Michael knew she was lying and his heart constricted a bit, but he was determined to hold to his promise and not press Liz. She was sure as hell taking her time getting around to telling him what was wrong, but he was not going to push. Pushing could send her out of his life, not a prospect that held a great amount of appeal for him.

He couldn't stand to see her looking so sad and lost again and felt the need to do something to cheer her up or at least momentarily forget her troubles. He glanced at his canvas remembering his promise from a few weeks prior. Yeah, this would definitely brighten her spirits.

He set his brush down and approached Liz, taking her journal and coffee out of her hands, resting them on the worn and paint spattered table. He held his hand out to her, and while she was confused as to what exactly Michael had in mind, Liz trusted him.

"What are we...?" she began to ask as Michael pulled her towards the canvas.

"Need your opinion on something." He told her with a wry smile.

"Okay." Liz said a bit of excitement filling her voice at finally getting to see one of Michael's new paintings.

Michael asked her to close her eyes and he she complied as he placed her in front of the canvas.

"Okay." Michael whispered, "Open them."

Liz opened her eyes and tears; happy ones sprang to her eyes. Michael had taken one of the photos Isabel had sent them of Lexi and turned it into a portrait of their niece. The beaming smile, the impish glint in her eyes her sandy hair, even the cowlick that Isabel was always fighting.

"Oh Michael…" Liz whispered, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Its beautiful. No wonder you were so excited about those photos."

"You really like it?" he asked a bit nervously. Liz nodded emphatically, letting her tears run freely down her face. "Um actually," he continued, "This isn't part of the show."

Liz looked up at him in bewilderment, "So Lexi isn't your new muse? But I thought…" she pointed to the canvas.

Michael shook his head, "My stuff for the show is already done. I was saving this for last. I'm gonna send it to Isabel as soon as I'm finished. Surprise her you know? It doesn't make up for missing out on Lex…but…"

"It's absolutely perfect, Michael." Liz said almost breathlessly, feeling as though Lexi were right in the room with them the painting contained that much life in it.

Liz's tears, it seemed, would not stop and Michael felt her shaking beside him. Her happy tears had turned sad again and she was unable to keep her stifling sobs at bay. Michael pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her in protection and stroked her hair in an effort to soothe her, knowing she needed to let out whatever grief her heart held. Wishing he truly could take it away with the stroke of a brush.

~*~

Michael's show was fast approaching and he spent the few days before it transporting his new pieces to Miriam's gallery, going over placement of the paintings, which ones were for sale and which ones were staying with him. Too personal to give up.

Liz had graciously taken over the bar during the hectic time, just enjoying the excitement and nervousness that seemed to consume Michael as the show drew closer. She had to admit the feeling was contagious. She'd been there since the inception of these new masterpieces and had yet to see them. Michael seemed most nervous about her reaction, though she couldn't imagine why. There were going to be art critics from all over the country coming to the show and he was fussing over her?

Liz woke gently the morning of Michael's show, stretching out in an almost catlike fashion. Her eyes widened as she caught her first sight of her bedside alarm clock and read the numbers. She sat up in her bed listening for the familiar heavy steps of Michael's feet in the kitchen, but was met with silence.

"Shit!" she hissed, jumping out of bed and throwing on her jersey.

She threw open her door and scampered down one to Michael's, knocking loudly before entering. Michael sat bolt upright as Liz jumped onto his bed shaking him roughly.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked trying to process in his sleep-addled brain, exactly what Liz was doing in his bed, although far from opposed to the idea.

"We forgot to set our alarms, Michael!" she said frantically, pointing at his silent clock. When she saw he was still too groggy to comprehend she continued, "Someone in this room has a big art show tonight and promised Miriam that he'd be at the gallery by ten to go over the last minute stuff…"

Michael blinked looking back at the clock a second time, "Shit! I only have twenty minutes. Damnit!"

"Calm down, Michael." Liz said trying to follow her own advice, "You go get in the shower. I mean, I think it's a bad omen if the artist literally stinks at his own show. I'll make you some coffee and toast while you're getting ready."

"Okay." Michael breathed, finding some humor and calm in Liz's words, and then furrowed his brow as a thought occurred to him, "Wait a sec. You said 'we' forgot to set our alarms. You aren't coming until tonight, with Sweet, right?"

Liz smiled, "Yeah. But I wanted to get up with you. I know how nervous you are about this show" she down cast her eyes for a moment, playing with a loose thread on her jersey, before meeting his gaze once more, "I didn't want you to be alone."

Michael nodded, "Uh…Thanks."

Liz glanced over at the clock, "Nineteen minutes Mr. Matisse. Go on and get in the shower. What are you waiting for?"

Michael laughed for a moment and then arched an amused eyebrow at Liz, "Well, unless you want a whole other, X-rated, show…" he cast his glance down to his sheet-covered lower body.

Liz's eyes widened, realizing she'd forgotten about their mutual propensity for sleeping in the nude. She rose off the bed backing out of the room, "Right. Okay. Coffee. You. Shower."

Liz quickly shut Michael's door, pausing for a moment, "Coffee? You? Shower?" she repeated sarcastically, "Liz. Big. Ditz." She shook her head and padded into the kitchen.

When Michael emerged from his room, he was dressed in his only pair of clean khakis, his requisite Doc Martens, and was throwing on a black button down shirt. His hair was still dripping from he shower and he only had eleven minutes to get to the gallery, but the sight of Liz buzzing around the kitchen, trying to do everything she could to make sure she could get him to that gallery on time gave him pause. He was nervous as hell about tonight for more reasons than he could count, but seeing her like she was gave him momentary calm.

Liz caught Michael out of the corner of her eye and rushed at him with a piece of toast in her hand. Michael didn't blink opening his mouth to accept the toast chewing one bite as quickly as he could before taking a sip of the scalding coffee, grimacing at it's temperature.

"Uh…Liz could you dry my hair. I'm kinda nervous and you…uh know my powers get sorta…wacky…I don't want to burn it off."

Liz smiled. Michael was embarrassed that he had difficulty keeping his powers in check when nervous, but it was one of the things she'd come to love about him. Too much control could be just that, too much.

She raised her hands into Michael locks and closed her eyes sending the heat to her hands. She didn't notice Michael watching her, and gripping at the counter at the feel of her hands running through his hair. Liz felt the wet strands dry and slip through her fingers like silken waves and she opened her eyes.

"There." She said proudly, if not a little exhausted, not from the effort, but the sensations it sent through her body.

Michael turned looking at his reflection in the microwave and nodding his head, "Not bad, Liz. And under pressure. I think I'll keep you around."

Liz punched his arm lightly, "Drink your coffee." She grumbled.

Michael obeyed picking up his mug, vaguely noticing that Liz was buttoning up his shirt for him, until she'd reached the third button. She left the top button undone and smoothed the lapels. She glanced at the kitchen clock with a grimace.

"Okay. You've got eight minutes to get to he gallery. I think you'll make it. I can put your coffee in a travel mug if you want, because let's face it, Miriam's coffee sucks."

"I'll do without it." Michael laughed, "Probably drink too much of it anyway."

Liz reached into an old wicker basket handing Michael his wallet and keys, brushing imaginary lint from off of his shoulder. "Okay then. You're set. Sweet and I will be there at seven. On time." She teased.

"Good." Michael breathed a sigh of relief, "I'll need someone there who won't tell me how brilliant I am."

"You will be…are brilliant, Michael." Liz said seriously, and then smiled, "I just happen to mean it."

She took the coffee cup from his hand and took another look at the clock, "Seven minutes. Go."

Without thinking Liz rose up on her tiptoes brushing her soft lips over Michael's for a normal "goodbye" or "good luck" kiss. Except this wasn't exactly normal for them. In the frenzy of the morning she'd forgotten her agreement with Michael and not only crossed the line, but bound over it. But he wasn't resisting, if anything he was just as shocked, but definitely kissing her back.

Liz pulled back abruptly covering her mouth, unsure of what to say and the look on his face told her he was feeling the same thing. She would have apologized, but she wasn't sorry. If anything she wanted more. She licked her lips once again tasting Michael on her and almost moaned. The question became did Michael want to cross that line with her?

Amidst the silence there was a blur of movement and a coffee mug crashed to the floor.

~*~

TBC…