Rating: PG13
Spoilers: First season up to and including "Heat Wave" Distribution: My site, http://forgottendaughter.homestead.com, and by express permission.
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, the WB and others. Untitled poem is by Edna St. Vincent Millay. "Untouchable Face" is from Ani diFranco's wonderful album Dilate. The Grijalvas and the story of The Golden\ Key belong to Jennifer Roberson, Kate Elliott, and Melanie Rawn. Mrs. Clarke belongs to me.
Notes: This story, after more than a year, is finally done. Whew. It took a lot out of me.
Dedications: To Heather, Dulce de Leche, Flute, Venk, Echo, cold chicken salad, Alianora, Buggs, Jaestor, Spencer, and anyone else who gave me the feedback that made me finish.
Pairing: All Conventional -that's right, I said the "c" word.
Summary: When Maria rejects him, Michael makes her happy the only way he knows how -with art, magic, and dreaming.

Ashes in Their Eyes

Liz could barely make out her best friend's growling over the sound of the rag on the wet counter.

"Maria," she stepped up and tapped her gently,"you don't have to rub so violently. Look, clean! See!" She held up the finger she had rubbed on the countertop.

"Maria?"

"What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight-"

"Okay, too creepy," Liz took the rag out of Maria's hands and sat with at a counter. Liz and Maria had closed the Crashdown after Midnight before, so the emptiness wasn't an unusual thing. She lived upstairs, the Crashdown was home... but there was something scary about the whole situation. Maria was growling. But her best friend was not a growler, Maria was a "throw them against the wall with verbal assault" sort of girl. But lately, Maria was getting quiet.

Between the Marionettes of the Four Corners Convention and the usual dinner crowd there wasn't exactly time small talk, but Liz missed the light banter that made closing fly by.

She put her arms around the blonde, laying Maria's head against her breast. She could feel the tears swell and gather on her uniform and it hurt. Liz felt old, she tightened her embrace and place a kiss on Maria's brow. No one so small should hold so many tears.

Liz had done her fair amount of crying lately. Max Evans. She could hardly say his name outloud anymore. Just thinking it was like...there were so many twinges and layers. She loved him so much and she'd been so sure he loved her -he'd saved her life. But strangers saved other strangers lives everyday...

Liz began to sob softly. Her breath keeping rhythm with Maria's as they rocked back and forth in the booth. Maria looked up at her best friend. Liz's dark had come out of her ponytail and fell across her face. Just so. The tears ran down the brown softness and dropped soundlessly.

"And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered-"

"I remember that. The Millay from English early this year." Liz remembered Alex's melodramatic reading in the cafeteria. God, how she missed laughing. "I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more."

"Do you think she knew about Czechoslovakians?"

Maria quirked her eyebrow, the first expression Liz in two days. "Only you, Liz."

Maria unexpectedly began to shiver, her giggles shaking the booth."

"Hey, I got you to stop growling, right?"

"I love you, Liz." She hugged her best friend. "I am so happy I have you." She brightened. "Hey, do you remember in the the sixth grade -that sleepover. We were dreaming of our perfect men. Do you remember that we wanted foreign, exotic hotties?"

Both girls shared an abrupt spark of hysterical laughter and sighed.

***

Alex took a breath and walked up to the girls at the lockers. So weird, he'd known Maria and Liz forever. Now he had to prep himself to greet them. The past few months had been so weird. There that word was again.

"Parker, DeLuca," he nodded his head. Their eyes were red. A few months awkwardness wasn't enough to suppress his instincts. Putting one arm around each, he hugged them close. His instincts told him they weren't crying because of allergies. He steered them towards the quad outside and sat them down beneath a tree. He knelt down in front of them, voice soft, "Please. I know we've had a time lately, but please. I'm still Alex and you're still my girls. Tell me what's wrong."

Liz looked up at him. Her face was shadowed, her mouth dragged at a tired angle. Maria was much the same. There were ashes in their eyes.

And then he knew. He brushed Maria's cheek, "No, you don't need to say anything."

***

From an upstairs classroom, a young girl was brushing her golden hair behind her ear and holding the blinds open at the same time. Not many people would ever call Isabel Evans a young girl, but despite the classic beauty and strength, she was only sixteen. Young. For a human.

Maybe her people had different lifespans. Maybe she was going to die in a year. Maybe she'd live to see a thousand. Isabel had no idea.

So maybe it was best it wasn't the years that mattered. Maybe it was the quality of life, the light of it all. She closed the blinds and her eyes, laid against the plaster wall.

Too many grown up thoughts.

"I have a thing for Alex Whitman." There. That wasn't grown up at all.

"Isabel!" God, it was them again. After so much intelligent company with Liz, Maria and...oh, lord, Alex...she didn't know how much longer she could stand this. "Isabel, did you see what Cindy is wearing today? Designer rip-off. And what kind of name is Cindy anyhow? Can you say eighties?" Fingers ending in pink acrylic grabbed Isabel's purse and tugged towards the cafeteria, "Ohmigod, this is so cute!"

***

Michael shut his eyes and let his hand graze his jacket pocket. The little lump there was comforting. It reminded him of Maria. God, DeLuca. He opened his eyes and focused on the canvas before him. He brought his hand up and with swift strokes he brushed in her chin. God, her pert little chin. Even her chin could send him happy vibes. DeLuca was a vibrator and he knew that if he ever stopped concentrating he would just fall and fall.

Michael Guerin was swept off his feet.

He landed face down in a pile of stained smocks. Rubbing his jaw he found himself against the door of the art studio.

"What the hell?"

Alex Whitman was holding him a good five inches off the ground and close to tearing his favorite shirt.

***

Having escaped the Pit of Vapidity that was Courtenay, Sienna, and Delora, Isabel jumped into the front back of the jeep. Michael was already in front and she could see Michael at the other end of the lot. "Hurry it up, Guerin! Lunch is only an hour," she yelled. "Salsa is so hip, grey is, like, the new black," She grumbled under her breath. She needed angry music. Reaching into the glove compartment for her Tori Amos cd, Isabel looked at Max. He was quiet, but usually he said hi. "Hey, big brother, what's with the -oh no, did Kyle's friends come after you again cos if they did!" She stopped her tirade to look at his cheek.

At the handprint on his cheek. Michael jumped in front while Isabel healed it.

Tersely, Max said, "Let's go."

When they'd cleared the school parking lot, Isabel said again,"Max. Who slapped you? Liz? I don't think Liz would even yell at you. Maria! She's all- oh, she's gonna pay! Nobody slaps my family around!"

"Alex."

"What?" Isabel looked at Michael, confused.

Michael looked at Max and said,"He got you, too."

Introductions and Whipping Boys

Alex put his laden tray down on the bench. "Look, chocolate." His best friends weren't girls for nothing. He'd snuck out of class and raided the vending machines in the teacher's lounge during third hour.

Maria brightened, "Special Dark!"

Liz cut in while she unwrapped the creamy bar from the foil wrapping. Slowly, as if in worship. "Where did you get these? They don't sell them in the student vending machines only in the- Oh, Alex!" Liz wrapped her arms around her friend. She didn't know how she'd gotten through the past few months without her goofy, but incredibly wonderful friend.

Alex smiled and then guffawed as Maria licked the palm of her hand, "What!!! It was melting. Stupid New Mexico weather. Almost as stupid as -eeep!"

Liz's face had paled again. Alex turned around and saw Isabel Evans heading for them.

***

Isabel clenched her jaw when she saw Alex stand up. She couldn't help but admire the way -agh, stop, this boy beat Max and Michael. And she didn't know why, they'd both clammed up.

He grabbed her arm in a firm but gentle grip and led her to the eraser room.

She regained her voice. "So what, you're gonna beat me up, too?"

Oh, great. He hadn't even considered Isabel when he'd gone after Max and Michael. "No, Isabel, I just- they got...they made Liz and Maria cry."

She paused, strangely touched. "Yeh, so..."

"Isabel, they're like sisters to me. They've never cried like that before-"

"You've never seen them cry?"

"No, of course I've seen them cry. But not like this. It was like they were broken. Liz, she has those eye, doe eyes, you know. Soft and gentle. Maria, she's got lightning in her eyes. That wasn't them this morning."

"So you beat up my brother and Michael."

"They broke their hearts, Isabel. They deserved it."

Isabel was surprised. She would never have guess Alex had it in him. She was also a little jealous. "Okay." She took a breath. "Do you think they'll want to see me? For a little womanly support?"

"I guess it'd be okay, but I thought you left school for lunch."

"Usually, but I saw the handprint on Max's face and I made her turn around."

"Oh. But they left again, right?"

"No they decided to eat -oh no."

Alex grabbed Isabel's hand and bolted back towards the sad girls he'd left behind, fully prepared to defend them.

***

Max and Michael sat behind a tree across the quad from their ex-girlfriends, watching Isabel approach. Each wishing they could join the group with the same ease.

"Man, this is stupid."

"Calm down, Michael. We can't go over there. It's better this way.

"I don't even know why we let Whitman go all wild bunch on us." Max didn't bother to answer. They both knew that it wasn't just because Maria and Liz wouldn't take kindly to Alex being thrown across a room into a chair. Or even because Isabel might be upset by it. It had to do with guilt -like maybe they deserved it.

"Dude, I'm out. You want to butter up Liz, that's your deal."

Max watched his best friend stalk away. He wondered if Michael thought denial was going to make the ache dull.

***

Why did I bother coming to school today? Oh, yeh, to show Blondie she didn't affect him. Michael shook his head and headed for his locker, he needed to focus on something else. He needed to read a book.

When he reached his locker he realized he couldn't remember his combination. Checking the hall for people and finding it empty, he passed his hand over the lock in an attempt to unlock it.

"Hot damn!" Michael sucked his hand and stalked away from his locker and the lock he'd melted to it.

What am I supposed to do now? I don't feel like walking home. I'm sure not going to class. Where in the high school was he supposed to find a decent read?

In a flash of brilliance, Michael hightailed it to the library.

After five wrong turns, he finally found it in a corner of the second floor. Having never been there before he wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't even sure what to do. He hated being helpless.

He guessed he must have looked confused because a teacher-type woman in her forties approached him.

"Um, hi, I'm looking for a book."

"Okay, what are you looking for?"

"I don't know. Do I need a library card?"

The woman laughed but not in a condescending way. It was a sharing sort of laughter, unconditional. She explained the workings of the Roswell High library as she led him to a study carroll with a computer in it.

Sitting down before the keyboard, she looked up, "So, made up your mind?"

"I was thinking Joyce. Ulysses?"

"Let's see." She hit a few keys, "I hate to say it but all the copies are checked out."

"Oh." Disappointment fitted easily on his ever-brooding face.

"It's on the reading list for one of the freshman classes. Most of them aren't even reading it. They just check it out and forget to turn it back it. Oh, well, more fines for me!" She smiled, looking as if she didn't really mind. "Tell you what, you look like a nice young man, I'll lend you my copy if you agree to chat with an old biddy for a while, okay?"

"You're not old," Michael blurted out. And it was true, she was forty-seven at most. He had the grace to look embarassed. No one, not even the Evanses, had ever called him a nice young man. He was off guard. Yeh, that was it. And she wasn't like Topolsky offering something for nothing. A chat -harmless enough. He did want the book after all. And he doubted that Alex, Liz, or any of the others would come to the library.

She led him to the front of the library. Her office didn't have walls, per se. They were there, but they were made of glass. Blinds could be drawn on all sides for privacy. He liked it. There was a also a nice desk, computer, stereo, bookshelves, and television. Elegant beige wallpaper -no flowers or ribbon or anything. There were also several diplomas and framed pieces of art. He decided it was nice. Understated.

She gestured to one of the burgundy overstuffed armchairs in front of the desk and disappeared into a back room. When she came back bearing chocolate mint cake and green tea, she sat in the other armchair not behind the desk.

"I'm Ms. Clarke, the media specialist." She held out her hand and noticed his firm grip. She couldn't have known how rare it was for him to engage in casual contact. That she was only the second human who'd touched him. Hank smacking him around didn't count. "Help yourself to some cake. If you don't like tea, I can get some pop from the faculty vending machine."

"No, don't. Tea's good. Thanks." Why was this woman being so nice?

"If you'll just excuse me for a moment, you'll find Ulysses on the top shelf." she ducked out and Michael drew himself up from the wonderfully comfortable chair.

Hardcover. Beautiful. Old. First edition. He was clutching it so hard when she came back he didn't notice what she was carrying in.

"You're really going to let me borrow this? It must be worth...," his eyes widened as he thought about it.

"All books are worth fortunes." She smiled. "You must think I'm kooky."

"No." And oddly enough, he was being honest.

She handed him a generous slice of cake and did something so shocking that Michael nearly forgot this person being so kind to him for no reason.

"You like tabasco sauce on your cake?"

Laughing at herself, "Leftover from pregnancy urges. Have you ever tried in on ice cream? Heaven."

Oh, that was okay then. He waited for his heart to slow, he thought, just maybe she'd be- but Ms. Clarke was already a miracle. "Well, if you like it, I'll try." Happily, he smothered his chocolate cake with spicy sauce.

"I knew it! I was right about you!"

Oh, lord, she couldn't be with the FBI-

"I knew you were a good boy!"

He calmed and didn't flinch at being called boy.

"I have a proposition for you." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Look, I need an aide. Not like a hearing aid, but a student helper. Usually, they have to be seniors. But there's just something about you...What was your name?"

"Michael. Michael Guerin."

"Anyhow, the senior thing is silly. Once you get them properly trained, they leave. What grade are you in? Eleventh?"

"I'm a sophomore."

"Better and better! Anyhow, the job isn't too strenuous. There's already Mrs. Harris and she pretty much controls the computers and A/V equipment. Ms. Jeson," she tiltled her head towards the backroom where she'd gotten the cake and tabasco, "takes cares of xeroxing and cataloging. I pretty much need you to lift things and run errands. And to keep me company."

"I don't know...I'm not usually at school."

She smiled. "Playing hard to get, are we, Michael? Did I mention the free food? All the tabasco and cake you can eat? Plus, the books. And its a quiet place to get away, no one will bother you here. You want to research on the net, you research. Magazines and microfilche, all yours. Videos, records."

Oh, geez. A quiet place with no memories of Maria or the others. No Hank. A refuge. How could he turn this down?

"Okay, last offer. Free run of the art supplies and xerox machines. All the copying you could want. No, you're sixteen, that's not very appealing. Hmmm, hall passes. If you need to get away, come here, I'll excuse you from class."

"Can you do that?" How the hell had this fallen into his lap?

"Sweetheart, I've been at this school longer than the principal." Her eyes twinkled, "And my brother's on the school board."

"Yes. Yes. I'll do it."

"Great." She took a bite of cake, then frowned. "Oh, there is one thing I can't get around, though. I need a teacher recommendation. Just one. I'm sure you'll have no problem getting it."

He gulped. Who would give him a recommendation? What was he taking? Art. He'd at least showed up for art during his geodesic dome obsession. The warning bell rang for class. In fact, he had class right now. Besides, he liked to loiter there. It felt good, distracting. He'd been there this morning when-

He jumped up, "Hey, Ms. Clarke. Thanks. A lot. I mean it. But I gotta get to class now, okay. When do you need the recommendation.

"Tomorrow would be fine. Then you could start next week. But come visit before then if you're not busy, okay?"

He nodded his head. Anything for this woman. A refuge. Grabbing Ulysses and waving goodbye, Michael Guerin set out for art class.

***

Maria sped into the Crashdown parking, nearly fishtailing. Grabbing her backpack from the passenger seat she went through the employees entrance and dressed before someone noticed she was five minutes late.

Liz wasn't working the after school shift so Table Six was hers.

"Hey, guys, what can I get you?" She smiled at Isabel and Alex. She looked at Max unemotionally, proud she had not stuck her tongue out at him. Maria knew Max was really a sweet guy who was trying to do things right, but he was still a jerk.

"Root beer."

"Alien blast."

"Where's Liz?" Max looked as if he hadn't meant to say that outloud. "I'll have cherry coke."

She took pity. "She's still at school. Some extra credit biology lab or something." She left out the part where he was in her bio class, why didn't he know?

"Oh. I was hoping she knew where Michael was."

***

Liz was, in fact, finishing a presentation on recent microcellular innovations. It was nice, she decided, to be alone and focus. Humming, she decided she needed to spruce up her board. Some paint. Red. Yeh.

She headed to the art room, still humming. It was good to be alone sometimes. Soothing.

***

Michael sat before an empty easel. He'd made a deal with Mr. Hinds to come to class everyday for the rest of the year and turn in one assignment. With the stipulation: no domes. Michael smiled. He would have agreed to do all the assignment in exhange for the refuge. He was really liking the sound of that word. Refuge. That was like 'home.' Maybe it would be better than 'Maria' with time.

But his dilemma was the assignment. He figured he'd might as well get it over with. The assignment was an extrapolation. You were supposed to pick two people and draw what the offspring would look like. He thought of Max and Liz but the obvious dark beauty of such a child didn't inspire him. Besides, who knew if it was even physiologically possible. This, of course, led to him and Maria. A verboten topic if ever there was one.

He'd doodled during class. He picked Sienna Mitchell, one of Isabel's friends, and Lloyd Carson, the token class geek. While fun, the results had been a freak.

It was hot. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Michael noticed the green and red paint smeared on his arm. His leather jacket was safely slung over the stool behind him.

Maybe he could-

And for the second time that day, Michael Guerin found himself on his back.

Little Liz Parker stood above him, breathing fire.

"Can't you people leave me alone! You're everywhere!"

He picked himself up, "Geez, Liz. Chill."

"Chill? Chill? You! You Czechoslovakian heartbreaker!"

"Maybe you've been spending too much time with Maria. I never thought you'd need to be declawed," he sneered.

"How dare you say her name? How dare you?" Liz withdrew her venemous glare, looking around for something to throw.

"Liz!" He ducked the paint she threw. "Calm down! I didn't do anything to you, Max did. And then he couldn't yell anymore because he was trying not to be hit by the textbooks and folios she was throwing. God, she had aim.

"You!" She'd run out of ammo.

"Don't make me your whipping boy, Liz!"

Her eyes blazed in indignation, "Oh, you think this is for my benefit. Oh, no, this is all for Maria. You used her. You didn't even like her! You didn't even know what you were doing. How many levels you were hurting her on?"

"Oh, yeh, she's a victim. Like she's ever been rejected before!"

Then her voice dropped to a dead simmer, "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Whatever, Liz, go make cow eyes at Maximilian or something, okay, earth girl."

With one last burst of rage, Liz lifted Michael's leather jacket off the table and threw it at his face. More concerned with it getting stained with paint than anything, he put out his hand to catch it.

But Liz hadn't used enough force. It fell between them, and a little bottle of cypress oil rolled out of his pocket to rest at Liz's feet.

Won't You Please Arrest My Foster Father?

Michael closed his eyes and willed the damned thing to stop rolling. No such luck. So Michael did what he did best, he ran.

And as he ran he imagined Liz telling Maria how pathetic he was. Maria would, of course, toss her soft fair hair over her shoulder, and parade her new boyfriend in front of him. Life was cruel.

He'd never meant to carry it. He hadn't even planned to buy it. But it smelled like Maria. Hyperventilating Maria. No matter how rarely he said the name outloud, it felt so good to roll it around in his mind.

Michael shivered, he'd left his jacket back at the high school. He never should have been there anyway. He wasn't going to walk back now. Not because he didn't want to face Liz "Xena" Parker, but because he just didn't want to bother.

"Mickey! Hey, Mickey!" A portly man called at him from a doorway.

God, he hated to be called Mickey. Must be one of Hank's friends.

"Hank's boy! Get over here, come get your father!"

And there was something he hated even worse.

Nevertheless, he stomped over to the portly man standing in the doorway, naturally, of a bar. Also, naturally, a patrol car was parked in front of the bar.

"Mickey, he's too drunk. There was a brawl, but Hank was too far gone to do anything but pass out. I need you to take him home."

Home. It took him a minute to associate the words 'home' and 'Hank.'

"Yeh, sure," he answered gruffly and pushed his way inside. The place was a mess. Yeh, it had probably never been a five star place but...there was glass everywhere. Splinters of wood and broken bar stools littered the floor. Gingerly, he worked his way to the lump that was his sorry foster father. Grunting, he called out, "Hey, can I get some help here."

"Guerin?" Oh, yes, the sheriff. What a completely perfect night.

"Sir, I'm just taking my foster father home. Not able to drive and all. Unless, of course, you need to arrest him?" Michael figured he could dream.

"No, that's okay." Valenti looked around for a uniform, "Owens, help the boy."

Odd. Valenti usually took every chance to pester him and the Evans' children. Instead, Valenti was preoccupied with a sobbing woman. She was small, and he was being unexpectedly gentle with-

Dear lord, it was Amy DeLuca.

And she was wasted. Valenti had one arm around her, the other was awkwardly patting her shoulder in attempt at comfort. "Ms. DeLuca, you shouldn't be here. This is not," Valenti squirmed, "an appropriate establishment for a lady."

Amy was still sobbing. Michael couldn't help but stare and listen. He'd assumed she would be at home with her daughter.

"I can't go home, Jim. I can't." She clung to the Sheriff. "I can't face her. Can't look at her without thinking of him. She has his eyes, his laugh." The woman moaned and called out to the bartender for another beer.

The sheriff shook his head no to the bartender, looked up, and locked eyes with Michael. "Shouldn't you be going?"

Michael lugged Hank into the truck with the help of the deputy. Driving to the trailer park, Michael remembered Liz's cold anger and Maria's revelation in the nookie hotel.

Her father had left.

And though Maria hadn't told him, he recognized the look in her eyes. She blamed herself. As if she hadn't been worth it. Her father didn't want her, so he ran.

Which, Michael realized, didn't make them so different in her eyes.

That's when the ache really began to set in.

***

After realizing his presence might not be the best thing, Max left Isabel and Alex in the booth at the Crashdown.

Isabel realized they had made a connection today, however tenuous. So, rather than leave with Max, as Alex expected, she asked him about his music.

"So, do you still play the guitar?"

He was surprised she knew. "Yeh, I've got pipe dreams." He took a sip of soda. "I really want to start a garage band. Since junior high, really."

"Oh, why haven't you?"

"The garage band, preferably, would have more than one member."

"I play a mean triangle."

Alex laughed, heads turned. The gossip would be hot tomorrow, Isabel Evans was talking to Alex Whitman. Not coldly, or in my-brother-ex-girlfriend's-best friend capacity, but in an almost date-like environment.

"Seriously, I'd like a drummer. And a bassist. I'd be lead guitar, of course?"

"And singing, too?"

He sighed and looked at their waitress, "I was holding out for Maria."

She quirked an eyebrow, "Maria?"

"Voice like an angel. Cliche, but true."

"Maria?"

"You'd never guess, would you. She's taken vocal lessons her whole life and yet has managed to keep this raw, uncontrived color to her voice. She rarely sings, though. She's got a bad case of audience-fear."

"Maria? Fear?"

"Or maybe it's more like she's shy. I knew Maria three years before I even saw her dance."

"Maria? Dance?"

Alex snorted, "Echo much?"

"Sorry, it's a little hard to digest. She's never seemed very graceful."

"Its different when she's dancing or singing. She doesn't really perform. She does it for art's sake. She gets caught up, not like she's lost, but like..."

Isabel nodded,"It sound beautiful." And then she did something daring, she put her hand on top of his.

Alex cheered inwardly, "It is. It's how I feel when I play. When I play, I feel strong-"

Alex choked.

Isabel rushed to him on the other side of the booth and smacked his back, "Geez, Whitman! Are you okay?"

"Better than okay! Lightning hit!"

"What?"

"It's the answer. For Maria. She needs to dance and sing again."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, it's got to be better than rebounding or sniffing her oils or denial. Trust me, its therapeutic. We can't force her into forgetting Michael. I'm not sure I'd want her to. I just know I can't stand that look anymore."

"Okay, so what's the plan?" She leaned in and he squeezed her hand.

***

"And so you see with the research of Dr. Keller in biodmedical ultrasonics...," Liz was on total autopilot. She had worked her shift at the Crashdown and finished her presentation until six the next morning after Michael had ran out on her. She was still in shock. She really thought Michael didn't care about her best friend. All through her walk to the general store for red paint (she, too, had fled) and back, she had wondered what was going on. Was this a Czechoslovakian quirk? Leave the ones you love? No, wait, she was being too gentle. Run over the hearts of the ones you love with a Mack truck and then let lemmings eat the leftover shreds, just to be sure. Liz shuddered, maybe she was being too graphic. But she was bitter, she could, be graphic. It was allowed.

"Liz?"

"What?" Then Liz realized that she had finished speaking a minute ago but was still standing in front of the class. "Oh. Yeah, class." She rushed to her seat beside Max.

"Hey," he whispered, "are you okay?'

"Fine." Monosyllabic was also allowed.

"Okay, hey, Liz...," he hesitated. "You did a really great job."

She softened, he really was trying, "Thanks." Lifting her head, she let a smile loose. Let him handle that, she smirked inwardly.

Shyly, Max smiled back.

***

"Mr. Guerin, I see we're keeping our bargain."

"Yes, sir. You're still going to give me the recommendation, right?"

"Let's hear about the assignment first." Mr. Hinds sat down while Michael paced before him.

"I want to do the extrapolation. Only different. What if I were to draw a parent based on the image of the child and the other parent."

"Clarify."

"Well, say, I drew the mother based on the father and son. Studied the son and father and kind of fill in the blanks," he looked at Mr. Hinds for approval. The teacher thought about it for awhile before pulling a crisp piece of school letterhead out of his desk, "I like it, Michael. I want results within the week though. A sketch, at least."

Michael clutched the recommendation; this was his key to refuge.

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Hinds called out as Michael ran out the door towards the library, "Keep it up, you might just pass!"

Then he sat back and smiled. Who was he kidding? Guerin was headed for an A. He wondered about the sudden change, he'd never heard the boy utter a pleasantry before. Then he decided whatever it was, he was glad Michael finally had something happen to him.

***

When Michael entered the library he found Ms. Clarke carrying a cardboard moving box into her office.

"Hi, Michael. There's cookies and tabasco in the back. Help yourself. Is that my recommendation?"

"Yes, ma'am." He put the paper down and took the box out of her hands.

"Thank you. I'm just doing a little redecorating. Taking down the diplomas and putting up some art. I like change now and then. Go ahead and open the box, since you'll be spending so much time here you might as well have input."

Michael opened the box on the floor and lifted out the first painting, a reproduction of The Last Supper. Too heavy for the room, he decided before placing it carefully on the floor.

"Wow." The second painting incredible. Old, but not yellowed. Paint, but not oil. And it wasn't framed, it was on a wood p anel. The picture itself was amateurish, and the subject absurd -a whimsical giraffe in a cityscape, but the medium was breathtaking.

"My father painted that."

"Really? What did he use?"

"Ah? Mind hungry, are we?" She sat down and gestured for him to do the same. "I see you're in Mr. Hind's art class."

Usually when someone found out, they asked to see him work and acted insulted when he refused.

"Maybe one day you'll feel comfortable enough with me to let me see."

He smiled.

"Anyhow, its tempera. Egg tempera."

"Like from chickens?" "Yes. It's a very old technique, the Egyptians used it. Boticelli used it. The artist, or the apprentices, makes the paints himself. With pigment, water, and yolk. My father made his own. Its an arduous process, but in my father's opinion, breathtaking. A labor of love. You see, you need to have an ink underpainting, and gesso. And you can't use canvas. Wood panels or it'll crack. My father made his own panels, too. That way, the work was completely his own creation."

Michael could tell this was special. The painting was beautiful, as if it had been shined with silk. "How come I've never seen one before?"

"As I said, its difficult. Oil paints are more convenient. Its only enjoyed its revival in the twentieth century, you can buy the ground pigment in the stores now, but only in limited colors. My father always used his own."

A labor of love.

"Do you think I could learn?"

She looked at him seriously, mulling it over before she answered. "Michael Guerin, I think you do what you wish."

He smirked charmingly and as he considered, the smirk curved into a sincere smile.

This would be his medium. Egg tempera. Not oil, or charcoal. From his own hands, with his whole self. A labor of love. A work that he could focus on. Neither vision induced or using his powers. A labor of love. This would be the way he painted Maria's father.

Rehash

Liz pulled Alex aside, leaving Isabel to follow her brother upstairs.

"Max is just worried," Alex began softly.

"I'm not worried about Max Evans right now. I'm worried about Maria. If we're right..."

"I know, I heard what you said. Either way she loses." Alex brought his arm his friend's slim shoulders. Maria's outward attitude was one of independence and strength -she didn't anyone or anyone. But both her best friends knew there was a deep ache in her that she'd been trying to fill all her life. She had faulted herself for her father's abandonment, citing her imperfections and inadequacies in numbered lists she kept in her dresser.

Maria constantly strove to prove herself worthy of love, they'd hoped she'd seen her worth reflected in Michael's eyes. But Michael hadn't been ready to show her, he'd been scared to give and accept love.

Liz sighed, it wasn't supposed to be like this.

If only she'd tried a little harder to convince Maria that no matter how cherished she was it meant nothing if she didn't cherish herself. If, when they got through this she was going to make Maria see that she deserved to be loved. Even if she had to beat it into her.

And now...

Maria thought she'd finally been accepted by her father. But when she found it wasn't really father? That he was some figment of Michael's imagination?

"Oh, god," Liz whispered. "How could he do this to her?"

"What?" Alex said, still cradling her.

"Nothing, uh, someone should talk to Maria. Tell her what's going on."

"You're right. I'll go."

"No, you stay. Besides, I have to get out of here."

Alex nodded and offered his car keys.

Only after Liz left did Alex realize he didn't know how Michael had been affected by the burnt painting.

He turned up the stairs, scared.

It was so quiet.

***

The siren song blasted her ears, boiling her brain. She drove her hands up against her, attempting to contain her sanity. It bled, sending pulses of angry beats through membranes through matter. It throbbed, it pounded.

"Gonna get you gonna get you gonna make you
so happy,
Gonna get you..."

It was one voice and many -Michael's and her father's.

Michael's.

And finally, it her own voice crooning madly.

"Not yet," the other Maria had promised. Not yet. So it was written in stone then, that she'd be sorry?

Struggling to open her eyes, Maria felt her own body trembling with each accusation. Her skin chafed with every palpitation. And then she saw that she had no eyes, no skin. She was tight, so tight, and everywhere. She became sound.

She became the dream.

She was light and dark and out of control.

God, it hurt, this freedom. This blindness. She was so confused.

What were they saying? Why couldn't she see?

And then Maria realized she was dying.

And maybe -if it meant silence, if it meant she didn't have to deal with dreaming- that was okay with her. It was so loud.

Red Wind, Long Arm, Tongue of Earth

Liz tried not to scream when she found Maria, her body at an impossible angle on the bed. She tried. But this was her best friend and Maria wasn’t breathing.

The scream was little as such things go, but full of fear.

She ran to Maria’s side and slapped her face in a panic.

***

She had a body again and there was an ache in her center.

It became a wick and she began to burn from the inside out. She could feel flames engulf her heart and liver, stomach and spleen. She labored to breath but the fire had reached her lungs and scorched them. Maria imagined the gaping, scraping cracks on the twin organs. She imagined the angry blue and white inferno.

She was a candle burning at both ends.

Her skin remained a porcelein white as the blaze frenzied on.

Maria began to tremble with its fury, she couldn't contain this…

***

Liz unceremoniously dumped Maria into the shower stall, slamming her head against the glass. She slammed the dial to cold and eventually the water ran down Maria's face in rivulets, carrying down the blood that seeped from the blonde's nose.

***

She had a body again and there was an ache in her center.

Her body became a wick and she began to burn from the inside out. She could feel flames engulf her heart and liver, stomach and spleen. She labored to breath but the fire had reached her lungs and scorched them. Maria imagined the gaping, scraping cracks on the twin organs. She imagined the angry blue and white inferno.

She was a candle burning at both ends.

Her skin remained a porcelein white as the blaze frenzied on.

Maria began to tremble with its fury, she couldn't contain this…

***

Liz unceremoniously dumped Maria into the shower stall, slamming her head against the glass. She slammed the dial to cold and eventually the water ran down Maria's face in rivulets, blurring her features.

***

She was no more a candle.

She was long arm, red wind, tongue of earth.

She and the dream
-she became the dream
-she was the dream
-the dream ran on.

Her tendrils felt the way through the black blackness towards orange towards angry towards hungry towards hungry.

The dream had to eat before the dream went, before the dream died, before the dream lied.

Twirling like a tornado, like a grass fire, the dream hunted.

It came to Michael.

To his skeleton, to his skull, to his heap of broken bones.

***

She awoke to steam and strong, small arms that rocked her. She looked up in shock and surprise, "Liz, what are you doing here?"

The brunette brushed tears from her cheeks, "You were hurting."

"Just a dream, intense, but, you know, just a dream," Maria tried to shrug and smile.

Liz frowned and the steam seemed to form a halo above her head. She used the porcelein to hold herself up, "C'mon and lend me some clothes? There are some things you need to know."

Maria followed her quietly.

***

"I'm scared. I can't lose him," Max rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Michael was, somehow, still on the bed, alive or whatever. He was neither burnt to a crisp nor better. Max wished he could talk to Michael, though. Though the two were often at odds, Max knew they were brothers. For always. A loud sob escaped his throat as he tried again to touch's Michael's forehead.

"I love him, too," Isabel said. They were seated on Alex's bed, on either side of Michael. She laid her hand on her older brother's shoulder.

They were quiet for a moment. Isabel curled up, her face sad. "We can make it all right."

"I know I messed up," Max said. "I put him in danger. I won't do it again." He looked to Michael's fading form, "I promise, Michael."

***

Alex leaned against his door, careful not to make it creak. He'd been waiting in the hall -eavesdropping- since Liz had left.

He knew what guys in school said about him, they thought he was this artsy fartsy empathetic girly-sensitive. Did he listen? Sure. Did he care about people? Sure. But Alex knew he wasn't as know-it-all sensitive as they thought -he dealt with many things with humor, which wasn't a bad thing but…

God, he just didn't feel adequate to this! What was he supposed to do? Bring Michael back to life with knock-knock jokes?

All he could do was take care of them. He had to keep it perspective, had to make sure they didn't break apart. Alex sighed; he wanted to cry.

Alex sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot.

***

The two girls sat on Maria's bed with towels on their heads. Liz pulled at hers nervously; she had borrowed jeans and a shirt from Maria.

This was so hard, Liz thought. She was remembering the look of agony on Maria's face, how the pain had bled into confusion.

"Michael…it has to do with Michael, doesn't it?" Maria's voice trembled.

"Yes."

"Is he okay?"

"He's…I don't know." Liz wanted to make her feel better, but she wouldn't lie.

"Take it slow," Maria said, as if she was calm.

"I, we all think he might be dying."

"Can't Max wiggle his fingers?"

"No," Liz paused. "There's more. But…do you want me to tell you now?"

"Please?"

"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when Michael could control his powers.

She remembered the day she found out, her pride and then how he'd invaded her sanctuary. She remembered their last kiss.

"Sure, I remember."

"He found something else, a power that Max and Isabel don't have. He can draw things, paint them and make them real."

Maria gasped.

Liz continued, "The only thing is that you can't make something from nothing. Life...reality, you can't conjure it from thin air."

Liz paused again. "I'm not saying this well, I'm not sure if I understand it myself. Mass is neither created nor destroyed. It's the Law of Conservation."

Maria didn't want to ask what Michael was using to make things real. She didn't have to think about it. "That's why he's dying…he's using his own…"

"Yes," Liz confirmed. "He's at Alex's right now. Will you come with me?"

"Of course."

"Tell me something first," Liz asked. "Is something going on with you? That wasn't just a dream, was it?"

"Of course it was."

Liz had her own suspicions but didn't want to press Maria. There would be time for that, later.

Swinging Noose

Liz had offered to drive the Jetta to Alex's. Maria let her drive. She never knew when the dream (nightmare?) would take her but she didn't tell Liz that. Maria claimed she was tired.

She still couldn't wrap her mind around what Michael had done. It was unreal.

It was stupid. What could be so important that he let it kill him?

That didn't sound like the Michael she knew. The Michael she knew desperately wanted to live, to survive.

She didn't talk to him much though. Not lately. But she still cared. Even her dad had been able to tell.

***

Alex was waiting outside when the girls arrived. Max and Isabel were going to try and feed Michael more power but they had agreed to wait until Liz returned with Maria.

"Hey," Alex moved to hug Maria.

"Any change?" Liz asked.

He shook his head, "Let's go upstairs. They're going to dreamwalk him again."

"Do you have any ice," Liz said. "Maybe we can keep from burning this time."

"Burning," Maria interrupted.

"Just a precaution," Liz said. The three of them gathered up bowls of ice and cold water and carried them to the bedroom. Liz supervised the opening of windows while Isabel soaked towels in the water. Alex placed the towels on Michael's face and body. Max sat in a chair next to the bed. He had elected himself to dreamwalk first. He hoped that he could give Michael enough power so that Isabel wouldn't need to try.

Maria watched them all prepare from the doorway. They ignored her.

Finally, Liz placed herself behind Max holding a pitcher of water. Isabel placed herself between her two brothers, guarding them protectively. Alex looked up suddenly and beckoned for Maria to-

***

She waded through milk, white and thick with cream.

A body swung to the rhythm of the wind, creaking. Wind whistled through the stab wounds, holes so big you could stick your head through.

It hung from a noose, but the roped wasn't fraying so she didn't worry. It would be awful if the body fell, corrupting the milk. Who would drink it then?

There was still some flesh attached to the bones and she salivated.

Her hand ignited as she reached for a choice piece from the thigh. She couldn't grab it; it only burned and fell. The black ashes swirled briefly before sinking into the milk.

Angry, she torched the body. Each shred of skin and piece of bone dropped into the milk with a satisfying 'plop.'

Finally, only the head was left. It swung to face her. Michael's face slid off the head and winked at her before floating away.

***

Max opened his eyes in disbelief. He shut them again, but it wouldn't work.

"I can't reach him. It's like he never was."

"But-," Isabel pointed to Michael's steaming body. He was shaking all the towels from him. "It's just like before."

"Maria!" Alex screamed when he noticed her fallen form in the hallway, shaking and steaming just like Michael's

***

The noose wasn't as tight as it looked. It was sort of enjoyable, swinging with the sweet breeze, she reflected.

When the first chunks of muscle and fat began to slide cleanly off the bone, she fancied that it was rather liberating.

The wind had started to whistle for her. She started to sing softly with it. She smiled.

She could wait here forever, swinging.

Of Nightmares

Maria awoke to the sound of low gurgling murmurs. All eyes were on her and her arms were on Michael. Quietly, she slipped her arms away and let her eyes rise.

Max and Isabel sat in chairs on the other side of Alex's bed, next to Michael. Alex was at her side. Wonderful, she thought, racial segregation.

She let her gaze wander down to Michael. He was a shadow.

"What's going on?" Isabel asked softly. "Don't tell me, it's nothing. We have to know, Maria. Please." Isabel's face was sad, but compassionate. She didn't push, Maria almost wished she would push.

"I have these dreams…nightmares," Maria swallowed painfully. "They are sharp, real. I can't stop them. Even if I'm not sleeping, they come. Everything is so vivid -color, the cold…The dreams take me."

"At first, they were simple oddities. Just weirdness. Nothing to fear," she continued. "They're dark now, full…I can't take them."

Liz moved her hand to enclose Maria's. "When I went to her house, I found Maria unconscious. Bleeding."

"It's never been that way before," Maria said. She looked down at Michael again, "He's always there."

She didn't have to say a name.

"I can never reach him. Sometimes he's asleep. But he's always there." She fell silent.

Max stood, thinking. "Could you have been sharing dreams?"

"I don't know…I'm not even sure who the dreams would belong to then."

Max paced, mind-work providing welcome relief from worry. "Okay. We know that Mar- whatever Michael created is somehow draining him so that it can live or whatever. We know that Michael can, or could be…replenished by Isabel and me. We've been calling it 'power,' I know I think of it as a 'life-force.'" Max paused in his long speech to take a breath. "What if it's his ability to dream?"

Liz picked up the thread of thought. "Dreaming…it's taken too much from him. He's dying. But he, it needs more."

"But that makes no sense -why would it kill its source of life? When, if Michael can't dream anymore, it'll die."

Isabel interrupted, "Maybe it's unintentional."

Max looked at Maria, "Yeah, maybe it is."

Liz said, "Wait, we're