Rating- PG
Category- Max/Liz
Summary- Diane Evans wakes up one night and overhears a conversation.
Spoilers- Through the end of Season One
Disclaimer- Not mine. Don't sue. And if you do, all you'll get is a perpetually broken 88 Nova and about $17,000 worth of student loan payements
Author's Notes- Feedback, please! This is my first completed Roswell fic, so be nice.

I woke at 1:37 in the morning. There was no noise, no disturbance to wake me. It's a parent thing, I guess. Because I just knew. I reached out, but of course Phillip wasn't there. I never sleep well when he's away. But that wasn't it. It was the children that had woken me.

I went to Isabel first. The door to her room creaked, but she didn't stir. One arm was flung over her face and she was snoring softly. She'll never believe that she does it--Max teased her about it mercilessly when they were small. He doesn't do that much anymore. I guess what they say is true--siblings do grow closer as they grow up. He and Izzy lean on each other so much, especially recently.

I watched her silently for a moment more, pulling my robe tight around me. I knew it wasn't her who had woken me. I knew it before I ever went into her room. But I had to check. I had to be sure. I closed the door softly and stepped across the hall to Max's room. I reached for the doorknob, then paused, leaning my forehead against the door.

Izzy and I have that special connection between mothers and daughters. But Max--Max is different. I know he loves me, and I know that he knows how much I love him. But he's always held back. When they first came to us, Isabel loved to be touched. She was always running up to give me and Phillip hugs and to kiss us on the cheek. But Max never did. He always viewed us with just a little bit of suspicion. That faded, of course, over the years. I know he trusts us now. But I still have the feeling that he's holding back, that there's some part of him I'm not allowed to see.

I opened the door to Max's room. A soft breeze rustled the curtains. The moonlight shining through the window illuminated his bed and I could see him thrashing, tangled in the sheets. He was whimpering softly, sweat pouring off his body. I crossed to him and laid my hand on his cheek. The response was instantaneous. His eyes snapped open and he shrank from my touch. Even in the dark I could see the terror in his eyes.

"Mom?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I'm here, honey. You were having a nightmare."

"Oh." His body relaxed slightly and he sat up in bed.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded, pulling his soaked T-shirt over his head. He slowly lay back down, but his eyes remained open. They darted around the room frantically.

"Max? Do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?"

He looked up at me sheepishly. At that moment, he looked so much like the little boy I had found that night by the side of the road. After a long moment, he nodded, and I sat cross-legged at the bottom of his bed.

Several minutes later, I heard his breath even out and saw his body relax as he fell back into sleep. I stood to go, but as my hand touched the doorknob, something stopped me. Instead, I picked up the blanket he had tossed on the floor, just like he had every night since he was seven, and sat down in the chair in the darkest corner of the room. When I woke again, Max's alarm clock said 2:59.

It was his whimper that jerked me from sleep. His body was tense, and his hands grasped at the sheet by his sides. I started to stand, to go to him, but a movement at the window stopped . I watched in horror as the window slid up. I opened my mouth to scream, and then I saw a head pop through the window. I watched in amazement as Liz Parker stepped into my son's room.

She couldn't see me. The chair I was sitting in was in the darkest corner of the room, and I sat very still, trying not to even breathe. She crept over to Max's bed and looked down at him for a long moment. Then she lifted the sheet and slid into bed next to him, gathering him in her arms.

He awoke with a start. "Liz." His voice cracked. "The dream--oh, God, the dream--"

Liz pulled him close, stroking his face. "It's ok, Max. You're ok. It was just a dream."

"Liz, every time I close my eyes, I'm there. I'm back there in the white room. And they're showing me the pictures--" He broke off again. "They're showing me you. Dead."

"He's dead, Max," Liz said. "Pierce is dead. He's never going to hurt you again."

"But you know what he said. He said it didn't matter if we killed him. He said there would always be someone to replace him. And there will. God, Liz, we're not safe. We'll never be safe." He turned suddenly to face her. "You're not safe with me."

Liz's voice was quiet, but firm. "Max, I would rather die with you than live without you." She kissed the top of his head gently. "Now get to sleep. You have an English test tomorrow."

Max's voice was hoarse as he whispered, "How did you know?"

As Liz leaned back against the pillow, she said softly, "I could hear you screaming inside my head."

I sat in perfect silence as the two of them slowly fell asleep. When I heard them begin breathing rhythmically, I slowly stood and left the room.

As the door closed behind me, I began to shake. My son, my poor son, lived his life in terror, and I was ignorant of it.

I don't remember walking down the hall. I don't remember climbing back into my bed. But I do remember the hot tears that fell as I lay there. I still don't understand. I don't know what they were talking about. But I do know that my son has let someone see that last part of him. I may never know what he's hiding from me. But I can rest easy knowing that he has let Liz Parker see that part of him, and she loves him all the same.

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