Rating: PG, for violence (sniffles sadly and gives Michael a huggle)

Category: M&M, 'cause they're gnarly (waves to Nace and winks)

Summary: After one particularly frightening encounter with Hank, 13 year old Michael runs somewhere that he has no business being anymore. Will Maria remember just enough to give him a little comfort tonight?

Spoilers: It's kind of a little tag to 'Independence Day', but not really. There are some RE mentions, of course. And you should definitely read my These Broken Wings (popularly known as the Doug Sohn fic *g*), because this is a door fic.

Disclaimer: Egypt's such a fun place to live that I've decided to also add in my belief that the lawyers can never get me because I'm the invincible Supergirl and I own the entire Roswell empire. But since this fic will get piped out into the land of sucky reality, I guess I have to say that Roswell isn't really mine. (The horror.) So please don't sue me for continuing to write these stories. If you want me to quit, then just sign over your rights to me. You don't even have to give me all of Roswell. Just hand over M&M and I'll be happy with that. :) Now if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my Egyptian castle and my purple camel. (And don't even think about stealing the camel, you lawyers. M-I-N-E!)

This story is dedicated to Lawgirl, in honor of her birthday. And to Kaitlyn, in honor of her half birthday. And to everybody else who is having an *un*birthday. (beams)

Distribution of this story is allowed. Just let me know who, what, when, where, and why. (grins)

We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfic...

***

Michael Guerin was spread out on the floor, ponderously chewing on a pencil as he mentally debated on whether this weekend's Social Studies homework was actually worth the effort of doing when he heard Hank's ratty old station wagon roar to a stop outside of the trailer. He knew the sound of the engine by heart now. It was a sound he lived in near constant dread of, after all. Crap, he thought to himself, already hunching over protectively. He didn't think Hank would be home for at least another hour or two. It was a Friday night. Hank always spent his nights out until the wee hours of the morning, drinking or partying or whatever the heck he did in those stupid bars he went to. This was bad. This meant Hank had probably been kicked out by one of the bartenders for his bad behavior, and he'd be so angry when he finally stumbled into the house...

Michael whimpered as he heard Hank's boots pounding closer and closer to the trailer. Every single one precision timed with the rabbit kickings of his speeding heart so that both heart and boots pounded in his ringing ears. He stood up decisively, breaking that paralyzing spell that had taken a chokehold on him. He hastily dropped his pencil and decided to make a run for it. He could still slide through his tiny bedroom window. It was a tight fit, but if he really squirmed...

But then he saw the door to the trailer burst open and he knew that it was too late...

"Mickey!!!" Hank yelled, his voice raw and furious as his near-reptilian eyes focused right on the frightened thirteen year old boy standing in front of him.

Michael just closed his eyes and prayed that it would be over quickly. God, I know you probably didn't have a hand in creating an abandoned worthless alien bastard like me, but if you could just make it so that I'm not in a black fog for most of the weekend, I'd really appreciate it. It's not like anybody needs me around anyway. Not like I care about this worthless life with nothing worth living for, but I... I just want to go home. I just want to be home... Please, don't let me die before I find home...

***

Seconds or minutes or hours or days later, he opened his eyes, feeling all swirly whirly and disoriented. He first was aware of the ache pounding in his head, the soreness of his entire fragile human body. Every single part of him was calling for some kind of medical attention right now. Dumb humans, so easily broken. Why couldn't he still have his alien body like he was meant to? Then he'd be able to show Hank a thing or two... Or maybe not. He'd probably still suck at his powers no matter what he did.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of his bedroom. That's where he was, he finally realized as his memory came back. That's right, his foster father of the year had chased him in here after cracking him a couple of good ones in the gut. Hank was an asshole, but he was a smart asshole. He rarely made a mark on Michael's face. Michael had tried frantically to keep him out, throwing his full force against the door, but he was still no match for Hank's strength. He didn't know where the fat bastard got it from, but Hank was one powerful man. And it was like his anger, his dirty low-down no-good rottenness made him even stronger. Hate could make people strong. Michael knew that all too well. Hank had rammed down the door and then thrown him against the wall. Michael actually heard the sickening crack that his body made upon impact. His last drifting thought before losing consciousness was that maybe if he just lay here for a little while and pretended to be out, Hank would go away...

It had worked. Hank was gone. Too bad Michael hadn't been pretending. He didn't even know how long he had been out. Probably not too long. It was still dark outside. He rolled over experimentally, wincing to himself at the protest his body put up about moving just that little bit. Nothing seemed broken this time, but he was betting his entire body was pretty much just one walking bruise.

A flash of golden light caught his eye. He slowly reached out his arm to retrieve the golden holographic pencil that had sat forgotten on his cluttered floor for God knew how long. He picked it up and just as slowly brought it back to him, staring at it like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. And as his fingers touched it, he got a brief flash of a cute little laughing blonde pixie dressed in green and coated with gold glitter, pretty shining wings fixed on her back. There was something familiar about her. Something he almost remembered... Something about the only times he'd ever had a decent, completely safe from fear sleep, when she was napping beside him underneath trees on warm spring days with her apple-scented curls just underneath his nose. Something about... about home.

Home, he thought to himself again. I've got to find home. 'Cause she's calling me, she's the only one who can help me, and I've got to find her. Help me find her, he prayed desperately. Just for tonight. Just one more night...

***

He still didn't know how exactly he'd managed to get out of the trailer. He guessed it didn't really matter. He didn't even know where he was going right now. His brain was still pretty shellshocked, so his body was pretty much running on automatic right now. His feet were moving at their own will, with no conscious direction of his own. And he thought he kinda wanted it that way. He wanted to be taken right where he needed to go, without his stupid brain getting in the way. Wherever that was.

It was so late at night that Roswell's streets were deserted. Not that they were ever busy anyway, but that wasn't the point. There were shadows everywhere he looked, but he wasn't afraid. He'd never been afraid of darkness. It was weird. He was in pain, his body bruised and battered and broken, his mind practically numb, but yet he still felt kinda good. Well, no, that wasn't right exactly. It was more like he felt like he was on the verge of feeling good, if he could just find her. The curlgirl fairy child who danced around her room on another long-ago night when Hank had lost control.

He remembered how he wanted to go to her then, but he hadn't. He didn't think she'd understand. But somehow now he knew that he'd learned better at some point or another. Learned that he and this golden, laughing, dancing, living rainbow girl were the same. That she was like him underneath. In all of the important ways anyway. That she had a stonewall to keep people out too. The dusty back corner of his mind sent up that she was scared, and lonely, and fragile, and she knew what it was like to be abandoned. She was... she was...

"Cheesehead," he whispered as he found himself outside of her window for the first time in years. The window was cracked open slightly, surely a sign of invitation.

He shifted the window further open and crawled through, gritting his teeth as his hurting body brushed against the sill. Maria DeLuca slept on peacefully, her soft blonde hair curling around her pale little smiling face like she was some hopelessly beautiful light-filled celestial angel in a sweet slumbering dream. Without thinking he crossed the room, turned back the covers beside her, and buried in next to her, wanting to be as close to her as he dared. Wanting to get that warm, safe feeling back that he'd only had a few times in his life, all of them when she was sleeping cuddled up beside him.

And for just a little while, Michael let himself remember.

***

The water was as blue and clear and sparkly as it always was. The beach was filled with a million sandboxes worth of sand to play in. The sun was shining down brightly just like the happy smiley face sun in the My Little Pony cartoons she used to always watch on tv. Her island was supposed to be perfect in every way. But nobody was there to swim with and splash around with and try to dunk under the waves. Sandcastles went unbuilt. Shells went unfound. Trees went unclimbed. The sun didn't make her want to dance anymore.

Maria just wanted to sit all alone on the beach on her little piece of driftwood on her desert tropical island with the crazy branched palm trees that she used to love to climb so much while she cried her eyes out. Mourning over something she couldn't remember. Someone, actually. Someone who used to come here once with her.

It was totally stupid to be thirteen years old, virtually in the prime of her young life, and crying over somebody she couldn't even remember. She knew that. But she still couldn't stop. Every time she dreamt of the island lately, she just sat here like this and cried. She missed him so much. Sometimes if she closed her eyes she could almost see those wounded brown eyes. She could almost feel those hidden memories that always danced away just before she could get her hands onto them and hold on. But that made it worse, when they were in her reach for that one little second. When she could feel his soft hair under her fingers or hear somebody faintly calling her the world's grossest names in existance with a low, gravelly voice.

She just wanted him to come back. She wanted to climb her special trees with him again, and play games with him. She wanted to bury him in the sand. Call him names, laugh over their own private jokes, dare him to do impossible dares that only he was magic enough to pull off. Fight with him, flirt with him, fall in love with him... But she knew it wasn't time yet. And that made it worse. Usually she was a pretty patient person, but this was just ridiculous. It was bad enough that she knew she was missing him in the waking world too, but in her dreams? Her one escape and even then she still couldn't get any peace.

How long? she sometimes found herself asking the perfectly cloudless sky. Is it time yet? God, it feels like I'm not even living anymore, which is completely freaky, and I... I just want this place to be my home again. Can't you see that? 'Cause it stopped being funny a really long time ago, okay? Bring him back now, or I swear in the name of Hurricane DeLuca that I'll get you...

But the heavens apparently wasn't taking orders anytime soon, because her empty threats went unanswered. And she just ended up crying harder in frustration. Although she guessed that she wasn't too surprised. Nobody listened to her anyway. Mainly because she never told anyone anything. Nothing important anyway. Nothing real. Not since him...

Today a few silent tears slipped down her face as she stared down the quiet, empty beach, straining to hear his voice. Maybe if she closed her eyes and concentrated really hard, she'd be able to feel him. He was probably sneaking up behind her right now, and she could have a long, satisfying rant, yelling at him and calling him a stupid monkeyboy for leaving her here all by herself for such a long time. Served him right, whoever he was, making her wait around for him like this. Making her cry over his sorry butthole self. Couldn't he see that he was killing her inside?

And then a shadow fell across her. Real. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt those sparks that she'd almost forgotten existed suddenly leap into life. It was like all the air around her was suddenly electroturbocharged with power. She turned around hopefully, her anger completely forgotten for the moment as everything she'd been missing for two long years finally came crashing back into her life.

She stared into Michael Guerin's dark eyes, her tears coming faster and faster as he smirked down at her. At thirteen, he was even more wildly sleekly handsome than he'd been at eleven. And then she was leaping off her piece of driftwood and whooping for joy as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. Everything suddenly felt right again as she cradled him close.

"Dorkbutt!" she exclaimed, pulling back to grin excitedly up at him. "You're here. You're... you're home."

And just as she felt his strong arms circling her waist...

***

...she woke up.

She was curled up against a warm, steadily breathing chest. A strong arm circled her waist, just like in her dream. She could feel one of her own arms draped across the mystery person possessively. She raised her head slowly, all dazed and confused.

"Michael?" she asked softly as she squinted through the darkness at the spiky-haired boy who she'd known intimately once upon a dusty time in elementary school. A time she could really only remember in fragments, especially when it came to her memories of him.

Michael blinked at her, feeling completely exposed. He was caught now, his mind drummed out in a panic. He was surely one screwed alien freakboy. He braced himself for the squeal of outrage and terror that was sure to come out of those soft pouty berry flavored lips any minute now. Berry flavored lips? he had time to ask himself in surprise. Why the hell would I know that?

Instead she only looked calmly at him for another moment or two, her eyes still heavy and bleary with sleep. "I miss you..." she whispered sadly, tightening her grip on him. She snuggled up against him, burying her face into the crook of the arm he still had wrapped around her. "I... I can't remember," he heard her sniffle. And when her eyes found his again he saw that they were shining with her tears in the darkness of her bedroom. "Can you?" she asked.

He gulped and shook his head, tears filling his eyes too.

"You can... stay here," she said to him, yawning.

Her eyes still had that sleepy unfocused look to them, and he knew that she probably wouldn't remember him being here when she woke up tomorrow. She was pretty out of it right now. For that he was grateful. There was a promise he'd made, after all. With Max. Isabel too. That much he did remember. Even though, looking at her now, even with her sleep-puffy eyes and her scrunchy face, he thought maybe he'd already broken it a long time ago.

"Can I... I mean, can I kiss you good night?" she asked him uncertainly. Just one more time, her mind whispered. For a while.

He nodded silently. He still hadn't uttered a single word. It was like he was afraid that if he spoke, this paper thin reality would shatter. He'd be teleported instantly back to Hank's trailer, waking up with a headache only to find out that he'd never left at all. Or maybe he just knew that with her, words were never needed. Words just got in the way of whatever delicate butterfly-wing bond they shared.

And when her soft lips pressed against his, he just knew they'd taste as sweet as berries. And somewhere in the back buried corner of his brain he swore that he heard the creaking of some ancient door sliding open just the tiniest crack, allowing a just a sliver of glittery rainbow-colored light to escape, to keep him safe over the next few years. Would that door ever show whatever misty watercolored memories of the past were stored inside?

He hoped, as she pulled away and rested her head against his chest again. Synthetic apple scent drifted up towards his nose as her breathing steadied and her tiny body relaxed in his arms again.

He hoped.

***

Maria woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Her eyebrows furrowed. Had somebody been there last night or was she just going crazy with her imagination again? Vague memories of warm, sturdy male arms wrapped safely around her all night long haunted her. And there was a spark-filled magic kiss, and a beach, and...

Her island. That was it. A dream. Just another stupid dream that she couldn't quite remember, like always.

She got up and padded to look outside of her window, unaware of hidden dark eyes watching from a few feet away. Come back, she sent out into the world beyond her bedroom. When you're ready. I'll be waiting till then. 'Cause you need to find your place. Your home. 'Cause being lost sucks.

I can't wait till you come and find me again.

Back to Area 51 (Section I)