Disclaimer: Yeah yeah yeah, you know the drill. Me no own, you no sue, me get to keep all my weaponry (I do have a very nice bastard sword--battle ready and everything...)

For Emily, because she demanded it, and for Natalie, who dared to find something good in Foursquare, and for both, who came up with the idea. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sign was innocent enough: a normal white and red sign that was found in a few places around Roswell. It read simply "Danger: High Voltage," and few of Michael's visitors questioned it. They didn't know that it, like every one of his few possessions, had a deeper meaning. Like the star maps that sat on top of his bookcase. Like his battered copy of Ulysses. Like the "Property of Megadeth" T-shirt that Maria always wore when she slept over. Like the rainbow afghan that Mrs. Evans had knitted, years and years ago. The sign represented everything that was Maria DeLuca to him.

It was the sparks he felt, every time he touched her, every time he had touched her since they were small. It was the danger he had of melting every time he looked into her green eyes, the fire of Hurricane DeLuca that managed to leak inside the cracks of his stone wall. It was his relationship with her, whatever it was, and all of the flashes and crashes and burns that they had been through, and would go through again and again. His own baptism by fire, as if by accepting his heart and Maria, it would make him human.

He'd stolen it, one night, after they'd started back up again. After that day when Max had come running to him, asking why he'd never told Max about the sparks he felt, whenever he kissed Maria. So Max had the sparks too. But they couldn't be the same. They'd never be the same. And it was none of Maxwell's business what he felt with Maria. His best friend wasn't exactly the first person that came to mind when Michael was having his hormonal surges...which was perfectly okay with him. After lunch, when Maria had come almost running up to him, asking if he'd heard, about Liz and Max, and the flashes. After they'd immediately found themselves in the janitor's closet under the bleachers, and her lips were pressed to his. After he found himself in a place he swore he'd never be in again--her arms. And after he'd seen into her very soul...

A young girl, blond ringlets hanging in her eyes, trying to tie her red sneakers, her spotted dog peering over her shoulder anxiously.

The same little girl playing dress up, whirling about her small room in a long sparkly blue dress, filling the room with a rainbow of light.

Golden curls buried in a pillow as the little girl who should know no sorrow cried her heart out.

And a last flash, something that scared him as it excited him, not one of Liz's fantasies, like Max had seen, but something even better and worse...Maria, his golden-haired cheesehead, years into the future, staring at a small test-tube, and crying when it didn't turn blue. And he noticed the gold wedding ring on her finger, and the way her curls brushed against her shoulders, as if she was growing them long again...for him...

But he never told her about the other flashes he saw. If she knew that he saw the future, that he sometimes could see the future...just everything that that future represented. There could never be a future with Maria because he was gonna go home someday--all of them. No attachments. No running either, but no attachments, so that none of them would get hurt.

So he snuck in after school, while Max did his detention with Liz for being too noisy as they sucked face and disrupted the school, and he stole the sign. He put it up on the wall in his kitchenette to remind him of how dangerous it was to be with Maria--the high voltage that ran through his veins every time he touched her. The sparks he'd felt ever since he first laid eyes on her, and reached out to grab her long yellow curls. To remind him of the danger it was to her to be with him. His cheesehead deserved more. Deserved someone who was human.

"Michael."

"Hey, Cheesehead." His mouth met hers for a soft kiss. "Gimme a ride?"

And her pixie grin, her dancing green eyes. "Only if you promise that it won't involve my car exploding or needing to be towed."

But now, months after that, months after he'd burnt the bridge and crossed the point where he could no longer go home again, that sign came to symbolize something else. Yeah, it was a risk, every time he saw Maria, every touch, every caress of her small hands, every kiss from her full, fruity-tasting lips. But there was a fire within him now that needed to be fed. And if it wasn't fed, he might spontaneously combust without her.

But that was a risk he was willing to take.

Her hand met his halfway between their two bodies, and he could feel the Maria sparks traveling up his arm to his heart. "What're we do after work?"

She grinned up at him, her dimples creasing those soft round cheeks. "We could always just hang out at your place." She shrugged nonchalantly. "Catch a flick at the dollar theater..."

"We could hang out at my place. The couch is making weird creaking noises." He tried to keep a straight face. "We should probably try it out, make sure the damned thing isn't broken..."

She slipped her arms around his waist, dancing him down the sidewalk to her car. "Y'know, Mom's gone for the weekend, so we could even try it out all night..." She leered at him as best a golden-haired pixie girl could.

There were times when he loved his horny little cheesehead. So what if it was dangerous? So what if the sheer voltage her touch caused could send make him burst into flames someday? He knew he wasn't the best man for Maria DeLuca, but being this close to that beautiful inner flame of hers, it was worth getting the price.

He kicked open his door, scooped her up in his arms, and neatly dropped her on the couch before pouncing on top of her. Her nimble fingers wound themselves through his hair, and he could feel the little Maria sparks from head to toe. "Maria..."

"Michael," she moaned against his lips, as his hands strayed up her shirt to stroke the soft, pale skin of her back.

Somehow, the way she said his name was the sweetest sound in the world.

The sign on his wall glared down at him, reminding him of the dangers of what could be, and what would happen if he set foot on the path to the future he saw. But he couldn't live without her. And what was life without the chance of getting burned?

We call them fools
who have to dance within the flame
who chance the sorrow and the blame
that always comes with getting burned
but you've got to be tough when consumed by desire
cuz it's not enough just to stand outside the fire

There's this love that is burning
deep in my soul
constantly yearning
to get out of control
wanting to fly higher and higher
I can't abide standing outside the fire
--"Standing Outside the Fire" by Garth Brooks

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