Disclaimer: I do not own any Roswell characters...except for Michael(and that's just in my warped mind). 8-)

Rating: PG or PG-13

Summary: Michael angst/M&M. It's from Michael's POV

Author's Note: I honestly don't keep meaning to write angst filled fics, but that seems to be the only thing the voices in my head are telling me to do lately. I'll try to tell them to stop...

Feedback: Of course! Constructive criticism only, flamers need not apply and positive comments are *always* welcome. LOL

Now on with the fic.

Dammit, now where's that candle to complete my Brendan shrine?

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He was drunk. Again. Nothing new there. It had gotten to the point lately where his being sober was a rare thing. It was pathetic, really.

I had long ago convinced myself that I didn't care that my foster father was a worthless piece of trash, incapable of giving his only charge the love and acceptance he so desperately needed. That was the old Michael Guerin.

He hasn't been around in a long time.

The new me doesn't care anymore.

"I thought I told you to clean up around here, boy. Lazy good for nothing punk." Hank slurred as he dragged himself inside our tiny, disheveled home. He reeked of alcohol and I had to force the bile from rising up my throat. When I was certain that I wouldn't lose my dinner, I stared him down.

"Why should I? Every time I bother you just mess it up all over again."

I had stopped being afraid of Hank Mitchell a long time ago too. I don't know when it happened for certain. Maybe it was the first time he hit me in a drunken rage or the time I saw him weeping after his wife finally walked out on him. I remember looking at him and seeing the broken, beaten down man he had become. I remember thinking how pathetic he was. Perhaps that was when the fear left me. If he could chase away such a kind, loving woman as Amanda Mitchell, if he was truly that vile, then it had to be HIS fault. Not mine. I guess deep down I always felt that I had chased her away. The one person on this godforsaken planet--besides Max and Isabel--that actually loved me.

At least I had always believed she loved me. It obviously wasn't enough, because when she walked out on Hank that chilly October morning, she walked out on me too. She left me behind like I meant nothing to her. I still haven't forgiven her for that.

But it's just one more incident to remind me that I am unwanted.

Just one more reason to hate myself.

It's no big deal. I can handle it. But it was...and I couldn't.

"Don't you get smart with me, boy! This is my house, dammit, and I deserve respect. You worthless piece of scum!" He advanced on me and shoved his finger into my breast bone. His eyes were crazed and his rank breath invaded my nostrils. "Just remember who took your sorry ass in, boy. Remember who put a roof over your head when no one else wanted you. You just remember that I can just as easily toss your good for nothing ass out on the street..."

He kept going and I let him. He insulted me like he always does when he gets wasted. Calling me all the things he couldn't call himself. His stubby finger kept jabbing at me. I turned deaf ears on his hateful tirade and clenched my fists. I still felt his finger stabbing at my chest--and it hurt. I still smelled the stench of booze on his pudgy, sweaty body. I still heard every single one of those words.

And like before, I believed them all.

And for the first time in a long time I allowed myself to wonder again just what it was that I had done to deserve all this. Why did Max and Isabel get a family who loved them? Why did they deserve that and not me? To my horror I felt the threat of tears and my eyes started to well up. Jumping up before he could see them, I raced into my room and locked the door.

"Never let them see you cry." I whispered softly.

I slumped down on my back in the middle of my bed and lay there for a bit; my breath hitching slightly. I tried to hold them back, but the tears came anyway. I hadn't cried in a long time. Not since my foster mom abandoned me with that bastard, Hank. I cried for all the times he called me a worthless punk. I cried for all the times I felt jealous of Max and Isabel. I mean, who am I to begrudge them their happiness? Most of all, though, I cried for the way I treated her.

Maria.

The woman of my dreams. The object of my every waking thought.

Not that I blame her, but there's a very real possibility that she hates me now. Just like there was the off chance that she could have actually cared about me in the beginning. But just like everything else in my fucked up life, I ruined it. I ruined everything that had started between us and more. That night at the rave I killed what she felt for me. It was a month ago, but I still remember the way she looked at me as I broke things off with her.

Hurt. Betrayed.

Guilt racked my body as the lies kept pouring from my mouth. I told her that I had to be alone. What a joke. I've been alone for most of my life. I don't want to be alone anymore. I was silently screaming for her not to leave me.

And yet, she walked away.

And my heart broke.

I slowly stopped crying; angry now at myself for showing signs of weakness. I snuggled down under the old, faded comforter and closed my eyes.

And for the first time, in a long time, I allowed myself to freely think of her without feeling guilty. I pictured her beautiful heart shaped face and my surroundings disappeared. All I saw--all I could see--were her luminous hazel eyes, her cute button nose and her golden hair. She was my angel. My light in an ocean of darkness. She was what kept me sane. I kept her image in my mind and held on as if I would never let her go.

*Never let her go*

The words rang in my head and I sat up suddenly. Wasn't that what I had done? I had pushed away the one person who actually made me feel good about myself. The one person who made me want to wake up each morning and face the new day. The one person who could actually make me WANT to come to school--even if it was only to see her. Cursing myself for my stupidity, I jumped off the bed. Still clad in my sweats and t-shirt, I bent to put on my combats. Hoping I wasn't too late to salvage the damage already done, I climbed out of the window and dropped to the ground. Then I was off and running. Past houses and trees. Past playgrounds and businesses. I raced through the night; intent on getting to my destination.

Maria.

Maria.

Maria.

I chanted her name as I ran up one street and down the next. The cool air felt good on my flushed skin; the wind whipping through my wild hair. Nothing short of Armageddon could have stopped me just then. I was an alien on a mission.

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Her window was bathed in shadows as I reached her house. I crept stealthily towards the tree outside her window. It didn't matter if she was asleep. I could wait until morning to talk to her; to SEE her. Right now I just had to be near the one person who chased all of my inner demons away. It's scary being alone all the time with my thoughts. It's a very dark place inside my head--but Maria made me forget all that.

Maria.

I scrambled up the huge oak and settled myself on a thick branch beside her window. I couldn't see inside too well because of my position, but I could breathe easier now. I hadn't done that in a long time--not since the rave. Not since I told her 'things are too intense'. I reveled in the feeling of crisp, pure air filling my starving lungs. It was as if just the prospect of being near her made me want to join the world around me. To come out of my loner shell and stop hiding.

And running.

I sighed and managed to lean back against the side of the house. I closed my eyes again and pictured her sleeping peacefully in her bed. Wisps of golden hair framing her angelic, pixie face; long lashes fluttering slightly with each breath she took...

So engrossed was I in my mental picture of her, that I almost fell off the branch when I opened my eyes to find her watching me.

"Michael," she whispered. Her big, hazel eyes were trained on me--filled with an emotion I couldn't describe. Suddenly I felt foolish for coming to her house in the dead of night. What had I been thinking?

"I'm sorry...maybe I should come back later. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't wake me." she shifted at the window and studied me closely--as if she didn't truly believe I was there. "I was hoping you'd show up."

I gaped at her in the moonlight. She'd been hoping that I would show up? What for? To shoot me down in cold blood? And why did everyone say 'in cold blood'? The blood doesn't get cold until after the person's been dead for awhile. Okay, seriously starting to lose it here. I'm babbling to myself in my head. This can't be good. Needless to say, she was making me nervous. So I voiced my thoughts aloud.

"What for?" I whispered back. "I thought you hated me. I-I don't blame you though. You have every right to despise me. Every right to-" God, why couldn't I just shut up?

"Michael," her voice stopped my incessant babbling.

"What?" I said softly. I couldn't seem to make myself speak any louder. It was as if I didn't trust my voice.

"I've been hoping that you'd show up every night for about a month now. I've been praying that you'd come to your senses and see what was right in front of you. And now...here you are." Her beautiful eyes flashed in annoyance. "It sure took you long enough! A MONTH, Guerin. It took you a whole MONTH to realize? Boy, you sure are slow."

Her full lips quirked in a small smile as I began sputtering incredulously.

"But-but...you HATE me! You walked away that night. Like it was so easy for you. You didn't even argue with me!"

Maria rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about males in every species being dense. When she focused her gaze on me again, I noticed that unfamiliar emotion was back in her eyes.

"Michael, I NEVER left you. You are the one who left me. You were the one who had issues to work out." She paused and her lower lip trembled slightly. "You were the one I hoped would come back to me when he came to his senses. It took a whole freaking month, but a girl can't have everything."

She reached out and touched my cheek gently; a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I didn't want to force you to stay with me, Michael. Why would I keep you somewhere you didn't want to be kept? You needed to figure it out for yourself."

"Figure out what?" I mumbled; lost in her eyes.

"I think you already know." she continued to lovingly stroke my cheek and I realized then what I saw in her eyes.

Love.

Acceptance.

Hope.

For the second time that night, I felt my eyes mist over. But this time I didn't bother to wipe the tears away. She must have noticed the look of uncertainty on my face, because she got a determined look on hers.

"I've been right here the WHOLE time, Michael Guerin. I never went anywhere." She braced herself on her hands, leaned out the window and kissed me gently. When she leaned back, she tenderly wiped away the tears that were rolling down my face. "How could I, when I was waiting for you to find me?"

I looked at her through blurry eyes and saw that she meant it. Every word. Maria DeLuca loved me. She didn't think I was worthless. She thought that I was worthy of her love. Of being loved.

And for the first time, in a long time, I believed.

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