Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Whatsoever. These characters belong to the WB and a lot of other lucky people. Please don’t sue me. If you decide to do it anyway, you’ll just get a bunch of lousy love poems so there’s no reason why you should do so.

Rating: I’m from Denmark, and we don’t have this kind of rating system, which makes me absolutely clueless on how to rate this. If anyone would be kind enough to write and tell me how it works the address is persephonemyth@hotmail.com .

Anyway, no bad language, no smoking, no drinking, no petting, no sex, no violence, but two descriptions of how Michael looked after a meeting with Hank.

Distribution: if you want just let me know. I’ll be more than flattered if you want, so you have the permission. All of you.

Summary: the aliens are 10 years old. Michael goes to Max’s after Hank have beat on him pretty badly. Diane grows suspicious.

Feedback: please. Pretty please. This is my first ever fanfic, so I would like it very much. Even the bad kind. I’ll write you back.

If something is spelled funy ( That was a joke. Bad, I know ) or if something is incoherent or something like that, let me know. Please. As I said before I’m from Denmark, so this isn’t my native language. Sorry. But I’m trying, and I’m doing the best I can.

***

It was 8.30 PM.

It was dark outside.

And cold.

Usually nights were warm and gentle, but somehow tonight seemed different.

The weather seemed ominous.

Diane Evans looked out of the kitchen window, but saw nothing but her own reflection mirrored in the silent cold glass.

A light tap was heard on the front door and she opened it, surprised to find Michael Guerin standing there.

The boy was a friend of Max’s and she often wondered how her Max and a boy like Michael could become so close friends.

They were more than different.

Max was from a nice upper-middle-class home, both parents were present, good grades and so on.

Michael on the other hand…

She knew he lived in the trailer park with his fosterfather. The Mother ? Diane had no idea, and she doubted Michael had. He skipped classes, and though Max had once told her that Michael was really smart, his smartness was in no way evident in his schoolwork.

Besides that, Michael always looked ruffled and uneasy.

The only thing the two boys had in common was the fact that they were both orphans.

Diane often wondered about Michael home life, and looking at him now only gave her more to wonder about.

The little boy had a big fresh wound in the forehead, a lilac bruise was forming around his right eye, blood was running from his nose, a split lip and several little cuts all over his face, plus his eyes red from crying gave an impression that almost put Diane in shock.

“Oh G… oh God. My dear Lord what happened to you?” She reached out ,wanting to caress him but he pushed her hand away and shot her an angry glare.

Diane looked at him and wondered where a 10 year old boy could get that much anger from.

That look had almost sent her flying back. Filled with anger, rage and… fear ? “Is Max in?” the boy suddenly turned his stare to the floor while sliding the words out between his swollen lips.

“Yeah… Max, honey?” she called.

Max came, and as soon he saw his bruised friend a worried look took control of his face. “Mom, Michael is sleeping over.” And with that Max turned and dragged Michael by the arm to his room.

“Sure, sweetie,” she responded to his back.

“Why didn’t you come through the window?” she heard him whisper.

“Hey, I almost passed out creeping out of *my* window. I think he broke my ribs or something. I wasn’t really up for climbing through yours,” she heard the other boy respond, trying to sound brave.

Who? The question pounded in the back of her head.

She knew he came over a lot. He would come crawling in through Max’s window. Sometimes she would check up on him in the middle of the night. And sometimes she would find not one but two little boys in the bedroom. One in the bed, one on the floor curled up in Max’s old sleeping bag.

Sometimes she would wake up by the sound of muffled voices, and she knew she would have to make extra breakfast.

It wouldn’t be the first time she would see Michael at breakfast with bruises and scars on his arms or in his face.

And a lame excuse for them being there when she asked.

How often had she heard something like “I fell down the stairs” or “I ran into something” or simply “I had a fight with someone from school” from Michael's mouth?

She had heard them all.

But it had been bad this time. Really bad.

She couldn’t recall seeing him this bad before. Or crying.

A little later she went to Max’s room.

Max was sitting in his chair looking at the little boy curled up in his bed, like a tight little ball.

The lamp on the desk was the only light source in room, and it gently swept soft shadows around the sleeping boy’s bruised features, but cruelly highlighted the teartracks on his cheeks.

“Max…?”

Max looked up at his mom with a questioning look. “Yeah?”

“Max honey…” she stopped. There wasn’t really any easy way to ask your 10 year old son if his best friend was suffering from a bad case of domestic abuse.

“Yeah?” he repeated. His eyes were calm.

“What um… what happened to Michael?” She stopped herself before she said, “ this time”.

Max looked at the floor. “Oh he…he just had an accident with his bike.”

“His bike huh?” Diane’s suspicion grew as she watched Max’s ears turn slightly pink.

“Um, yeah.”

“Max, didn’t Michael borrow your bike last week because he didn’t have one himself?”

Max’s eyes were still glued to the floor. “I guess so…”

Diane felt a sickness build up in her throat. “Max… Honey, is Michael's dad…”

“Foster father,” Max corrected her automatically.

“Foster father…is he…is he in any way hurting Michael?” She looked at her son.

“Mom…!” a warning tone suddenly crept into Max’s voice, but Diane chose to ignore it.

“Max, please just tell me. We could help him. We could do something.”

“Mom, Michael doesn’t really want anybody to…”

“Max, just tell me,” Diane interrupted. “Is Hank Hurting Michael, yes or no?”

Silence filled the room as Max slowly looked up from the floor and looked his mom straight in the eyes.

“Yes.”

Diane hadn’t really expected any other answer, but suddenly she felt sick.

“Yes, Mom, but you can’t tell anybody. He doesn’t tell me, but I know he’s ashamed. And scared.”

Diane couldn’t do anything but nod. This was so terrible.

“Does…” She cleared her throat “Does Isabel…”

“NO,” Max answered sharply. “ No,” he said in a softer tone. “She doesn’t know, and we don’t really think that she needs to.”

“Max, please let me do something, please…” Diane looked at her son with pleading eyes.

“No. Michael won’t let us do anything because…” Max trailed off and looked at Michael.

“Because what, honey?”

Max looked slightly uneasy as he answered, “Michael's been in a lot of families. In a lot of different cities and all. Every time he’s been moved, he’s been moved to another city. Sometimes even another state.”

Diane looked at Max with puzzlement. She couldn’t quite figure out what he was trying to say. “What do you mean?”

“Michael ‘s never had any friends - not before Iz and me. He told me that everybody picked on him, no matter where he was. And when he fought the other boys the school would kick him out. He never really had time to make friends.”

Diane looked with fright at her young son who somehow seemed to grow up in front of her eyes.

“What are you saying, Max?”

Max spoke bluntly, knowing Diane knew exactly what he was saying. “Hank beats on Michael, and Michael doesn’t want me to tell anybody because he knows they’ll move him to somewhere that’s not in Roswell, and then he’ll lose me and Isabel and we’re his first and only friends.” Max spoke fast, and sighed afterwards, as if a heavy burden had been lifted of his small shoulders.

“Oh my God…Oh my God,” she whispered. “Poor boy. Max, tell him… Tell him he can sleep over anytime…he can… we could…the guest room…”

She stopped as Max shook his little head sadly. “Michael doesn’t like pity,” he told her seriously.

Diane smiled at her already grown up son. “What does he like then?”

Max looked at his mom with a grave expression. “He likes to sleep. Somewhere he knows he can sleep completely.”

“Completely?” Diane looked confused.

“Michael doesn’t know when Hank gets home, and he doesn’t know what mood he’ll be in. Michael doesn’t get too much sleep.”

Diane looked at the little sleeping boy on the bed. Even in deep sleep his forehead was wrinkled, and his perpetual frown was on his lips. “Oh…”

“And he likes your muffins.” Max smiled. “ Iz and I always share when he doesn’t…” Max stopped himself, knowing he had said something Michael would not have approved of.

“…When he doesn’t have any himself?” Diane finished Max’s sentence. “I’ll make you some extra then.”

“Thanks mom…”

Diane smiled sadly. She knew it wasn’t much. But it was all she could right now. She moved to the bed and sat down beside the little boy. As he felt her weight on the bed his frown deepened.

“Mom…” the warning tone crept into Max’s voice once more.

Diane heard it, but ignored it this time too, and put a tender hand on Michael’ s cheek as if wanting to straighten out the furrow.

She felt the boy tense immediately under her touch, and two eyes, dark with fear looked up at her as the little head with the messy hair jerked away from her hand.

“What are you doing ? “ the boy asked with a voice that was tense with anger and dripping with fear.

The question was meant for her but the boy looked accusingly at Max.

“Shh…” Diane stroked the boy’s hair gently, and he ducked away from her once more with a motion she instantly knew he had made a thousand times before.

“No, shh…” she caressed him and he looked at Max, who nodded reassuringly to him. Michael relaxed noticeably.

She tucked him in securely and kissed his forehead. The boy looked at her with wonder. “Sleep,” she said in a firm but tender voice.

The boy nodded and closed both eyes obediently.

“And you,” she turned to Max, “young man, should be sleeping as well. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Max smiled. “Yes mom”. And he left the room.

The boy in the bed peeked curiously at her through one open eye. “I thought I told you to sleep?” Again he closed his eyes obediently. She laughed and caressed his face.

She looked at him.

And started to sing.

“Shh little boy
don’t be afraid
the monsters rest tonight
the stars will watch you
as you sleep
so sail away to sweeter dreams
in your boat of starlight
and I’ll be staying right here
singing a little lullaby...”

She felt the little boy fall asleep as she finished the song. She had never sung that song to anybody but Max. It was their little secret song. She made it up some years ago when he was convinced that the monster wanted to eat her. Her and Isabel also had a little secret song.

She kissed the little boy again and stood up. “Goodnight Michael. Sweet dreams.”

She turned out the light, and turned to leave the room.

“Thanks Mom.” She looked up and saw Max in his pajamas .

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

She hugged him and led him to her and Phillip’s bedroom. She tucked him in, in the middle of the bed, kissed him goodnight, and left the room.

She knew she promised not to tell or do anything, but she couldn’t just quietly watch as a little boy was being abused and scarred for life.

They *had* to find him a new home. In Roswell. Maybe…

“Phillip, dear?”

Her husband looked at her. “ Yes?”

She sat down beside him in the couch. “You know Michael Guerin, Max’s friend?”

“The one with the hair?” he asked.

She smiled. “ Yes.”

“He lives in the trailer park, doesn’t he ?”

She winced at his words. “Yes, with his foster father. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Listen…”

She and Phillip discussed Michael's future, while the boy in question lay sound asleep in Max’s bed, dreaming a dream that, for once in his life wasn’t a bad dream.

He dreamed that he was Max Evans, he dreamed that his fosterfather wasn’t a violent drunk, and he dreamed that the kind lady who tucked him in and sang lullabies to him was his mother.

***

6 years later...

Diane Evans put the last dish in the dishwasher and sighed happily.

She had made a big Thanksgiving dinner for Max, Isabel all their friends and their families.

Everybody was happy, the turkey had been tender…

The grown-ups were in the living room talking, waiting for her to bring the coffee.

The kids were all in Max’s room doing… well who knew?

The only flaw in this otherwise perfect evening, was Michael.

Or rather, the lack of him.

The Whitmans, the DeLucas, the Parkers, the Evanses...

But no Michael.

Hank had not at all been invited, but she knew her children had pleaded Michael over and over again to come, but he had refused every time.

Her mind took her back 6 years to that evening, where a little bruised Michael showed up at her door.

That night Max had confirmed her worst fear about Michael and his foster father.

She and Phillip had talked about adopting him, and they invited him over for dinner a few times.

Each time had been a disaster, and Michael would always storm off before dinner was over.

She had tried talking to him, but each time he had either brushed her off, or told her that he had been in a fight or something like that.

Years passed.

Michael's nightly visits on Max’s floor became fewer and further apart, and sometimes there would be months between the times she heard the familiar creaking of Max’s bedroom window, muffled whispers, and then the rattle of Max’s sleeping bag.

Diane took this as a good sign.

She didn’t ask Michael or Max about the situation, knowing that Michael would either brush her off or lie, and that Max too would lie to protect his best friend.

Max had long ago told her that Isabel didn’t know about Hank’s abuse, and she doubted it had changed.

As she lifted the coffee tray and headed to the living room, she heard a faint knock on the door, so faint she almost missed it.

She put down the tray and opened the door.

As soon as she had done so, a tall, dark figure almost fell in her arms.

She caught him with a startled cry.

“Michael,” she said as she recognized Max’s friend.

“Max,” was his only reply, in a strained whisper.

“Oh God…” Diane looked at the boy on her kitchen floor.

He had blood all over, an almost black bruise hid his left eye, there were several wounds in his face and his nose was bleeding too.

He looked and sounded weaker by every breath. His breathing was heavy and sounded troubled.

“Max! Max come quickly !” she screamed.

Both Phillip and Max came running. Max flew to Michael's side.

“Dad, get the others, they’re in my room.” Phillip nodded and came back with a bunch of curious teenagers.

“Michael! What happened to you? Ooh God!” Diane noticed the concern in Maria’s voice.

Max had told her about her and Michael.

Michael looked at Max through blurry eyes.

“Help,” was all he mumbled before he passed out in pain.

Max and Alex carried Michael out to the jeep. “Mom, please can you come with us?” Max looked at his mom with those puppydog eyes, but he really didn’t have to.

Diane threw her own car keys to Isabel. “Take the other kids. sweetie,” she yelled over her shoulder as Max backed out of the driveway.

As Isabel, Alex, Liz and Maria ran in the doors to the hospital, Max waited for them.

“This way,” he said, and showed them. On the way he, to their great relief, told them that there had been taken no blood or cell samples from Michael.

As they arrived at his side room, the doctor closed the door behind himself.

“How is he?” Diane couldn’t have looked any more worried, had it been he own child.

“As good as can be expected,” Doctor Fishburne replied.

“What do you mean by that?” Isabel looked at the man with the concern for her other brother dripping off her voice.

“He’s been beaten up pretty badly. When he woke up we asked him, and he said something about a baseball bat, which probably is right, judging the damages.”

The little crowd let out a collective gasp of terror.

“A baseball bat?” Diane choked.

“How…how bad is he?” Max was the first of the kids to find his voice again.

Doctor Fishburne fidgeted with his notepad and hesitated a little.

“Just tell us.”

Doctor Fishburne looked directly at Max and nodded. “From the top down,” he said and started, “a severe concussion; a fractured skull; nose broken in places; a black eye but that’s a minor nit-pick; we have to check with a ears specialist before we can tell you if his hearing is optimal after the beating; split both lips; dislocated jaw, broken 3 places on the left side of the chin, 2 places on the right side, which makes it almost impossible for him to speak; he has marks on his neck suggesting attempted strangling; 5 broken ribs, the rest are bend and bruised which makes it hard for him to breathe; legs are ok, besides some wounds and bruises; arms, left is ok besides wounds and bruises, right lower arm is broken; right hand, close to every bone is broken ; left hand, about half of the bones are broken. He didn’t give up without a fight that’s for sure. His back and kidneys had a rough handling, but it’s nothing we can’t take care of.”

The silence that followed his little speech was suffocating.

Maria started to cry softly, and the doctor put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Miss…?” he said.

“Maria. Maria DeLuca,” she sobbed.

“Well, don’t worry, Maria. The worst part is over. He’s gonna be fine in no time, believe me. He’s strong, I can tell you. Anyone who can go anywhere or say anything in his condition has to be. Ok?"

Maria nodded to the doctor through tears.

“Mrs. Evans?”

Diane looked at the doctor.

“Where are Mr. Gurin’s parents?”

Diane looked at the floor. “ Michael is…Michael is an orphan.”

The doctor nodded slightly and wrote something on his notepad. “Foster parents or legal guardians? I need to see them.”

“NO!” Max’s voice was loud but calm “If Hank ever comes near Michael again, I swear I will kill that bastard. He did this to Michael.”

The doctor nodded again absently. “Yes, I was afraid that was the matter of the case.”

“Hank?” the four other kids looked at Max, horrified.

“How long has this been going on?” Isabel and the doctor looked at each other after saying the exact same sentence, at the exact same time.

“Since he was 9,” Max answered sadly to the floor.

“9 !?” Isabel looked at Max with burning anger. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“We agreed it would be better that way,” Max continued his conversation with the floor.

Isabel looked furious. “Better? How could you guys possibly...”

Diane cut her off by putting a motherly hand on her shoulder. “How did you know, doctor?” she asked.

“When we examined him we found a lot of scars and wounds all over him. Either he has to be an extremely clumsy boy, or someone has been beating on him. And we also found these round little burns this size,” he showed a little circle with one hand. “That’s usually cigarette burns. Some people burn their kids with cigarettes in punishment,” he said and shook his head in disbelief.

“Anyway, we’ll fix your friend for you. Mrs. Evans, can I talk to you?”

Diane nodded and left with the doctor.

“Max how could you NOT tell me this?” Isabel whispered angrily at Max as soon as they were sure no one could hear them.

“Because Michael told me that they would take him away from Hank if they found out.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“No, Isabel. Then he would lose us again. Just… just when…” Max trailed off.

“Just when he had found us again,” Isabel finished his sentence.

“Oh God,” she said after she realized. “He put up with this for 7 years so that he could be with us?”

Max just nodded. He couldn’t do anything else, afraid his voice would betray him if he tried to say anything.

***

I looked around the room.

With all the “get-well-soon” presents and flowers the little room was crowded.

I smiled at a huge, green, bug-eyed, plush alien with a nametag saying “Spaceboy” .

“Only Maria,” I thought to myself.

I looked at the 16 year old boy in the bed.

Usually he looked like he easily could mop the floor with the incredible Hulk himself, but now, after almost two weeks of only eating fluids because of his broken jaw, and lying in a hospital bed, he looked pale, thin and fragile.

The scars, stitches and almost faded bruises were screaming back to me from his sickening pale face, and only made him seem more fragile.

In the white room, in his hospital gown which color matched that of the alien teddy, surrounded by all the flowers and gifts, in the large bed, he seemed a bit lost.

His eyes were closed and his forehead and brow were straight, missing his perpetual furrow.

As I stood there in the doorframe he looked lost, but at the same time peaceful- which is the last word I would have used about this boy just a couple of weeks ago.

I turned to leave, but without opening his eyes, he mumbled, “Come in.”

“I don’t wanna bother you,” I said.

“Mrs. Evans?” he mumbled, opening his eyes and furrowing his brow in puzzlement.

I sat down in the chair at his bedside.

He looked at me and motioned for me to explain myself.

I knew from Max, that there was no idea in sugarcoating, so I just asked him, “How are you gonna pay for this?”

He closed his eyes and sank even deeper into the bed with a heavy, weary sigh.

“Thought about it a lot,” he shrugged. “No insurance. Hank no help,” he continued, and then tried to laugh but quickly stopped and said, “Me Tarzan, you Jane!”

I laughed and told him that he should rest his jaw. I understood his half sentences.

He nodded.

“We’re gonna pay. Phillip and I,” I said. He looked up, and in his dark eyes shone a light of hope.

Then he shook his head sadly.

“No debts,” he said, and pointed at himself. “Can’t afford it.”

“No, Michael, it wouldn’t be that way. We would give you the money.”

“No pity,” he said in a harsh tone.

“Michael listen, it’s not pity. Pretend we loaned you the money, ok? except you wouldn’t have to pay us back.” I looked pleadingly at Michael.

“Then I would owe you forever,” he stated.

I looked at him carefully.

He was staring at the ceiling with that expressionless expression.

We sat in silence, with me staring at him, and him staring at ceiling.

After a while I closed my eyes and tried to think of something to make him accept our offer. I knew he didn’t have much money, and that he should be working 24/7 for a very long time, to get his hands on enough money to pay the hospital bill.

And he was still weak, and in no condition to do any kind of physical work.

I opened my eyes, when I heard a familiar sound.

When we first adopted Max and Isabel, Isabel would cry every night.

The same soft, repressed crying reached my ears and I looked at Michael.

“Lost,” he said simply, as big wet tears rolled down his cheeks.

I reached out to remove a tear, but before I realized what I had done, he jerked away and let out an angry, “Don’t.”

His old habit of moving every time someone tried to touch him was still there, and maybe even more, after Hanks last assault.

I stood up and hugged him tightly. His body tensed noticeably, and he tried to free himself of my embrace.

“Michael, I’m so sorry… I should have done something… Max told me…” I didn’t know what to say. This boy was so hurt, broken, devastated… and I could probably have done something to prevent it. Michael was tough; streetwise, a fighter till the end - and yet, here he was, crying, hurting and close to giving it all up.

“No, Michael. Shh… I won’t hurt you. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, we’ll work it out. I won’t hurt you.” I started rocking him back and forth and at last he let himself go, and I could feel his warm tears on my shoulder.

“My fault with Hank. Not you,” he hiccuped.

I can’t describe that feeling I had when he said that.

He thought that it was his fault that Hank…

“Michael no, you can’t think that… oh no, honey… it’s not your fault, ok? Shh… aww sweetie, Phillip will fix that for you, wait and see.”

“Mrs. Evans?” He looked at me.

“Diane,” I told him, and a small smile light up his eyes.

“Thank you.”

I looked at him and smiled. I knew those two words was a little used part of his vocabulary.

“Michael, you can believe me or not, but I always thought of you as mine…you know, my baby. Do you want to be an Evans?”

He looked at me and shook his head. “Your family. not mine. Maybe sometimes…?”

I nodded. “There’s this thing called emancipation. Do you know what that is?”

He looked a little unsure, so I explained.

“It’s where a minor gets permission to live on his own. Phillip can help you with that. What do you say? And then weekends you’re an Evans?”

A smile started to spread on his face.

“I better leave then, and talk to him. Sweet dreams Michael.” I kissed his cheek, and left the room.

***

After a lot of work, Michael did get emancipated.

We talked to Jeff Parker who offered him a job at the cafe as a busboy.

Michael took it, and after a week, he was cooking. I think it was Maria who had whispered something about one of Michael's hidden talents in Jeff’s ear.

We found him a little affordable apartment, and Alex, Maria, Max and Isabel helped him catch up on his schoolwork.

His is extremely smart, and after 2 weeks, he was the ones tutoring the others. Isabel told me that he helped Max with his A+ analysis on Joyce’s “Ulysses”.

After a month of staying in school and out of trouble, of supporting himself, and acting like an adult without any reckless behavior, the judge thought he had proven himself, and freed him from Hank for good.

Hank left town.

And Michael has never been happier.

Weekends he spends with us. Sometimes we take roadtrips, because Michael has never been out of Roswell. Sometimes we go fishing, play games, watch movies…

I always cook big dinners, and loads of muffins.

I’m not saying that it’s all happy ending now, because he still has a long way ahead of him.

But at least he has somewhere to go, when that way gets a little too rocky.

And I’m not just talking about me and the rest of my family.

Last night all the kids had a video get-together, and when they thought nobody was looking Michael and Maria were holding hands.

They watched E.T. and Maria started crying at the end, and Michael just put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.

Yes, my son's best friend, the boy with the wild hair, who has turned into a young man before my eyes - he still has a long road ahead.

But now, he knows he doesn’t have to walk it alone.

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