Disclaimer: If you sue me, I won't send you a postcard from Ireland. *g* We all know who these people belong to, and if it was me, there would be no such thing as Destiny.

"Mr. Guerin."

The artist was absorbed in the brush of color on the canvas, the softness of the paint between his fingers. He paid no attention to the teacher that hovered over his shoulder.

"Mr. Guerin!"

"What?! Oh, excuse me, sir." The spiky-haired boy blushed. It was his first year at art school, and he hadn't exactly made a lot of friends among the staff or students. His manners were still pretty much hit and miss, despite all of Maria's careful training and beatings. Not that he minded the feel of her small hands on his body...her small, extremely magic fingers that could work wonders...

"Mr. Guerin, if you'd like to come back to Earth for a moment..."

"Yes, sir?" He gulped. Mr. Jansen wasn't a pushover like some of the other teachers he'd had in the past. In some ways, the tall man reminded Michael of Mr. Raddish, if only because of the fact that Mr. Jansen had taken an immediate dislike to him--almost as if he'd heard of Michael's old reputation.

"Where is your brush, Mr. Guerin?" The older man gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, umm, here?" Michael took the long brush from where he'd stuck it behind his ear. And then it dawned on him. "Oh. I'm sposed to using the brush--"

"And not your fingers, Mr. Guerin. Remember? We talked about this." Mr. Jansen peered over his glasses, his eyes disapproving.

Michael could feel the tips of his ears burning. He ran his hand through his spiked hair, forgetting again that it was covered with different colors of paint. Oh well, at least Maria thought it was cute... Which reminded him of the time he and Maria had gotten in that paint fight years ago, dipping one of her long golden curls in--

"Mr. Guerin!"

Michael snapped back to reality. Mud. He had to think of mud. Mud, which was as soft and squishy between his fingers, which spread so smoothly over Maria's soft--

He could her Mr. Jansen sigh. "Fine, Mr. Guerin, since your mind seems to be elsewhere, I have a special assignment for you. Since portraits and geodesic domes seem to be your specialty, I'd like you to attempt a nude portrait--of an actual living person, nonetheless. No copying one of the great Masters. And I'll need a photograph--clothed--of the subject, to prove that you actually created a work of art. And I'd like you to use a brush, if possible..."

"Nude?" Maria nude, lying on his bed, her golden hair spread out across the faded cloud-print pillowcase she'd given him...

Mr. Jansen rolled his eyes. "Naked, Mr. Guerin. No clothes. I can find you a subject if you'd like, since there are student workers who are always glad of the extra--"

"You mean, pay someone to take their clothes off?" Why would he want to do that? It was Tuesday, which meant that Maria would be waiting for him in his--

A large hand snapped in front of his face, bringing him back to reality again. "Mr. Guerin. I expect it by next Tuesday. Oils or watercolors or acrylics, your choice of medium. But use a brush!"

"Yessir." Michael ran his hand through his hair again, groaning as it came away streaked in rainbow paint. Maria was like a rainbow, a whirling cloud of light. Mud. He had to think of mud covering his beautiful rainbow, so that he wouldn't picture her...

Max, he had to think of Max, covered in mud, like that time he was looking for the worms...

"Hey, Michael. What did Jansen want?" Cassie Burkhalter came skipping up to him, a tall, beautiful blond that specialized in ceramics, but had to take the intro to painting, like all the other freshman.

"Hey, Cassie." He gave her a wary look. The blond reminded him way too much of Isabel, without the killer ice princess looks. And the fact that she reminded him of his little sister was reason enough to be wary of her. He still recoiled at some of those dreams from Sophomore year of high school... "Nothing much. Just to give me an assignment."

He made the turn to go to his dorm, but Cassie insisted in following him, just like an overgrown blond duckling. "Something where you'd actually have to use your brush?" She grinned at him, poking him lightly in the shoulder. For some reason, Cassie insisted on flirting with him and playing the weirdest little games. Like he actually showed interest in her or something. Women. Human women. At least his cheesehead usually made sense, in her own wonky way...

"Yeah, special portrait kinda thing. A nude or something." He used his id card to let himself into his building, expecting her to say good-bye or something. But she followed him in, right over to the stairs, as if she owned the place.

"A nude?" Cassie's blue eyes widened as she trailed in his wake down the hallway to his door. "Wow. So, umm, do you have a subject already?"

Michael stood in front of her, mouth agape, his dummy keys in hand in case someone noticed that he never actually used them to unlock the door. Maria had his actual set. He technically didn't need them, since he no longer blew locks up when he used his powers on them.

And then his door swung open. "Michael! I thought you were...alone..."

And the two women looked at each other. And then at him.

"Um, Maria, this is Cassie Burkhalter from my painting class. Cassie, this is my...Maria DeLuca."

Maria stepped out into the hallway, clearing sizing up the taller blond. Her bare feet made a soft padding sound on the neutral colored carpet in the hallway. From his old Megadeth T-shirt and West Roswell High sweatpants she wore, Michael could tell she'd just woken up from a nap. But he knew she'd been up all night writing a paper last night, so he couldn't blame her. She still looked beautiful, tousled shoulder-length curls and all. Like his own demented angel. His own demented nude angel...

Mud. Max in the mud. Alex in the mud, on that first camping trip, when it rained, and he and Maria had gotten in that mudfight, squishy mud between their bare toes...

He coughed. "Um, Cassie, I'll see you in class next Tuesday." Maria seemed to gleam brighter and brighter in the hallway, and from the way her chest moved as she danced around Cassie, he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra either. He scooped his Tinkerbell up in his arms and dodged into his room, slamming the door in Cassie's astonished face.

Maria lay curled up in the crook of his arm, her curls making a messy golden halo around her face. "So who was the puppy dog who followed you home?"

Michael kissed the soft curve of her neck, and nibbled his way up to her ear. "She wanted to be my nude model or something."

She sat up, knocking Michael over. "What?" Her Hurricane DeLuca look stormed across her face.

"Relax, cheesehead. Mr. Jansen wants me to paint a picture of some nude chick because he thinks I should use a brush instead of my fingers." He nibbled at her neck again. "And Cassie volunteered for some stupid girl reason." He snorted. "Human girls."

She thwapped him. "Careful, spaceboy. You could be sleeping alone tonight." She lifted herself up on one elbow to peer down at him, her golden curls forming a skewed halo around her head. "So, nude painting?"

Michael sighed. Sometimes, he just really needed to keep his mouth shut. "It's due Tuesday. He said I could use one of the school models or something, cause I guess some chicks will take off their clothes for money and--"

A pillow hit him square in the face.

"What?!"

Burning green eyes glared at him, but he knew she wasn't really mad. If she was really mad, she'd get really quiet and wouldn't even look at him. "Welcome to Michael-land, home of the oblivious spaceboy. Do I need to spell it out?"

Women really were from Venus.

And then he realized it. "You want me to draw you naked?"

Maria threw herself back down on the bed and buried her head under the pillow, whimpering softly.

"But then everyone would see my girlfriend naked." He looked at her suspiciously. "Unless that's what you want..."

"What'd you say?"

"Naked?" It wasn't hard to figure her out, once you turned on the Maria filter, but sometimes, she could be so female...

Her head popped up, causing interesting places on her body to jiggle in interesting ways. "No, the other thing."

Michael tried to focus on her face, as always, tongue-tied whenever he tried to have a conversation with her. "Girlfriend?"

And for the fiftieth time in twenty seconds, Maria's mood changed again as she snuggled back up against him, resting her head back on his chest. "You'll finally admit it then?" She traced circles over his heart with her soft fingers.

He ran his fingers through her silky hair, smiling a little at the sparks that he felt buzzing up his hand to his heart. "Yeah, I guess so." He kissed to top of her head. "Does it mean that much to you, Maria?" She looked like a Renaissance Angel in all her naked glory. Maybe he could call the painting His Guardian Angel Fairy Girl.

"For some stupid cheesehead reason it does," she murmured against his shoulder, her breath tickling his bare skin.

"Maria--"

She looked up at him, her cat's eyes glowing an incredible blue green. He wondered how she'd look with golden stars painted on her cheeks, right over her dimples...

"I know, spaceboy." She smiled, kissing him gently. "I know."

"Leo didn't take this long when he was sketching Kate." For the past half hour, his adorable cheesehead that he loved more than anything had been complaining nonstop. If there was an Olympic sport, Maria DeLuca would win the gold medal. But he'd known that for years. Ever since that car ride down 285 South, the day he abducted her. Ever since that first meeting, back in fourth grade, when she'd shown him where the bathroom was.

"That was James Cameron drawing anyway, not to mention the fact that it's not real life." His hand was beginning to cramp. The floor was littered with half-finished sketches of Maria in different poses. None of them looked right. Nothing seemed to embody the very essence of his cheesehead. Maybe it's because she looked too clean.

Clean...memories of creating scenery flooded back into his mind, of dipping each of Maria's long curls into a different color of paint. Of the time they'd gotten into that marker fight, and colored little golden stars on each other's ankles. Of their mud fight. Of their food fight at Thanksgiving, when he'd carefully smeared mashed potatoes on her cheek. He threw down the sketchpad and reached for the toothpaste-shaped tubes of oils on his desk. He carefully squirted out the satin-smooth colors, mixing them on the one clean palate he'd tossed on his floor three nights ago.

Palate prepared, he walked over to wear she laid across his rumpled bed. She gave him a suspicious look. "Whatever is going on in that twisted little alien mind of yours, Michael, I want no part in it. Especially if you make the bed explode. Remember the time the couch exploded, and the fire department came? And how hard it was to explain that one?"

Ignoring her endless prattle, he dipped his finger into the yellow, and began to paint a little yellow star on each of her cheeks.

"What, so now I'm Rainbow Brite?"

"Shut up, cheesehead."

"I believe the assignment was to paint a naked person, spaceboy. Not to put paint on a naked person."

"Technicalities," he said nonchalantly as he smeared a line of green paint across her nose, connecting the stars.

She rolled her eyes. "You just better make this worthwhile for me later," he heard her mutter.

He mixed a glop of red with a bit of blue and yellow and held the resulting color over one of her golden breasts.

Maria eyed the paint warily. "Still thinking about mud, spaceboy?"

He smirked at her. "Who said anything about later?"

In the aftermath of their second (or was it third?) great paint fight, Michael stood up and stretched in the light of the setting sun. He didn't have much of a view out the one window in his room, but he got decent light for painting. Not that he used it that much, after he had figured out how to make objects glow in his room at night, like the old play doh Izzy still had in the back of her closet. The room was, as usual, completely trashed. Paint and clothes were strewn everywhere, but that was nothing new. This was an art school, and the Board of Trustees wasn't too harsh on students at the end of the semester when it came to repainting the dorm rooms.

He slipped on his forgotten boxers and an old Wolverine T-shirt, then turned to look at the golden-haired angel who still occupied his bed. Yellow stars still danced on her cheeks, and he'd even managed to paint one on her ankle, just like back in fifth grade. His comforter was wrapped around her waist, and though she lay spread-eagle like a small child, her arms lay outstretched, almost as if she was reaching for him. There was something vulnerable about Maria in her sleep--something that made Michael want to wrap her up in his arms and protect her until the end of forever. They'd been through so much and told destiny to fuck off so many times. She had become his guardian angel in more ways than one. She'd saved him from himself.

He picked up a pencil and the forgotten sketch pad and began to draw...

Weeks later, his family gathered around the painting that sat in the place of honor at the Albuquerque School of Art Freshman Exhibition.

"It's amazing, Michael. You actually have talent somewhere in that warped brain of yours." Isabel smiled sweetly at him, once again taking her rightful place as annoying little sister.

"Nice one, Iz." He casually reached out and hit her on the arm. "Remind me to tell Alex later about the Clown Show."

"Clown show?" Alex's arm slipped around his girlfriend, a million watt grin creasing his mouth.

Isabel made a face at Michael. "Remind me to tell Alex later about the clown show. God, Michael, can you be any more juvenile?" She snickered. "You could always tell him the story about Max and the worms though..."

"I think we've all heard that story by now, Iz." Maria snickered too. "And the one about Max and the Great Dane, and the one about how he brought home the snake..."

Isabel turned to Maria, a sly look on her beautiful face, perfectly arched eyebrows cocked in a teasing grin. "Is that paint on your neck, Maria, or have my brothers been giving glowing hickeys again?"

Maria blushed to the roots of her hair, burying her face in Michael's neck. He enjoyed the excuse to put his arms around her, holding her warm body tight against his.

It had surprised him, how much Mr. Jansen had liked the painting. He'd even liked it enough to nominate it for the Freshman Exhibition. And the Board of Directors had liked it enough to make it the featured painting of their show. This was the first time anyone in his class or his family had seen it though. And for some reason, they all seemed to like it.

"I can't believe that it's Maria. I mean, I know it's Maria, and it looks just like Maria, but..." Alex trailed off, blushing slightly. "What I mean is--" He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and smiled. "I never knew."

Michael couldn't help giving him a half-smirk back. "Yeah."

Maria's small fingers reached out, tracing the nude figure in the painting as she lay curled up on the bed, her legs twisted in the sheets, her arms reaching out to hold something. "The wings." Her fingers brushed up against the iridescent, barely visible wings that folded up against the sleeping figure's back. Sunlight from an unseen window played off their translucent surface, and the smooth porcelain skin of the girl's torso. "You remembered." Her voice was soft.

He brushed his lips against the spot of paint on her neck. "I never forgot. My own Guardian Angel Fairy Girl."

She twisted in his arms, cupping his face in her hands. "I know," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. "I've always known."

And just as his hand had snaked up the back of her shirt to feel her soft, porcelain skin, he heard a familiar cough behind him. "Mr. Jansen." And there was a tall blond at the teacher's elbow. "Cassie. This is my family."

Mr. Jansen nodded, peering over the rims of his glasses at Maria, and then looking at the painting. "His Guardian Angel Fairy Girl. Interesting title for a painting, Mr. Guerin. And not quite the nude I expected, but then again, this is coming from you..." He gave the two a reproving glance. "And somehow, I suspect you've always chosen your own path."

Maria giggled softly against Michael's neck, remembering, as he did, what a wise Indian had said a long time ago.

"Nice job, Michael. You have a lot of talent." Cassie's eyes flickered from his face, to where Maria still stood nestled in his arms. "You're a lucky person, Maria."

And with every bit of grace and poise that she had, his cheesehead only smiled and said, "Yeah, I am."

His teacher and classmate moved on, Cassie shooting him forlorn looks over her shoulder. But there was no chance in Hell, Wisconsin that he and Cassie would... He shuddered. All he needed was another queenly blond trying to tell him what his destiny was...

"Maria! Michael! And Alex and Isabel. You all made it!" Amy DeLuca hurried up, giving hugs and kisses all around. "My favorite wrestler." She messed up his already perfectly spiked hair. "We're so proud of you, Michael."

"Yeah, Michael. All of us." Sheriff Valenti appeared at her elbow, a soft look on his face. Almost the look a father might give to his son. It was funny how Michael had more father-figures now than he'd ever needed as a child. But somehow, he was okay with that too. "So let's see this wonderful painting of yours."

To his surprise, Maria hadn't minded showing the painting at the exhibition. Michael still wasn't sure if he wanted the world seeing Maria's breasts, but it was only a painting, and not a picture... And it was tastefully done. No Fluorescent Elvis on Velvet. No Rembrandt either--not just yet.

The adults stared at the painting for a while, studying it carefully. "It's good, son. I like it," Jim Valenti said finally. Something in his blue eyes told Michael that the older man understood. But Sheriff Valenti had seen enough of them growing up--enough of all of them growing up. Somewhere in the past three years, Jim Valenti had changed from enemy to friend.

"It's lovely, Michael. But the girl's naked. Did someone actually pose for you?" Amy peered closer at the painting, trying to make out more of the demented angel's half-shadowed face. Michael shot a worried look at Maria, who began to laugh softly.

"Oh my god, this is Maria! And she's naked!" Amy's purse hit him in the head. "Maria Rose DeLuca, if I ever catch you in bed with him again, and if I ever catch your hands on my daughter's naked body, young man--"

Mud, he thought, trying to resist the urge to give Amy DeLuca the worst rash she'd ever had. Mud that was almost the consistency of undiluted oil paints, and how smoothly it would caress on Maria's bare skin...

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