Reflections on a Silver Handprint
By Kara (AnyaLindir@aol.com)

Disclaimer: None of these people and none of these situations belong to the poor college graduate who wrote this. If you sue me, all I can guarentee you is a crappy Macintosh, some X-men comics, and the entire series of Young Riders on videotape. And, as always, my My Little Ponies. :) But if you really push, I'll throw in my little sister for free.

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Maria:

She stood in front of her mirror, staring at the silver Handprint on her chest. It wasn't real, though. It was only paint. Not like the one on Liz's stomach. But it was still Michael's handprint. The first time he'd touched her since they were eleven years old. Five years ago. Before she knew he was an alien. Oh my god. She kissed an alien...

But that was before he was ET who couldn't Phone Home. But did it make a difference? This was Michael Guerin, the guy she'd known since they were nine years old. Granted, a lot more made sense now, like why he and Max and Isabel stuck together like they were peas from the same pod (Oh, God, was he hatched or something?). And his weird little complexes. But he was still an alien. Not a cheesehead. An alien. From outer space. And she kissed him. Maybe that was why she'd always felt those sparks whenever they touched when they were little. It's not like she had feelings for him or anything... He was Michael Guerin, the hoodlum. The alien.

Calm down, DeLuca. She grabbed the small silver vial that sat on her vanity table and took a deep breath of soothing cypress oil. But it didn't work. Michael Guerin was still an alien.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. Well, that explained why his hair stood up so much. No normal hair could defy gravity like that. It was so soft too... She shook her head. Down, DeLuca. Chain the hornball back in the closet and lock the door. This is an alien. You don't need to be on the cover of Star Magazine...

An alien. So all those things that her mom made...was Michael really small, green, and slimy? But he had human eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and every time she'd looked into his dark eyes when they were small, they looked human. Or was that just a cover up? Was every fight she'd ever had with Cheesehead Guerin part of some vast X-Files Twin Peaks conspiracy? Were the FBI involved, or Area 51? And just the fact that one of THEM, one of the aliens, Max Evans who'd loved her best friend since they were nine years old...one of these...things...saved the person who meant most to her.

Maria looked at the silver handprint on her clavicle again, touching it with light fingers. His hand had been warm when he touched her. His touch had always been warm. And the spark was still there--that spark she swore they'd lost after fifth grade.

Maria DeLuca laid back on her bed, tears falling to mingle with the green glittery spirals on her cheeks. The world had been much less complicated when Michael Guerin was just another cheesehead boy, and not a totally different life form.

Michael:

He remembered the look on her face when she saw him getting out of the Jeep with Max and Izzy. The way her mouth pursed up in that way it had, how her voice shook as she muttered something to Liz about wanting to be sick. She knew. She finally knew the truth. Somehow, his heart felt lighter. Yeah, his world had ended, but Maria knew. Someone finally knew.

He felt torn. He always felt torn. There was the part of him that had always been drawn to the stars and the fact that they represented everything that he'd never have, but he still wanted to be human just like everyone else. Max and Izzy were his family, the piece that made him keep searching, even though they hadn't had a lead in years about where they came from. And Maria...for some reason, Maria DeLuca had always represented everything he'd never have--everything he could've had if he was human.

Alien.

He hated that word. He hated living in a town where everyone exploited what he was, because none of them understood. Not that he understood. Not that he ever would. He knew there was something better for him than Roswell. He just didn't know what the name of that place was, or even what part of the sky it shone down from.

Someday though. Someday, he wouldn't be an alien anymore.

And now she knew. Now Cheesehead DeLuca knew his greatest secret. She didn't run--he had to give her credit for that. And if he thought about it, she had about the same reaction he did--terror, disgust, self-hatred... Asking why it had to be him, what he'd done to deserve it... He just hoped that Blabbermouth with her golden curls could keep her mouth shut. But Maria was smarter than she looked--not that he'd ever admit that...

She knew he was an alien. Somehow, it didn't matte that Liz knew. Not really. Not after the initial shock wore off. That seemed almost inevitable, because of how drawn Maximillian had always been drawn to Liz. Like that bullet hole in her stomach had been destined from the minute Max Evans stepped off the school bus seven years ago...

But he had to be a stone wall. He had to forget that spark he felt when he'd pressed his hand against her warm flesh for the first time in years. He couldn't let the memories come flooding back of that first kiss that Kyle Valenti had dared them into. He had to remember that she'd changed from the pixie she had been. No more curls for him to pull. No more M&Ms to throw at each other. They were grown up.

And she knew he was an alien. And now his life rested in her hands, for better or worse. Such small hands for such a large job. Hopefully, she was human enough to do it.