Author's note/Disclaimer/All that jazz: Yeah, we all know who Roswell really belongs to, and it's not me (Hi, WB, Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, etc!), so don't bother suing me. It's not worth it.

I stood, looking at the body that lay crumpled at my feet. The cold chill of death hadn't settled into the pit of my stomach yet. And from the looks on the faces of the two boys in front of me, they were still in shock as well. "I didn't know this was gonna happen. I didn't know he was as dangerous as he was...." What else could I say to this boy who glared at me with his unearthly eyes? And why had I never realized before how alien they looked?

And right now, those dark eyes burned with a fire I hadn't expected in quiet Max Evans. His voice was raw with emotion, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of the turmoil he must feel every day in his heart. "What did you tell him? Why did he come after me? You're the Sheriff. You're supposed to protect me. But all you've done is go after me! You believe all these crazy things. You're just like Hubble."

And then he said the last thing I ever expected to hear--something I would've given my life to hear only an hour before. "You want me? Well, here I am! Take me!"

And his lanky friend with the hair, the one I'd always remembered as being the impulsive fighter, actually reached out to hold the boy back. "Max, come on, just relax..."

He ripped his arm out of Michael's grip, and I could see the tears burning in his eyes--his eyes that reminded me of someone... "No, no!"

I was named for my father. My father's family has lived in Roswell for over sixty years now. My grandfather was the first Valenti to move here from Northern Italy before World War II erupted, tearing his homeland to pieces. My father was sheriff. He was one of the first called on scene in the so-called Roswell incident. Fifty years later, the townsfolk still laugh and still make money off of the naivete of tourists and alien fanatics.

But my father was one of the first true believers.

I didn't know what to think, growing up. He was a crackpot in my mind. It killed me when I had to have him committed, because his stories started to fall into a crazier and crazier spiral downward. And when I had a son of my own, I swore that I'd be the exact opposite of my father.

But then Michelle left.

And five years after that, Liz Parker was shot at the Crashdown, and brought back to life by Max Evans. And I found myself traveling down that same road...

Looking into the eyes of Max Evans, knowing that he stood for everything I'd ever sought, I knew that I had my final proof in my hands. If I wanted to, I could rectify the name of my father, and make amends with my son. My son. And then I realized it. His eyes reminded me of Kyle, and how I'd betrayed my own flesh and blood. And the voice of Maria DeLuca came back to haunt me, her words of five months previous ringing in my ears...

"Where does she come from?"

"A very nice family. And like you said sheriff, we wouldn't want to destroy any other families in this town, would we?"

There were choices--choices that, looking back in retrospect, I didn't realize that I had.

So I tried to make things right. "Son..."

And the pain in Max's hoarse voice ripped at what was left of my heart. "Would you treat your son this way?"

But I had treated my son that way--not just my son, but the daughters of two of my dearest friends, as well as terrorized six young people who were caught up in something that they didn't deserve to know about. Young people. Human.

I'm sorry, Max. I'm so sorry... It isn't you that I needed to fear. You're just a boy, just a scared, lost boy. Hopefully someday, you'll understand... "Get outta here. The both of you. You were never here. Go on!"

And as they ran off, a weight lifted from my chest. Hopefully someday they'd get their answers. And until they did, I'd make sure that life went on as normally as it could for them. Someone had to look out for the teenagers of Roswell, all of our sons and daughters.

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