Category: M&M, inevitably

Rating: Bit of bad language, but nothing horrible.

Disclaimer: If you've heard I don't own these characters: It's true.

Author's Note: Short piece in response to some unfortunate spoilers I read regarding the new season. This is the way I kind of wish the first couple of episodes were like. Let's face it, Michael needs a spanking. (And, yes, I'm still working on Visitors. Right this moment, in fact. Hehe.)

***

He tried calling again, just to make sure he hadn’t misdialed. Carefully he went over each number, making sure he didn’t make a mistake. The phone rang and he waited. A tight knot had formed in his stomach but he was sure it was a result of skipping lunch. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t hang up until he was sure she wasn’t picking up. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. He stared into space and waited.

Finally, after minutes of listening to the interminable ringing, he hung up. Mentally, he tried picturing what he had dialed. Maybe he’d made a mistake again. No, he’d tried numerous times and had the same results. She wasn’t picking up. She wasn’t at the Crashdown so she had to be home. And she wasn’t picking up.

He thought about going to her house but the last time she’d caught him looking through her window, she’d angrily shut the drapes, mouthing a very distinctive curse. All in all, he thought he was most definitely screwed.

Regret didn’t begin to cover what he felt about what he’d said to her that night at the UFO museum. He’d wanted to sound macho and noble. After all, wasn’t he giving up something he loved for the cause? Wasn’t he saving her from potential harm at his own very dangerous hands? He’d figured she should have thanked him for sparing her future grief. Now, he realized how stupid he’d sounded, how clichéd it all was. He wasn’t being noble at all. He was chickensh*t.

The first few weeks, he’d tried to rationalize it. He still wanted to believe he’d done the right thing. Then, one night, he caught sight of her walking along the main thoroughfare, holding hands with some guy. Some strange guy he’d never seen before was holding her hand, smiling, whispering into her ear. And the worst part was, she was smiling too. She was enjoying herself. He knew then that if his powers were really out of control, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from blasting the guy to kingdom come. It sounded very Clint Eastwood, but that’s how he felt.

He started calling her, leaving messages, but she never responded. He went to the Crashdown on his night off, looking to talk to her. She’d made sure they were never scheduled together, so ambushing her was his only choice. She simply ignored him. Once, he’d mustered the courage to walk right up to her and say "hi" but she was looking right through him. Sometimes, though, she slipped and she gave him dirty looks. They gave him hope that she was still feeling something for him, anything. Anger was better than indifference. He’d felt good that night at her window, when she told him to f*ck off. That was a real breakthrough.

One night she was scheduled to close the Crashdown, he waited for her out in the parking lot. She looked tired, probably grouchy from dealing with a restaurant full of tourists. She had almost reached her car when she saw him. She stopped dead in her tracks. It seemed to him she was debating what to do. The look in her eyes told him she wanted to bolt. In fact, she took a few steps back, making him follow. Then, she surprised him by quickly moving toward him-- like she was getting ready to charge-- so that he was the one moving back. He felt the Jetta’s door dig into his back, halting his retreat. Smiling, she placed her hands on either side of his waist. He hadn’t been this close to her in months. Her familiar scent enveloped him and his mouth went dry. That smile on her face frightened him. It was joyless. It was the kind of smile you saw on someone about to get her revenge. And she did.

She slowly moved up to him, her hands stealthily encircling his neck. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she pulled him down for a kiss. He’d kissed Maria many times. He’d felt her passion, her willingness to please, her tenderness. This kiss was like no other they’d ever shared. She’d pulled his hair, hard, until he thought she’d rip it from his scalp. Her lips were furiously working on his; her teeth bit tongue, lip, anything she could get hold of. Her body molded itself to his. Whenever he moved to place his hands on her, she slapped them away, moaning angrily into his mouth. He was more than a little scared. Probably because he was enjoying himself. Her misery, her fury, and her need all were transferred in that kiss. A kiss that was almost an exorcism, helping to extract some of the pent up resentment she’d no doubt been feeling.

It went on like that until he forcibly took her arms and began kissing her the way he wanted to. She thrashed around for a few seconds, refusing to let him take control of the situation. Then, he was amazed when she responded to his caresses. For a brief minute, she hugged him to her with all her might, sharing her mouth in what he thought was reconciliation. Brother, had he been wrong.

She must have come to her senses because all of a sudden, he was pushed with a force he couldn’t believe she possessed. Quick as lightening, she kicked him the shin. As he moved to grab it, she picked up her purse and keys and got into her car. He was still wincing as the car roared off the parking lot and onto Roswell’s darkened streets.

He hadn’t seen her for a week. When he’d asked Liz where she was, she curtly replied that Maria was on vacation from the Crashdown for a while. She didn’t say for how long.

He picked up the phone, itching to dial again. Maybe this time she would pick up. He put the phone back down and ran shaky hands through his disheveled hair. He’d try again tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, she’d pick up. If she didn’t, he could always visit her. He lay back into his couch and told himself it wasn’t manly to cry. After all, tomorrow was another day.

***

Mornings were never good for her. The sun shining in her face was never a good experience. She didn’t rise-- a la Snow White-- to birds chirping on her windowsill. This morning was especially difficult. Her head was throbbing and she had a somewhat sick feeling in her stomach. Then she remembered the night that had given her nightmares for the past week and she was sure she was going to throw up.

What the Hell had she been thinking? Months of work tossed away in a matter of seconds. She’d thought she’d made so much progress. She’d steadily ignored his calls, his feeble attempts at striking up conversations, and that time he’d shown up at her house, she’d rather easily told him what was what.

That miserable night she’d been caught off guard, she decided. It was a bit disconcerting seeing him there, looking like a lost puppy dog. Suddenly, the idea to show him just what he was missing popped into her head. It was preposterous, she now realized. If he was following her around, he already knew what he was missing.

Nevertheless, revenge had been her main objective. Not putting her lips on his after months of wanting to. Not running her fingers through his hair. Not leaning close to his hard body. Revenge.

It seemed fairly easy, at first. She’d grabbed his hair and pulled hard, satisfied when he winced. She wanted him to feel pain. He’d looked somewhat scared, and that was satisfying, too. Most satisfying was grinding her lips into his. At least, it was until she realized she wasn’t punishing him. Not only that, she’d quickly become all too aware that conscious thought had become very difficult. He’d seemed to sense that because the power dynamic shifted and he’d taken control. Luckily, she’d snapped out of it long enough to push him away. The kick had been mostly a distraction tool.

She groaned inwardly. All that work, down the toilet. Now he probably thought he had something on her; that she was his again. And she wasn’t. No sir, she most certainly was not.

She heard the phone ring for the millionth time. She knew it was him. She’d told Liz and Alex she wasn’t going to be taking calls. She briefly considered picking up, giving him a piece of her mind. Telling him if he didn’t quit stalking her she’d sic Sheriff Valenti on him.

Her hand hovered over the receiver until the ringing stopped. She sighed. It was hard hearing the phone ring so much. The sound was annoying. She felt compelled to pick it up, just to make it stop.

Moving back onto her bed, she decided maybe she should get more sleep. Maybe this time she wouldn’t be plagued by one of her awful nightmares. They always involved him, the qualifier "maybe", and a freefall from the top of a cliff.

She must have fallen asleep, because just when she he felt herself hurl through space, she heard a loud thump. Instantly, she sat up in bed, blurry eyed and dry mouthed. She heard the thump again, coming from her window.

She drew her drapes back, physically pained by the intensity of the sun. When she could see normally again it was only to gaze into the eyes of a very unwelcome visitor. Pulling the drapes shut, she fought the urge to scream. She would ignore him. That’s what she’d do.

The thumping persisted. Thump, thump, thump. She sat bolt upright, each thump increasing her fury. Thump, thump. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, it stopped. She got up and slowly moved to her window. When she snuck a peek through the drapes, she was more than a little surprised to see his face pressed right up to the glass. Shrieking loudly, she nearly fell over.

That’s it, she thought, I will not be accosted in my own home. Slipping some shoes on, she decided to put an end to the matter, once and for all. She went outside her house, around to her bedroom window. She sneaked up behind him-- because he was still too absorbed with looking into her room-- and gave him a shove that propelled him onto the ground.

He landed on his face. And it hurt. Why was she being so violent lately? He turned around to see her laughing at him. Was she going to kick dirt in his face next? Maybe he deserved it.

Rolling onto his knees, the only thought in his mind was "now or never." He reached for her calves and pulled her to him. She lost her balance but his strong hands kept her standing. His arms went around her thighs; his head was nestled in her stomach. He hugged her tightly, even as she struggled to get away.

"Stop it, Michael! Let go of me. Please." He heard the pleading tone of her voice, and it nearly broke him. He knew that it was difficult for her to be near him, that he’d hurt her deeply and that she didn’t want it to happen again.

He didn’t let go. "I’m sorry, Maria."

She stopped fighting him. She stopped moving entirely. He thought she might have stopped breathing.

Maria thought she might still be caught in her stupid dream. No way had she heard him say those words. Those words were reserved for dream Michael. He was caring and considerate. Not like real Michael who was oafish and rude and selfish. This couldn’t be real Michael. "Maybe," she murmured.

He drew his head back and tried looking into her eyes, but found they were closed. "What?"

"Don’t you mean, maybe you're sorry?" She said it softly, but he could still here the bitterness in her voice.

"No," he proclaimed, with a fierceness that made her look down at him. His face was set hard and determined. It was a look she’d only seen when he was doggedly searching for answers about his past. She never thought she was important enough to warrant that look from him. That intensity belonged to another part of his life. Not her.

And yet, there he was, hugging her to him, unwilling to let go, searching her out the way he’d searched out Nacedo. It almost killed her resolve.

The rest did. "I’m sorry," he repeated. There was a long pause. "I love you."

She put her hands on his shoulders, because she still needed to steady herself. She gave him a quizzical look. "You’re sorry you love me?"

He grinned. She was talking to him. "No. I’m sorry and I love you."

Her breathing was a little shaky. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Hm." She was still clutching at his shoulders. All the while, she was wondering what in blazes she should do. The easy thing would be to throw herself at him and forget about everything. The smart thing might be to wait, see what happened, maybe make him earn her trust.

She felt his hands move from around her thighs, and up, to wrap themselves around her waist. "Maria?"

She looked down at him. He was waiting for something. A response, probably. "What?"

"Maria," he said, and the huskiness in his voice made her shake. Oh, Hell. She grabbed his hair and pulled, slightly, to let him know to get up. He did and as soon as his mouth was close, she took it with her own. Carpe diem, as they say.

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