When the sheriff unlocked the door to the cell, he didn't say anything. When he waved me to follow behind him, he didn't say anything. And when we walked into his office, he still didn't say anything.

Her eyes did though. Of course she was standing there, glaring protectively with all her Maria-fierceness, just as I'd seen her do a million times since we were small. Before I could help it, I gave her a little smile. Only Maria DeLuca would beat down walls in the name of justice. She was good at pounding with her fists--such small hands capable of such terrible damage. But she was a fighter, and always had been. And for some reason, she chose to fight for me, even in spite of me, for my sake.

And Maria Rose DeLuca smiled back at me. And I could feel my insides crumble. The walls were gone anyway. It's not like it mattered--not now. Her mom didn't say anything. No remarks about her favorite wrestler, or the hoodlum who was or wasn't taking advantage of her daughter. Her glare was just as intense as Maria's, just as dark, but it was aimed at me. I wanted to tell her that I would protect her daughter just as much as she would, but as usual, I couldn't find the words. I could never find the words around Maria.

And without a word, we were shoved out into the hallway--me and her. And she still didn't say anything. That wasn't unusual--I never knew what to say to her. Everything that sounded so logical in my head somehow twisted round and round until I couldn't say it, like I was stuck in some Carrollian Wonderland. She was my own personal Cheshire Cat and Queen of Hearts, all wrapped up into one. But I couldn't tell her that--shouldn't, wouldn't, and wasn't able to.

So we looked at each other for a long time, from across the hallway. And I tried not to remember her arms around me, her small hands winding their way through my hair, her gentle fingers wiping my tears. I didn't think about her soft weight at my back, and how last night's sleep was probably the best I'd ever gotten. For once, someone was there to hold me as I cried. It hadn't been that way in a long time. Not since we were small, and I was still young enough to crawl through Max's window, falling asleep between Max and Izzy, like we really were a family.

"Why me?" The first words she'd dared to speak. "Why not Isabel or Max?"

Because it was her. Because she was Hurricane Maria and somehow knew me better than anyone. Because of a nookie motel and being the last alien on earth, all alone, just as she was the last human. Because she made me feel human, even though I knew I shouldn't, because being human was being weak and vulnerable.

But the words wouldn't come. They never come when I need them. And I think she's realizing how hard it is for me to tell her these things. So I cupped her face in my hand, leaning my forehead against hers the way Max said he did, concentrated on what had happened last night...remembered the last time Hank'd hit me, five years before...

*flash*

And then he found himself in front of her house. Through her window, he could see her dancing around the room in her nightgown, her long curls flying about her head as she whirled about like one of those dervishes in India. For a minute, he considered knocking on her window, but what could a stupid frycurl girl do? He didn't wanna drag her into it. Something as light as Maria DeLuca didn't need to know how heavy tears weighed you down. So he ran off again, missing the teary face she turned to the window as she waited for her mom to get home from another date.

*flash*

Standing out in the rain, feeling more lost and alone than he'd ever felt. Why had he come here? Once again, his feet had walked without asking permission. His heart picked the direction, and once again, he was called here. This time, she was brushing her hair, a solemn look resting uneasily on her vivid face. No whirling bolt of light this time. But this time, she turned before he could walk away, and he was trapped...right where he wanted to be...

And her eyes closed.

"You knew. You always knew. You were alien--like me."

And her eyes snapped open. And she understood. One tear rolled slowly down her cheek, and she wiped it away carelessly with the graceful flick of one small hand. Just as she'd touched my face last night. Just as those tiny fists used to pound me into the dirt when we were little. Such small hands--a fighter's hands.

So I took that hand, pressed it to my lips, then to my heart. Tried to tell her thanks, and everything that I probably wouldn't be able to say for a long time. Her hands were so small that they managed to find the chinks in my wall that even couldn't. But somehow, those hands were just the right size to hold me last night.

Because it was her.

Back to Area 51 (Section II)