Disclaimer: Roswell and all the people, places, and things that make it the great show that it is belong to a whole bunch of people that aren't me, including, but not limited to, Jason Katims and Melinda Metz.

Rating: PG-13, language

Summary: How do Alex, Maria, and Liz cope in a world where the aliens left and never came back?

Feedback: Loved it? Hated it? Please, tell me.

Distribution: Ask and you shall receive. If you already have permission to archive my stuff, by all means go ahead.

* * * * *

He'd known the end was coming for some time now, and had made his peace with the world but for one tiny, but somehow enormous, detail.

It was strange, that now that death was closest that he felt the greatest need to live just a little bit longer. He, who had awaited death almost anxiously for the last thirty years.

His sudden longing for life hinged solely on that one detail. That one insignificant, life-shattering detail.

She hadn't come back.

It seemed like she'd been gone for a lifetime. The bitter part of his mind insisted she had been gone for a lifetime - his. Was this not his death bed it seemed to say.

That she hadn't come back wasn't really important. Well, perhaps it was, but it wasn't what ate away ate him, what made him want to forsake the world beyond for his sorry excuse of a life. No, the really problem was the why.

Why didn't she come back? It was a question he'd asked himself at least once every day for more than thirty years. He'd once thought that any higher power would not be so cruel as to deny him this one answer, but with death so close it seemed that he was proven wrong.

He could have accepted that she had never really loved him. Or could have if he didn't know, and never doubted, that she loved him with all her being. Sometimes, when he was at his lowest, he almost wished that were the case. It would be easier to think that she had never loved him than it was to think that she loved him but chose not to come back anyway.

Not that he believed that either. She would never have willingly chosen not to come back. Never. There had to be a reason. There had to!

A few tears leaked from his eyes as his life slipped even further away. He could feel death closing in on him, time narrowed to mere heartbeats.

Suddenly, she was there.

Standing at the foot of his narrow hospital bed, arm outstretched, she was as radiantly beautiful as ever.

The warmth of her love was almost a tangible thing in the air, the unshed tear in her eyes like perfect diamonds to his weary eyes. He reached out his hand to take hers, and the instant that their hands met he understood.

A solitary tear of joy trickled down his cheek, and his last breath carried her name.

"Isabel."

* * * * *

She was sitting at her kitchen table, a mug of tea in her hands and the latest manuscript on the table in front of her when she heard the door open. When her youngest daughter failed to call out her customary greeting she came to the obvious conclusion.

Something had happened at the hospital - something bad. Alex was gone.

A maelstrom of emotions welled up inside her, anger and relief predominant. Oh, she was sad - she had loved him after all - but her children would be shocked to learn that she was not as grief stricken as they expected.

The shuffling of feet and the sniffles that accompany soft sobbing neared and she turned to the door expectantly. Moments later she was rewarded with the appearance of her daughter. Tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, her delicate vulnerability was only accentuated by the red-rimmed eyes, arms wrapped tightly around herself, and slightly hunched posture of deep grief. She was, in fact, the perfect picture of grief.

"Mom," she started out, only to pause, unsure how to say that her father was dead.

"It's okay, you don't have to say it." She nodded, obviously grateful not to have to have to put voice to that truth.

Something was wrong. Something in her daughter's manner said that there was something she wasn't saying, something that was worse than a father's death. But what could it be? What could upset her so much that her father's death paled in comparison? Unless…

"Did your father say anything before he died?"

Aha! That was it. The brief flash of anger, quickly covered, and the slight hesitation before a reply that came out a bit too quickly, as if to make up for the earlier hesitation, not to mention that actual words themselves.

"He… he said your name with his last breath." Her daughter lowered her eyes as if to stop her from reading the truth in her eyes. It all added up to only one conclusion.

"He said Isabel, didn't he."

"How… how did… how did you know? How could you possibly know? And why aren't you angry?" A wry smile quirked on her lips at the show of temper, before her face resumed it's earlier placid expression.

"He would have said nothing other with his dying breath."

"I don't understand! I can't understand why you aren't angry, why you aren't furious. The man you loved, the father of your children, your husband for crying out loud, said another woman's name with his last breath, and you just accept it like it's nothing! Why aren't you angry!"

Her daughter, at least, was furious. Oh, there was confusion there, but it was mostly anger.

"Well, you're both right and wrong."

"You mean you are angry?"

"No, that's one of the parts you have right, I'm not angry. And you're right in that I loved your father, but not the way in which you're thinking. Your father was many things to me: the father of my children - of course; my friend - always; but my husband - never."

"What?!" That, she definitely hadn't been expecting to hear.

"It's simple really, your father and I were never married, and never had any intention of getting married."

"But… how… I mean…" The confusion on her face was so funny it was almost priceless.

"Well, we told everyone that we were married, of course. You are the only person besides the two of us that knows, and I'd appreciate if it could stay that way."

"Why? Why not get married? Why, if you never had any intention of getting married, would you tell people you were married."

How to explain that so that she would understand? How… Then it dawned on her. She didn't really need to explain, there was a better way.

"Come with me."

She lead her daughter out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into Alex' study.

The study was pretty much what you'd expect a study to be, with the exception of the smallish bookshelf containing only leather-bound journals. The number was at once far to many and far too few to her mind.

"Read these. Start with the one on in the upper left, and work your way through, they're in chronological order. They'll explain. If you still need some explanations after you've finished reading them, I'll explain if I can." With that she turned and left, returning to her tea and her manuscript in the kitchen.

* * * * *

She didn't really want to read her father's journals. It seemed somehow like an invasion. It was, however, obvious from her mother's behaviour that she would forever be left wondering unless she took this opportunity.

Her conscience and her desire to know warred briefly before she heaved a sigh of regret and went to retrieve the first journal. Making herself comfortable on the leather couch in front of the window she settled in for a long read…

* * * * *

It's strange, you've only been gone for a few hours and yet I already miss you more than I ever imagined I would. I wouldn't have stopped you leaving for anything, and I couldn't go with you, but that doesn't mean I can't wish that you didn't have to go or that I can't miss you while you're gone.

I know that when you get back I'll have a millions things that I want to tell you, a million sights I'll want to show you, and a million thoughts I'll want to share with you. The only way I'll ever be able to remember everything is if I write it down, so that's what I'm doing. When you get back I'll give this journal to you, and you can read everything I wanted you to know.

Just think, Isabel, you'll get to hear all about all my boring classes, quirky professors, and horrible assignments! What fun!

I can just picture you reading this, you'll be shaking you're head, telling me to stop being so goofy, but that big grin on your face and twinkle in your eyes will tell me you love me and to never change. I'll give you my best wounded puppy face, and you'll throw your arms around me and burst into laughter.

I love you, I miss you, there's this Isabel-shaped hole in my heart. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

I don't think I ever hated anyone as much as I hate Max Evans and Michael Guerin right now.

I don't hate them because they left, because I know they're coming back just like you are. I don't hate them because of what their leaving did to Liz and Maria, because they had to leave; they need the answers just as much as you do. I don't even hate them for the hurt they caused you when they refused to let you tell your mother why you were leaving. I hate them for something much bigger than that.

I saw your mother today; she looks horrible. The unexplained disappearance of her children has hurt her more than any physical wound ever could.

I saw her on the street when I was on my way to the Crashdown for lunch.

She was on the other side of the street, going the other way, but somehow she managed to catch a glimpse of me. She barrelled across the street in the middle of traffic, a look of fierce determination on her face.

The next thing I know, I'm backed up against a wall, her finger poking me in the middle of my chest, her eyes blazing as she demands to know where you and Max have gone, and why you haven't called.

I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

I managed to stammer out that I didn't have a clue. I think she knew I was lying, but maybe that's just my guilt talking.

My eyes met hers and the pain I saw there… Well, the only way I can think to describe it is that your lack of contact coupled with the unexplained disappearance itself had brought about a wash of self recriminations and accusations. Why else would you have left and not call if not for her complete failure as a mother.

I'd tell her for you Izzy, promises and consequences be damned, but she'd never believe me. Hell, I probably wouldn't believe me. No, anything I could tell her would only make her doubt my sanity or earn me disapproval for my 'lies'.

The best - or worst - part of the whole situation, the part that only makes me hate your brothers more, is that when you come back they'll probably still refuse to let you tell her. Not knowing will probably cause some of that pain to forever stain the soul of one Diane Evans.

I love you, I miss you, sometimes it hurts so badly I don't think I can breathe. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

One year.

You left one year ago today.

I know one year isn't really that long, but somehow I didn't expect you to be gone so long. I know that's not really a very realistic idea, this kind of trip isn't the kind that can be rushed or hurried. You need to learn about your roots, get those answers you've always craved, and then you'll come back to me.

Did you know I was gonna propose? I'd already picked out a ring. I had it all planned out, I was going to propose on the 4^th of July, corny, I know. I'd just bought the ring the day you told me that your relatives had contacted you, and you were going for a visit. I decided then that proposing could wait until you got back, I didn't want to rush you into coming home before you were ready.

I carry the ring with me everywhere. The minute I see you again I'm going to pop the question, I can't wait any longer for you to be my fiancée.

Of course, if you're reading this now, you already know that.

Don't give me that look Isabel, yes that look.

I know I said I'd wait for you forever and a day, but I miss everything about you. The way your face lights up when you see me, the way you never cease to amaze me, the way a smile from you can make me the happiest man in the universe, and yes, even the way you can be a complete bitch when you're having a particularly bad day.

When I feel a bit down all I have to do is reach into my pocket and touch that little black velvet box and suddenly the world is a bit brighter.

Maria says I'm being a sentimental fool, that I don't need some imagined tie to you to make me feel better, but she does the same thing. She'll make one of those comments, you know, the ones that used to send her and Michael into one of their arguments, she'll try to pick a fight just for the hell of it.

She's doing about as well as can be expected, about as well as I am really. There are good days, bad days, and then there are those days that I just want to curl into a ball and wait for it to stop hurting.

I don't hear from Liz much. She's busy at Harvard working towards her goal of becoming Head of Molecular Biology. The few times that I do get a hold of her she's always busy with homework, or heading off to class or to the library to study.

Sometimes I think she's burying herself in her school work so she doesn't have time to miss Max. To each his own, I guess, but death by excessive studying doesn't seem like a fun way to go.

I love you, I miss you, there's a diamond ring with your name on it burning a hole in my pocket. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

Liz asked us to meet her at the quarry today; she had something important to tell us where we wouldn't be overheard. I thought she'd had word from Max, I couldn't have been more wrong.

She's getting married to Kyle.

It seems they met up at a party or something a few years back, and ever since they've been dating.

She calmly explained that she was tired of being alone, that Kyle made her happy, that she wanted to live her life, not put it on hold until Max came back.

Maria flew off the handle, started screaming about how she was betraying Max, betraying us. Liz yelled back that had been five years, and if you three hadn't come back by now you weren't coming back. Then Maria did something I don't think any of us expected - she slapped Liz. She slapped her so hard that her head snapped to the side, and you could quite clearly see the red imprint of Maria's hand on Liz' cheek.

The words Maria screamed next have been forever burned into my brain.

"Don't you say that! They're coming back. They are! And when they do, what are you going to do about Kyle? Are you just going to up and leave him? And what if you have kids? Will you leave them too? God, Liz, you can be so selfish. I hate you. Got that? I HATE you!" With that, Maria stormed off.

Liz looked at me with watery eyes, 'tell me I'm doing the right thing,' she pleaded. I told her the truth. I told her that I couldn't do that, that I didn't believe that she was doing the right thing, but I could understand why she was doing it.

I do, you know. I really do understand why she's doing it. Life would probably be a whole lot easier, I would probably be happier, if I could move on, but I can't move on. I'm not ready to move on and I don't think I'll ever be ready to move on.

While I can understand why Liz is doing what she's doing, I can understand Maria's point. What Liz will be doing to Kyle isn't fair, what she'll do to any children they might have won't be fair. She's using Kyle. She's not marrying him because she loves him, she's marrying him because he's there. When you guys get back either Max or Kyle is going to get hurt, as will any children Liz and Kyle may have.

Liz should know better. She knows what Maria's dad leaving did to her and her mom, what Kyle's mom leaving did to him and the sheriff. I just hope that if Liz chooses to leave Kyle, that she's a bit smarter about it than those two were.

I love you, I miss you, get Max here pronto before Liz screws up big time. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

Liz and Kyle got married today.

It was a beautiful ceremony, but then, most probably are.

Maria and I attended. We were each others 'dates' so to speak. Translation: we went alone together. Liz had wanted Maria to be her maid of honour, or even a bride's maid, but Maria adamantly refused. Instead one of Liz' friend from Harvard did the honours.

Everything was going along like it should, then the priest got to the part about "if any object, speak now or forever hold you peace." Liz scanned the crowd - expectantly. It took me all of about thirty seconds to realise what she'd done. Crazy as it sounds, it's almost like she expected Max to be there, to stand up and object. She honestly let herself believe that Max would know that she was marrying Kyle, and come back just in time to stop her. Maria's in-drawn hiss of breathe told me that she'd noticed the same thing I had.

Luckily, I don't think anyone besides the two of us realised exactly what Liz had done. I wonder if Liz even realises what she did, or if it was just a subconscious reaction.

The reception was a blast, probably due to the amount of alcohol Maria and I consumed. We laughed, we danced, and we generally made idiots of ourselves. The other guest probably thought we were nuts when we started in on the kareoke.

See, we conned the DJ into letting us take over the music while he was on break, and then we proceeded to torture everybody with unholy renditions of whatever songs took our drunken fancy. The strange looks were worth it just for the ability to forget if only for a short time.

At one point, we even tried to get everybody onto the dance floor for a round of the Chicken Dance. Can't you just picture the sheriff flapping and twisting like a small child that hasn't a care in the world.

I love you, I miss you, I want the next wedding to be ours. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

I got a phone call from Liz today.

It took me a while to figure out what she was saying through the sobs, but it seems Kyle wants a divorce.

It turns out he's more perceptive than I've ever thought, 'cause he realised that Liz wasn't really happy married to him. According to Liz, he said that he's 'tired of living in Max Evans' shadow'. I know he loves Liz, but he doesn't want to be married to her if she doesn't really want to be married to him.

I can't say I blame him. I certainly wouldn't want to be caught in a relationship like that. It isn't healthy.

Liz called Maria, but Maria brushed her off, saying 'you made your bed, lie in it'.

I can't say I blame her either. Liz certainly didn't care about the consequences when she went through with the marriage in the first place, and I don't imagine she cares about them now so far as they don't apply to her.

Ah, but Alex, always the good friend, tried to comfort her anyway.

Liz, not in the mood for comfort, insisted that she didn't want to be alone again, and she wanted to find a way to make Kyle drop the idea of divorce.

I'm sorry, Max, for what I said next. I know that it will hurt you, and I know that it will probably end any chance for a relationship between you and Liz when you get back. I gave Liz what she wanted; I told her how to make Kyle drop the idea of divorce. If I hadn't helped her either someone else would have or she'd have found a way on her own.

I told her to forget about Max, that Kyle was her husband, and she shouldn't be wishing for Max if she wanted to stay married to Kyle. I told her to do everything she could think of that would make Kyle forget about ever wanting a divorce. I told her to get pregnant as soon as possible because Kyle would most likely be unwilling to 'abandon' a child by leaving her. Ultimately, I told her to choose what was more important to her - having Max in the future or having Kyle now - and doing everything she could think of to achieve that goal.

What I told her to do was cold and ruthless, and I still have trouble reconciling the Alex that I was with the Alex that would say such heartless things.

I love you, I miss you, every day without you I slip further away. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

You probably won't recognise Liz when you get back, she's changed so much. I never expected her to change this drastically when I gave her advice on how to keep Kyle.

Liz, Miss I'm-going-to-be-head-of-Molecular-Biology-at-Harvard, dropped out of grad school to become a high school science teacher, so she could raise a family. Or at least that's the official reason.

She and Kyle have a kid now, a son. Liz is the picture-perfect wife, the picture-perfect mother. She avoids the topic of the three of you, and will ignore any mention of you.

Maria and I have changed too, but not that drastically. Okay, so Maria draws on the well of bitterness more and more frequently, and I slide further into numbness every day, but at least we're willing to talk about it. Neither of us have taken a sudden u-turn career-wise. So maybe I would never have guessed that Maria would become a scifi/fantasy editor back when we were in high school, but she seems to enjoy it. Every day she gets to immerse herself in fictional words that usually have happy endings, what's not to love? Everybody probably predicted that I'd end up as the computer programmer that I've become, but I'm good at it.

So Maria and I live in LA, in separate apartments, and are always there when the other needs a shoulder, and Liz has Kyle and their picture-perfect life in Roswell. I don't think any of us are really happy, but Liz puts on a good show I must admit.

Liz Valenti is so drastically different from Liz Parker that I wonder who Liz Evans would have been. I know that Maria Guerin would be a much happier person than Maria DeLuca is becoming. I really wish I could have gotten to know Isabel Whitman, I really think I would have loved her, and I bet Alex Whitman would have been a better person for knowing her.

If you don't hurry up and come home soon you'll be greeted by a bunch of strangers.

I love you, I miss you, I don't like who I'm becoming without you. Come home to me soon.

* * * * *

What happened last night was horribly, horribly clichéd, but it happened.

Maria and I got drunk, and when I say drunk I mean royally pissed, and we ended up sleeping together.

It wasn't just because we were drinking, 'cause we've gotten really drunk together before, and it wasn't because it was the tenth anniversary of your departure, though they both factored into the equation. No, I suspect the answer is a whole lot more elusive than that. I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that at some point last night we allowed ourselves to entertain the possibility that you might not be coming back - something that had never happened before.

At some point during our drunken sob-fest one of us, I can't for the life of me tell you who, brought up the notion that what if you didn't come back, what would happen to us then.

We both want something to fill a void, something to leave a mark on the world, to say that Alex Whitman and Maria DeLuca were here. I have hazy memories of a conversation that went something along the lines of: 'I want kids, but could never do to another person what Liz is doing with Kyle.' 'Me too.'

We're both too weak, or is that too strong, to let go of you and Michael, to in love to say 'screw you, I want to be happy', and we both know that any other relationships we may decide to pursue will come to an abrupt and screeching halt as soon as you two walk back into our lives.

So of course one thing lead to another, and we ended up sleeping together. I can't remember that, I can't remember much of last night really, but I woke up this morning, naked, in bed with Maria, and it's pretty obvious from the state of my apartment what we did when we got here.

I hate myself for it, and the fact that Maria's locked herself in my bathroom, sobbing like her soul has shattered tells me that she feels the same way.

This isn't how my first time was supposed to be, damnit! It was supposed to be special, supposed to be with you, and I should really have some memory of the event.

I'm sorry, I really can't do this right now.

* * * * *

I think Maria and I have gone insane. I really do mean that. I mean, how many people do you know who willingly participate in completely ridiculous schemes on a somewhat regular basis? Though I think this whole thing is probably the most ridiculous one of them all.

Yes, Isabel, even more ridiculous than some of the things the six of us did in high school.

Yes, yes, I know we did some really whacked-out things, but I think this takes the cake.

Here's the situation: two people who aren't married, have no intentions of ever getting married, and don't plan on staying together once their respective significant others get back, are on their way to their hometown to tell their parents and former best friend that they are indeed married.

Yes, I know it sounds stupid, but it sounded like a good idea at the time.

It's the perfect solution. Maria and I can have the kids we want, without having to worry about hurting our partner when we leave them for you and Michael. As for the whole pretending to be married thing, well, we both know that society frowns upon children from non-traditional families, and we don't want our children to be teased for our wonky relationship.

We already managed to convince the people at work that we were married, and I don't think that convincing my parents or Amy DeLuca will be a problem. Liz is probably the only one who'll question us about our 'marriage'.

It's kind of weird actually, this pretend marriage thing I mean. We bought wedding rings - simple golden bands, decided on a day to be our anniversary - the anniversary of your leaving, and made up the details of the ceremony - saying the vows at City Hall, and no we aren't planning on having a ceremony for the family. Got to have our stories straight for the inevitable questions.

Truth be told, I think our parents are going to be to happy with the 'marriage' to bother with too many questions. My parents have been wondering why I haven't gone on a single date that they know of since high school, and Maria's told me of all her mom's hints about wanting grandkids.

Oh, there's the 'Welcome to Roswell' sign, I'll tell you how the announcement went later.

I love you, I miss you, come home to me soon.

* * * * *

The announcement went as planned, as I'd suspected it would. My parents were a bit surprised and taken aback by the news, but that quickly transformed into happiness that I'd finally moved on from you. Amy was also shocked at first, but really pleased that Maria had finally given up on Michael. Little do they know, but as the old saying going, what you don't know can't hurt you.

Liz didn't take the news well, but then, I hadn't expected her to. What I was a bit shocked about was what she actually said to us. For the first time since the Kyle wants a divorce thing, she mentioned the three of you.

She also didn't seem to think that Maria and I would ever feel 'that way' about each other. Gee, I wonder what gave her that impression? At any rate, after Maria yelled at her for a while all the steam seemed to come out of her, and in her defeat she grudgingly admitted that maybe thing could change.

What does it say about you when someone who used to know everything about you can so easily be made to accept something fundamentally untrue? Have Maria and I become so different that Liz can't hold firm to her conviction that Maria and I would never fall in love with each other?

I know the plan was to fool everybody, but somewhere deep inside I feel that we shouldn't have been able to fool Liz. Maybe we haven't, maybe she's playing along with this farce for our benefit. Maybe, but I doubt it. Liz isn't that sort of person. I mean, she'd go along with it, but first she'd acknowledge that she knew it was a farce but that she'd play along with it. Of course, she's changed too, maybe I can't say ho she'd react to certain situations anymore.

Maybe I should stop playing the game of maybes and what-ifs.

I love you, I miss you, come home to me soon.

* * * * *

It's a bit scary how much people trust in appearances. To all appearances Maria and I are married, so people accept us as being married. I mean, it's not like I expected people to demand to see our non-existent marriage certificate, but no one other than Liz has ever questioned us.

I've lost count how many times people comment that they wish they had the perfect marriage, like mine. I always have to choke back inevitable the snort of derision that comes when I hear someone make that remark. Perfect marriage, sure guys. Just because Maria and I don't fight people assume our relationship is perfect. We don't fight because there is no fire, no passion, we don't fight because we don't care.

Our friends are surprised that we celebrate our anniversary every year. Every summer we ship the kids off to Roswell for two weeks around that time, so that we can be miserable without witnesses. Then we spend the spend the day drinking and reminiscing. Since that one year we have never sought comfort in each other, and I don't see it happening in the future. That one day of the year we drop all pretence and less all the tears pour out.

We've, or rather I've started a new tradition since that day. Anniversary flowers. Maria's co-workers think it's sweet that I send her the same flowers every year for our anniversary. A bouquet of forget-me-nots - so we'll always remember - with three roses: red for true love, yellow for friendship, and white for hope. Sentimental, I know, but it seems like the right thing to do.

Sometimes, I like to sit on the deck like I am now, and I'll pretend that the three children playing in the backyard are our children, and the woman I can hear cooking supper in the kitchen is you not Maria. The illusion will hold until one of the kids shatters it; be it with a flash of green eyes, a display of Maria's temper, or something else entirely. After a few minutes of pretending one of the kids will inevitably do something that just screams Maria is my mother, and I'm left grasping for that fleeting moment of happiness and peace.

Don't get me wrong, I love my children, but there's always something missing, something not right. I always know they're not your children and that very fact keeps me from loving them as much as I could.

I love you, I miss you, come home to me soon.

* * * * *

I went stargazing today.

We're in Roswell for the holidays and I went out to our spot. I sat on our rock, pretended you were sitting right beside me, and lost myself in the sky.

After a while it almost felt like you were there with me; I could feel the press of your body up against me, smell the scent of you hair. I looked down expecting to see you curled up against me like you had so many times, thinking you'd finally come back to me, but you weren't there.

Was it wishful thinking on my part? Was I caught up in memory? Or were you staring at the stars and wishing you were here with me? Can two people who are as much in love as were are share that kind of connection?

Sitting here now, writing this down, I'm reminded of a conversation Maria and I had. Well, it wasn't really a conversation, it's more like Maria's thoughts that she shared with me, but you get the idea.

She said "Max and Liz are like Buffy and Angel - only truly happy when they're completely miserable. Michael and I are like Devon and Cornwall from Quest for Camelot - we might fight like cats and dogs, but when all is said and done we choose to belong together."

I asked her who you and I were and she said "You and Isabel are Richard and Kahlan from Terry Goodkind's The Sword of Truth - without the other you're already dead inside."

I can't say that I disagree with her assessment - much as I might like to on the part of Max and Liz. They did seem to almost enjoy their misery. As far as she and Michael are concerned, I can easily picture them as a bickering two-headed dragon. I can't deny that without you I'm dead inside.

I love you, I miss you, come home to me soon.

* * * * *

I saw the doctor today; found out why I've been feeling so run down lately.

Cancer. Sudden onset, inoperable cancer.

Maria was with me when the doctor announced it. Moral support and all that.

He tried to put a as good a spin as possible on it, a patient's positive outlook being important to potential remission you know.

When he said that there was a chance that I could beat it if I fought hard enough, Maria and I exchanged a glance that said 'well that's not gonna happen'.

So I've got about a year or so left. The thing is, I'm not really all that upset about it. Sure I'll never get to walk either of my daughters down the aisle, or hold one of my grandchildren. I'll miss all sorts of important things in my kids lives, but that doesn't really upset me all that much.

I am sorry - for my children's sake - that they won't get those things, because they deserve to have them, but I can't make that my reason for existence. I can't live my life for what my children deserve, I can't summon the energy to fight for an empty existence. I'm not that strong.

My children will survive without me. We've raised them well.

If you don't come home soon it will be too late.

I love you, I miss you, come home to me soon.

* * * * *

I never really thought this day would come.

All those years ago, when I let you go, I didn't expect it to be for long; I didn't expect it to be forever.

This isn't how I thought my life would be. Maybe it was overly optimistic of me, but I always expected to get a happy ending.

That said, there are very few things that I'd change. I wouldn't change knowing you, not for anything. Those few short years that we had together I treasure with every piece of me. If you could promise me that I would have lived a happy, full life if only I never knew your love, I wouldn't take it. They say it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all… and they're right.

The only things I would change are that I would have asked you to marry me, and married you before you left. I don't expect that you would have stayed if we'd been married, in fact I probably would have made sure you still went. If you hadn't gone you one day would have come to regret it, to resent me, and I wouldn't - couldn't - be the cause of that.

It's getting too painful to hold the pen, too painful to write. In a few days I'll be gone, so this is my last chance to say this.

I love you Isabel - with all my heart - always and forever.

Goodbye.

* * * * *

She closed the last journal, tears flowing silently from her eyes.

Her father was not who she'd thought he was. Having read his journals she understood that her father hadn't really been alive for a long time. It didn't make the pain of his death go away, but it did help her deal with it.

The journals hadn't answered all her questions. Or, to put it more accurately, they had answered the questions she'd had before she started reading but they also brought up more questions.

She found her mother in the kitchen, washing dishes.

"Well, did they answer your questions?" her mother asked, not turning from the sink.

"Yes and no. Would you mind…?"

"I said I would, didn't I? Just let me put on some tea."

Once the tea was made they sat a the kitchen table. Absently, she stirred her tea as she began speaking. "Well, I understand why you reacted the way you did, and I think I understand you and Dad a whole lot better now. Um… okay, my first question. Why did they leave?"

"You mean it didn't say?"

"Not in so many words, no. He only wrote things like 'you had to go to get answers to your questions' and 'visit family', stuff like that. That doesn't explain why they had to leave. I don't get it."

She heard a muttered "Alex always was smarter than Liz", a comment she didn't think she was supposed to hear. Then her mother replied quite clearly. "If Alex didn't write it down then I'm not about to tell you. Let it rest. They needed to leave, lets leave it at that."

She would have protested, had her mother not seemed so resolved on the matter. When her mother made up her mind you could argue 'til you were blue in the face and it wouldn't do you any good.

"Okay," she said, rather reluctantly. "Did it ever occur to you that they might be dead, that that was why the didn't come back?"

Her mother winced before answering that one. "We tried not to think about it, but yes, I suppose at some point it did occur to us that they might be dead."

Okay, that's a weird answer. "Why not? Why wouldn't you seriously consider it?"

"That way lies dragons." What?! Geez, cryptic much. Her mother must have seen her utter confusion, that or she felt the need to explain, because a fountain of words poured forth.

"We could never be sure. As long as there was that uncertainty there was hope. As long as there was hope there was a reason to live. We went through some pretty bad times since the day they left, and if we'd allowed ourselves to believe - even for one second - that they were never coming back well… that would have been it."

"Are you saying…?"

"Yes. I can't really explain it that well, but yes we would have. If we could have known for sure that they we dead we would have joined them on the other side."

Oh. My. God. It's one thing to know what that your parents spent most of their lives pining for lost love, but to know that they spent most of their lives a hairsbreadth from suicide, that something else.

The next thing she knew she was being enveloped in her mothers arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "Shhh. It's okay baby. I'm here, I'm here."

* * * * *

He watched from his spot on the small rise as three women made their way out into the middle of the desert.

The pixie-like greying blonde stopped suddenly, closing her eyes and throwing her arms out to her sides and let the slight breeze whip around her, a memory of arms that would never again hold her in this lifetime. The breeze died down, and she reached into the bag that had fallen to her feet. Pulling out an urn, she waited for another breeze to rise before up-ending it, letting the ashes contained therein scatter to the far reaches of the desert.

"May you find the happiness you were denied in life."

The greying brunette moved slowly to face her. After a few minutes of staring into each other's eyes, the two older women embraced, the young blonde looking on with unshed tears in her eyes. After a few minutes the two women separated, and all three began the trek back to the car parked by the side of the road.

"Do you think they'll finally be able to resurrect their friendship?"

He turned to the speaker, "I hope so. I really, really hope so." Isabel gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

With that the four watchers turned and walked away, the glint of metal from a crashed spaceship almost visible behind their fading forms.

Back to Area 51 (Section II)