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. And the song "Somewhere Out There" belongs to James Horner and all the people who created "An American Tail." Oooh, 80s flashback. :)

Somewhere out there
Beneath the pale moon light
Someone's thinking of me
and loving me tonight

"Did you sleep good, Beau?"

"Yup, Daddy." The dark-eyed boy crawled up into his lap with his stuffed teddy bear.

"You had good dreams?"

"How can you tell? Did you do magic like Uncle and read my mind?" There was a look of awe on the little boy's face.

"Naw, baby, you just had that smile on your face."

"Mama's smile?" There was a thoughtful look on the boy's face--his mother's look, for all the boy's short, dark hair, and already sharply planed face. And the ears that stuck out like wings--he could never forget the ears.

"Yeah, Beau. Mama's smile."

Somewhere out there
someone's singing a prayer
that we'll find one another
in that great somewhere out there

The little boy snuggled up closer into his daddy's lap and solemnly handed him the old stuffed bear. The poor toy's neck was ringed with clumsy stitches from frantic surgeries, and the nose was faded from two generations of loving. "Bear will make you feel better, Daddy. He always makes me feel better."

And after a long silence--"Thanks, Beau."

He pressed his lips to his son's short hair, remembering every minute he spent with the little boy's mother--even to the last breath she took, expelling their son into the world. They'd never thought it would kill her. The other babies in the family had been born just fine...

"Daddy..." A tiny hand reached up to cup his cheek. Her hand, already with the beginnings of long, graceful fingers. "Sing me the song, Daddy. Like she does."

He smiled. Somehow, singing always made them both feel better. It made him forget for a while, what it was like to be a single father, and the frustrations he felt when he couldn't control his son's powers. And the bittersweet pain he felt, every time he looked into his son's face, and saw the love of his live there. He hadn't spoken a word after her death--not until eight months later, when his son crawled over, laying a tiny hand on his leg, and spoke his mama's name, clear as the stars. His son was his light, and he saw her in his boy's every look, in his odd serenity, in his instinct to protect and nurture the entire world.

And so he sang for the little boy who sat in his lap, the child the stars sang for every night, and the reason why five stars among the Aries constellation shone especially bright--almost in the shape of a mother's outstretched arms.

The song that his mother had always meant to sing--the song that the entire family thought summed up the very existence of the six of them, and whatever famlies lay on both sides of the universe.

And even though I know how very far apart we are
it helps to think we might be wishing' on the same bright star.
And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.

"Beau Whitman! Time for preschool! We'll be late if you don't hurry up, little bear!"

And in the distance, Alex could hear the sounds of Maria's large brood, clambering at the door to the small apartment over the garage.

"Scootch, Beau. You can't be late. And remember..." He looked solemnly into Beau Philip Whitman's dark, soulful eyes, "no turning anything colors, just because it doesn't look nice."

"Yes, Daddy." And the boy smiled his mother's smile. Beau from belle, the most beautiful part left of Isabel Diane Evans.

And as his son thundered off with his cousins to school, Alex picked up his guitar and played for a little while, letting his music, as always, cry his bittersweet tears.

Somewhere out there, if love can see us through,
then we'll be together somewhere out there,
Out where dreams come true.

Back to Area 51 (Section II)