Author’s note: Yup, this is it. Boo-hoo. Kinda darker than the previous ones have been, so watch out!

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah not mine. Although if Mista Katims wouldn't mind lending me Brendan and Jason for a night, I would really appreciate it. :)

***

The group decided that it would be best if Damien stayed with Michael in his apartment. Although Michael had no experience taking care of children, he seemed to care about Damien enough to take responsibility of him. The others were over there a lot, and Damien seemed grateful for it.

Alex was his instant favorite, partly because they talked computers until the sun came up. They of course drove the rest of the gang crazy, but there was nothing that they could do about it.

It seemed that Damien didn’t remember anything about his former home, just that it was someplace cold. He said that he was a “winter baby.”

They made a tally of the states that got cold in the winter. “That only rules out like, two,” Alex commented.

When they went to school, they trusted Damien’s intelligence to take care of himself. This worried them to death of course, but there was nothing they could do about it. He had enough common sense not to go out of the apartment, not to use the stove, and to stay away from the knife drawer.

Max found that the voices in his head were getting a little more bold, talking to him in the middle of the day, not only in the night like they had in the past. He was learning to live with them, and eventually he could zone them out. He knew they were coming for Damien soon, but the three Czechoslovakians couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

“These people that are coming for Damien are obviously our people. If they came for Damien, they could take us back too!” Michael yelled with his usual passion. Max chose to ignore it.

“You haven’t heard these voices, Michael. They’re evil. And they sure as hell aren’t looking to bring us back to wherever we come from.”

Michael couldn’t come up with another angry comeback so he chose silence as his defense. It was obvious, though, that he had given into Max’s usual thought-out reasoning.

So they just kept plodding on in this routine, looking for clues that could get Damien back to his home, where he might possibly be safe. It was looking grimmer and grimmer all the time, but their free time was all spent at the library and with Damien.

The first time they came across anything that might be useful, turned out to be a bust. Isabel and Alex had been at the microfiche machine, watching newspapers flash by their eyes. It stopped at a paper with a small article about a missing child in Minnesota. They found a phone number, but the kid had been found, and they had no need for another child. But other than that one false lead, the water hole was dry.

***

“What’s this?” Damien handled the object like a precious treasure.

“That’s a toaster. You use it to cook bread,” Michael answered with tenderness that no one knew that he possessed.

They were in the apartment, admiring the new toaster that Amy had sent over as a gift.

“ShowmeShowmeShowme!!!” Damien squealed excitedly, raising an angry pound of a broom from the tenants downstairs. The others laughed indulgently and Liz proceeded to show him how to pop up the toast while he ohhed and ahhed.

KnockKnockKnock.

With the insistent rapping at the door, everyone stiffened visibly.

“Go hide under the bed, Damien,” Max said.

Alex waited until he was well out of sight before opening the door. “Hello.”

His greeting sounded quizzical, so the others could tell that it was no one that he recognized.

He walked into the small kitchen being followed by a guy in a back suit. Alex was sort of grinning, and was refraining from singing “Men In Black.”

Max swallowed hard, in that way that only his close friends could interpret as Max’s understated way of expressing his complete and utter fear.

“We had a urgent call from your neighbor downstairs saying that you are keeping a small boy here, approximately between the ages of five and eight,” the man said, with almost comical seriousness.

They had practiced this. Countless times.

Max and Liz looked at each other questioningly, while the others stared at the MIB.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re teenagers. No teen parents here,” Michael said with his characterizing half-smirk.

“I realize that, but there have been calls of a small boy spotted in the desert, which matches the description that was given for the boy supposedly seen with each of you at certain intervals, as well as childrens’ laughter and speech being heard here in this apartment. Speaking of which, aren’t you a little young to be owning your own apartment?”

Michael stared. “I got emancipated.”

“Right. Anyway...?”

“Up here, we’ve been practicing a skit for the youth performance. That might have been the voices you heard. As for seeing us around with a small boy, you have to understand that most of us have very long standing Roswell families. I myself have ten smaller cousins, six of which are boys. All of which live in Roswell,” Liz said methodically.

The MIB stared. “Sorry to disturb you.”

Then he was gone. The others burst out in laughter. Damien came out of the bedroom with his huge smile that was beginning to be his trademark.

“I think that we pulled that off pretty well,” Max said, with a rare satisfied smile.

“Not bad at all. Not bad,” Alex said.

Liz sat down on Max’s lap, playing with his hair. Life was good.

Suddenly, she felt him stiffen underneath her. His eyes suddenly got a tortured look in them that she knew only too well. He gently pushed her off him and stood up.

“I have to go.”

“Where ya goin’, Max?” Damien asked eagerly, jumping on the shoulders of the much larger boy. Max pushed him off tenderly and smiled.

“Just have to go back home, Damien. Is?”

“I can get a ride with Maria.”

“Right. See you all.”

He gave Liz a quick kiss and left, leaving the others staring after him.

“What’s wrong with Max?” Damien asked. The others didn’t answer.

***

Max was on his way to the desert. The cave. Their cave.

The voices in his head were suddenly so insistent that Max couldn’t drown them out. They had told him where they were going. It was suddenly so obvious that he kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner.

He rounded the turns much faster than he should. Then a voice popped into his mind. Not one of the evil ones. It was his father, reminding him of how top-heavy jeeps were. He slowed considerably and bit on his tongue hard to keep himself in control.

He pulled into the reservation with a screech and jumped out of the jeep. He started running in the general direction in the cave, not thinking of anything.

“Max! Max! Where are you going?!” He heard Eddie’s inquisitive voice behind him. He didn’t stop.

He reached the cave, not even out of breath and continued to run, scooping up a handful of pebbles and lit his way. It wouldn’t help Damien one bit if he cracked his head open on a rock.

He reached the place were the symbols were, and dropped the handful of rocks. The torches were already lit and a man that looked strangely like Michael was standing in the middle of them.

“Where is Damien?” He didn’t looked away from the cave painting.

“You’re not going to get him. He belongs on Earth. You hurt him. It has to stop now.”

Michael’s father-because that’s who Max figured he was-finally tore his eyes away from the cave painting and stared straight at Max. He choked back a gasp.

While the Michael’s features were all there- pouty lips, alabaster skin, wild hair- the eyes were something that no one would be able to mistake for Michael’s. Michael’s eyes were dark, and about a hundred completely contrasting emotions were always swimming inside of them. The most prominent being anger, hurt, fear, confusion, and a strange dash of something Max couldn’t place when he looked at Maria.

But this guy’s. This guys eyes were pale gray and as cold as ice. Max felt like they were penetrating his very soul, and seeing thing that not even Michael or Isabel knew. Things that he wouldn’t even admit to himself. These eyes were evil.

“What do you plan on doing if we don’t take him? Huh, Max? Yes I know your name. Get the boy and bring him to me.” His voice was strange. Sort of high-pitched and sounded something like nails on a chalkboard.

“No.” Max felt strangely calm. He knew this man could kill him like nothing and would, too.

“We know where he is, Max. You could make this a lot easier on yourself and you friends too. Just bring me the boy.”

“No!” Max’s voice was getting louder now, more desperate.

The man’s eyes hardened even more, if that was possible. “We’ll get him anyway. Give-me-the-boy.” He enunciated each word slowly, giving the phrase effect.

“NOOO!”

“Okay, how about this: I’ll take Damien, and we’ll call it even.” A light voice startled the man and Max out of their staring match.

“Alex!”

“That’s my name.”

“What are you doing here?” Max stared at the lean boy, dumbfounded.

“Eddie called.” This time the voice belonged to Isabel. “He said that you ran toward here from the reservation pretty fast. He was worried.”

“Damien?”

“With Maria and Michael. They left the apartment.” Liz stepped out from behind Alex.

The man with the steely eyes spat, “You think that will do any good? To hide him? We put a tracking device in his head. We can find him anywhere.”

“Well, aren’t you a joy,” Alex said sarcastically. The man snapped his jaw at him.

“You’re not taking Damien.” Liz’s voice sounded so strong, so confident that Max had a hard time believing it was her. He took her hand.

“That’s right.”

The man seemed at a loss. His cold eyes darted back and forth between the four friends. Then he shook his head and smiled a smile that sent shivers up the teenagers’ spines.

“Why am I staying here? I don’t need the permission of a bunch of high-schoolers.”

Then he was gone. He didn’t leave. Just disappeared.

“Beam me up Scottie.” Alex. Of course.

“The sweat tent. Now!” Liz ran out of the cave, and everyone followed closely at her heels. Max couldn’t quite remember how he got to the tent so fast. He wasn’t really thinking about it. But when he got there, and pushed the flap away from the opening roughly, he all he saw was Maria and Michael, unconscious on the floor. He ran to Michael’s side.

“Michael, Michael, wake up! Come on, man.” Max was rewarded for his pleading with a quiet groan from Michael.

“Michael, you have to talk to me. Where is Damien?”

“The light. The light.” Michael’s voice didn’t sound like his own, didn’t feel like it. His spirit was trying so hard to detach itself from his body. It was all Michael could do to open his eyes to see Max kneeling over him, holding him, looking so concerned. That was enough for Michael to hold on.

“What happened, Michael?” Max’s voice was far away, so far away. His face was getting kind of blurry, sort of unfocused. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blond, and twinkle of a red sweater. Focus on the gold, Michael, the red the gold.

“The lights. And the colors. So bright.” The voice that was coming from his mouth still didn’t feel like him. But he kept talking. The feeling was starting to come back into his body and he could feel something hot and wet against his face. Tears? No, that was impossible. He couldn’t feel any pain.

But then it hit him. Pain. Unimaginable, excruciating pain. Pain so great that he couldn’t even pinpoint where it was coming from. He curled up in a tight ball, making himself as small as possible, and screamed.

And Max held him. He held him while the pain was ebbed and he just sat, heaving out inhuman sobs, and shook violently.

“The light, Max. The lights,” he sobbed into Max’s chest.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Max said soothingly, rubbing Michael’s back like he was a child. Michael didn’t mind. Growing up, he never cried. He wasn’t allowed to. To show weakness. But now he just needed to cry.

Max didn’t know how long they stayed like that, him holding Michael, Michael making wretched sobs into his chest. Maybe hours.

Maria was crying too, in Liz’s arms, her sobs just as loud and heart-wrenching as Michael’s. Isabel and Alex were pacing and would shoot worried looks at the two tortured ones, unable to help. Knowing their comfort might make it worse.

After they had stopped crying and pulled away from their comforters they just all sat there. No one looking at each other, no one speaking. They just sat.

Alex was the first one to break the silence. He spoke quietly, gently. “Do you guys want to tell us what happened?”

Michael and Maria looked at each other and drew closer.

“They killed Damien.” Maria’s voice was filled with torture, sorrow.

Max couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He licked his lips and tried again. “Why?”

Michael looked at him, with those tortured eyes. “They said he was a bad boy. That he needed to be punished.”

“Was it-?”

“No pain.” Maria’s answer was quick, severe.

“When we tried to stop them they... they touched us... with something. It looked like a cattle prod, but more powerful. It hurt. A lot... and we passed out.”

“The lights. There were these bright lights... before they came. We tried to run, but our legs wouldn’t move.”

The tears came again, less noisy now, making paths down their dirt-caked faces. The rest of the group was silent, cursing themselves. To paint the picture: Max was standing in the corner of the tent, staring at the rest of the group, his face emotionless. Liz was crying silently, knees tucked into her chest. Alex looked like he was in shock, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Isabel had her jaw clenched tightly and her fists kept opening and closing menacingly. Michael and Maria were in each others arms, sobbing quietly.

They stayed like that for a while, no one speaking. Then they left. Drove in silence. Six friends, one soul.

***

They cut school for about a week after that. Spent it in Michael’s apartment, curled up into couples, watching the television and talking. And when they were ready to put on their best fake smile, they went back.

They went on like that, until Damien faded in their minds and the smiles were no longer fake, and their parents stopped sending them to therapists. But they still stuck together like glue. Six friends, one soul.

But sometimes, when walking down the street or at the museum they would see a little boy with a 100 watt smile and remember...

Back to Area 51 (Section II)