Spoilers: EotW
Rating: PG-13 for themes
Summary: A letter from a future not to be...
Author's Note: This was actually inspired in part by Pacey brushing Joey's hair in the really sappy sex episode last night... For some reason, that action touched the inner romantic in me. Enjoy.

To myself,

Fourteen years ago, my name was Liz Parker. Fourteen years ago, I gave myself, body, heart, and soul, to Max Evans, a man from the stars. I've never regretted that decision. Deep down, in spite of all it has cost us, I've never regretted it. Not for a moment.

Fourteen years ago, I was at a crossroads. I made a choice that, unknowingly, changed the future into something I'd never imagined. When Max and I became one, fourteen years ago, we sealed a fate that made me question my choice many times. We had our chance at happiness, but that, like all things, was snatched from us.

At night, before we slept, Max used to get out the hairbrush and run it through my hair, as if he could untangle all my problems away. I've never been able to really get the tangles out myself. Even when I was little, I'd run to Dad to do it for me, because Mom always yanked on my hair. Whenever Daddy would brush my hair, he'd tell me stories about princesses and knights and magical places where everything ended happily ever after. He was my protector, the one who could always make the world right again. And there was nothing I loved better than sitting in front of him at night after my bath, letting him brush out my hair.

When Maria and I were smaller, and had our slumber parties, she used to brush out my hair for me. We'd take turns playing beauty shop, and she would always end up having to get the tangles out, since I could never reach. My hair was as long as hers was once, and for some reason, she used to envy how flat and lifeless my hair was. Her hair was this living creature of gold curls, yet she'd always wish that her hair was straight and black like mine. "Like an Indian Princess', Lizzie," she'd say and giggle. "Like the night sky." Daddy called us his sun and moon princesses, constantly dancing about each other in a ring of light.

We grew, and Maria cut off her hair. She never told me why, but sometimes she'd look at the long yellow curl that her mom kept in a box in the closet and cry a little. But sometimes she'd still brush my hair, usually when I was upset about something. It calmed me for some reason, as if my happiest, most comforting moment was that little act of love. Whenever something was wrong in my life, I'd lay my head in her lap and she'd stroke my hair. Maria did that right before Grandma Claudia died. For a moment, all the little sorrows of my life were untangled away, just as if I were a little girl again.

Max always had a fascination with my hair. Even that first night at the Crash Festival—that night he told me that it could never be, he ran his fingers through it. It's as if they had a mind of their own. They were soft and hesitant, like he was afraid to touch me. But the feeling of comfort that it gave me… It wasn't the same as when Maria did it, or when Daddy had done it when I was small. It wasn't just erotic thrill, it was as if I was being cherished by someone who loved me most out of the entire universe. Enough to lay his life down for me. Enough to try and change destiny for me.

His first kiss was as light and hesitant as that first time he touched my hair. That night we first made love, he found my brush on top of my dresser and brushed it out for me, making me swear never to cut it short. On our wedding day, he unpinned the flowers from my hair, saving every one, before brushing it out. When we laid in bed at night, he would cover himself in it, saying it was the sweetest blanket of all, like the cloths of heaven.

I cut my hair three months ago. It was too hard to keep it clean, with the war. I never knew when we'd see clean water next, much less a hot shower. Max cried, but he understood. I think Maria did too, because when I showed her the long black ponytail, she had a slight, knowing smile on her face. Max still brushes my hair out for me, just because. He still falls asleep with his face in my hair at night. And somehow, his strong hands running through what's left of my hair still makes the world right again, no tangles left to confuse destiny.

You're so young at seventeen. I try to remember what it was like to be you, but it's hard sometimes. It's especially hard to think that the man I love is coming back to you now, intending to change the very future that he's created with me. But it's worth it. I pray that you never know how much it's worth. If giving up our love gives you the chance to fix the future, for everyone…if it gives you the chance to make your own destiny, then it's worth it.

Have courage. Believe in the choice you make and know that it's the right one. Your love is strong. It will find a way. You will find a way to make it right, to calm all the world's troubles and untangle all its fragile threads. Know that I will never regret, and that neither will Max. For every kiss, every smile…For the new world you'll create.

We shall believe.

Elizabeth Ann Evans
30 October, 2014.

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