#alex voice kyle this is so fucking stupid. are you empty in the head. also where do i sign

[mindshelter]

so! a fan message featured in letters to the editor that joked the most fictional part of kyle's story is how easily he secured an apartment in NYC. from the looks of it kyle showed up at his ex-girlfriend's apartment to ask to move to new york together and not only did alex immediately agree (they're both nuts, let's not forget), but they also seemingly began to plan look for a place to rent right away.

it also means that kyle and alex contacted radu to to rent a suite and start a new life together, and when kyle eventually turned up, he turned up alone. fun :)

[foramomentonly]

Saved-A Meet Ugly

Author’s Note: Behold, the promised meet ugly inspired by @aewriting ! Blatantly stealing titles from early aughts teen films of my youth at this point.

Summary: Alex discovers a) his new roommate is a Christian Fundamentalist who hates him, b) he’s love with said roommate, and c) he’s super wrong.

 CW: negative perspective on organized Christianity/Fundamentalism

Read on AO3

Alex meets his dormmate briefly in the hall as he and his parents are heading out to lunch. Michael Guerin is friendly, his barely-contained, nervous energy evident in the restless way he passes his hands through his close-cropped curls. His parents are formal, bordering on sour, and they glare at Alex’s eyeliner and polished fingernails with disdain. They don’t invite him to eat with them. Then again, Alex thinks as they part and he wanders towards the room he’ll share with Michael, his own father didn’t even bother to drop him off at school. Glass houses, or some shit like that.

Michael has claimed the left side of the room, his bed neatly made up with simple, blue sheets and his desk stuffed with thick textbooks, some already clearly marked with wear. A battered, clunky-looking laptop charges on his nightstand. Some secret tension in Alex slowly uncoils with the knowledge that he isn’t sharing living space with some rich prick; when he eschewed the Manes family military tradition for higher education, Alex left home with little more than his scholarships and a military duffle stuffed with clothes and stolen linens to his name. Knowing his days of watching douchebags like Kyle Valenti flaunt expensive tokens of their parents’ unconditional love are over is a small comfort. 

That is, until Alex notices the crucifix resting on Michael's plaid pillowcase. It’s innocuous enough; Liz Ortecho's small home has plenty, family heirlooms hung as reverently as Texas gas station finds, and Alex counts her among his true family. But the facts fall into place like thundering dominos—Michael’s parents' disgust at Alex's makeup, the family's conservative clothes, Michael's closely-chopped hair and, after a bit of snooping, the two well-worn Bibles Alex finds, one in Michael's nightstand and the other on his small bookshelf. Fundamentalists, most likely. Alex swears loud and defiant into the empty room. He thought he'd left bigots and homophobes in his dust, but like a plague of fucking locusts, they followed him, and here he is about to share a sink with one of them. 

But Alex also knows better than most that kids aren’t always carbon copies of their parents’ stupidity; he’d flip his shit if someone assumed they knew literally anything about his beliefs based on his asshole father. So when Michael returns to the room Alex is in stealth mode, spread out across his bed and feigning disinterest by flipping through his welcome packet, tracking Michael’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Michael blows a loud puff of air out through his lips and looks like he’s about to flop onto his bed. When he sees the crucifix, he freezes; Alex is about to celebrate a victory against religious indoctrination when Michael lifts the small cross reverently off his pillow and, after an appraising scan of his space, hangs it low on the wall above his nightstand, dragging his school-issued lamp in front of it. He jerks his chin down in a small nod of satisfaction before his eyes dart quickly over to Alex; he almost catches Alex in a glower. Instead, Alex is quietly seething over an intramural sports schedule, his face blank, eyes burning holes in the middle of the page. He figures he’s in the clear when he hears Michael’s bedsprings creak with the sudden weight of his body. Alex glances up and Michael is crossing his arms lazily behind his head. He lets out a loud, satisfied sigh and shoots Alex a disarmingly sincere grin.

“Free at last, huh?” he drawls, and Alex arches a cold brow.

“Sure.”

Alex has every intention of icing Michael out of his daily existence, but as months go by—months where Michael lets his curls grow wild, rambles on and on about the science of irrigation, offers Alex his extensive biology notes for midterms, and laughs loud and deep at all of Alex’s snarky asides—Alex finds himself smiling easily at Michael in return, willingly passing lazy lunch hours and weekend afternoons with him. It comes down to this: for all Michael hasn’t done—the crucifix is an ever-present shadow above his nightstand and weekly video check-ins with his parents are never missed—he just doesn’t fit the mold. He smokes weed on the abandoned picnic tables behind the dorm at night, signs every social justice-oriented pledge and petition shoved at him on a cheap, plastic clipboard on their way to class, and he never wakes up before noon on Sundays. He isn’t fire and brimstone, hate and hellfire. He’s marshmellow fluff; laid back and open, sweet and eager to please, all messy curls and broad shoulders and goofy smiles with too much teeth and—oh, fuck. Alex is in love with him. 

Alex is in love with Michael and Michael probably thinks Alex deserves to burn in hell and it’s Kyle all over again. Alex was never in love with Kyle Valenti, but he loved him the way a neglected, angry little boy would love the popular, gregarious kid who was his only source of sunlight. Graciously. Blindly. Kyle was Alex’s best friend, and when middle school puberty made evident that Kyle was a stud and Alex was, well. Alex felt the betrayal of Kyle’s sudden targeted cruelty like a punch to the gut, long before Kyle or his new friends ever laid hands on him. And now, Alex realizes, Michael is his best friend and his heart’s deepest desire and, he’s finally ready to admit, who he jerks off to on lazy mornings after Michael’s barely made it out the door for his 8 a.m. class with a shirt on. Alex is well and truly fucked. “Damned” is too on the nose.

Then one day Alex is dragging his miserably-in-love ass back from class and he totally misses the tie that slipped from the doorknob onto the ugly carpet in front of their door and he opens it on Michael and some random guy going at it on Michael’s bed, sheets bunched at the foot of the mattress, shirts tossed inside out on the floor, and Michael’s hand deep down the guy’s jeans as he pants and whines into Michael’s mouth.

“Shit!” Alex cries, waffling between shutting the door behind him to shield them from the prying eyes of hallway passers-by or in front of him to shut himself out of his own room. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Michael looks flustered, but it’s not the bone-deep terror of being outed; Alex is intimately familiar with that darkest timeline of queer identity. His boyfriend—hook up?—just looks annoyed. His dark eyes glare at Alex and he snaps, “Do you mind, man?” with a sharp nod towards the door. Alex squares his jaw and opens his mouth to retort when Michael says softly, seriously, “Don’t talk to him like that,” shaking his head at his bedmate. The guy huffs in disbelief, rolling off the bed to pull on his shirt, still inside out, and fasten his jeans, brushing his fingers through messy, deep brown hair. 

“You’re seriously kicking me out right now?” he murmurs low, and when Michael doesn't answer, he spits, “You are such a dick.”

Michael winces and bites his lip, normally bright eyes dim and gaze cast down towards his own hands. The sight of Michael cowed, flushed and hurt and getting told off by the same Hot Topic reject who was getting off with him not five minutes ago trips Alex's long-dormant kill switch. He steps into the guy's space, pulling back his shoulders so his shirt stretches tight over the muscles of his arms and chest, and draws up to his full height.

"You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of our room," Alex says, voice low and eerily calm, even to his own ears. The guy glowers at Alex, but the corner of his mouth twitches and he blinks first, intimidation evident in his narrowed eyes. He brushes past Alex and slams the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks, moving closer to Michael on instinct and setting a comforting hand on his bare shoulder. Michael gazes up at him with wide, honey eyes, opens his soft, pink mouth, and blurts, "I love you."

Alex blinks, gapes, and what comes out of his mouth is an incredulous, “But I’m gay!”

Michael snorts, cups Alex’s forearm gently and runs his palm up and down his skin, the soft hair on his arms.

“Yeah, I know. That’s kinda why I’m hoping I have a shot.” He pauses, hesitation creeping across his face, and he takes his hand off of Alex abruptly, as though he hadn’t quite realized he’d put it there in the first place. “If you’re not interested, I totally—”

“No, no, I am,” Alex says, and the wattage of Michael’s answering grin could power the university’s electric grid for the rest of the semester. “But I thought you were, like, Team Westboro or whatever.”

Michael’s face falls, his whole body withers, and he hugs his arms around his naked waist. The impact of Alex's words on Michael horrify him, and he drops onto the bed next to Michael, takes Michael's hand in his and strokes his thumb across it’s back, feels the knots of Michael’s knuckles as he grips Alex's hand in return.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Michael asks, staring at their palms pressed together in his lap.

Alex shrugs, answers, "I mean, I didn't. I don't. Not about, like, you." Michael turns his head, brow wrinkled in confusion. "It's just. The cross? The Bibles? Your parents, I—"

"They're not my parents, "Michael interrupts, voice flat. "They raised me, but. They never formally adopted me, and I'd have fucking run the other direction if I thought they were gonna."

Alex stays quiet, waits for Michael to continue, squeezes his hand gently to let Michael know he's listening.

"They're Fundamentalist assholes, for sure, but I never bought into that shit, especially once I—I realized I like more than just girls." Michael reaches out, pushes his lamp out of the way and glares at the crucifix. "I'd love to never see their fucking faces ever again, but winter break is coming up, and then summer vacation, and—" He hangs his head, nearly whispers, "I need to have a place to go. I can't afford an apartment on my own yet. So I play nice. Put that on my wall and make sure it's in the background for video calls. There’s, like, zero support for kids who age out of the system alone. I fucking hate it, but I need them." 

Michael leans his head close to Alex's, catches his gaze and holds it with deep, whiskey-colored eyes Alex all but falls into.

"I'm not ashamed of what I like or who I love," he says, "and I'm so fucking in love with you, Alex. I just thought maybe you weren't into me."

Alex licks his lips, and a flush of arousal darkens his cheeks as Michael tracks the movements of his tongue with hungry concentration.

"I'm extremely into you," he says, his throat very suddenly bone dry, his voice husky. Michael's gaze hasn't moved from his lips, but he has flipped Alex's hand in his lap, starts running slow, feather-light brushes of his fingertips across Alex's palm and up his arm, fingers snaking under the short sleeve of Alex's shirt.

"I really wanna kiss you," Michael breathes, "but I’m also aware you just walked in on me hooking up with, like, Alex Manes-lite, so I—"

Alex closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Michael's and cupping his neck, fingers finding their way into Michael's curls like he's been fantasizing about for so long. They're silky, clingy, and Michael tastes like lingering mouthwash and he smells like rain and Alex presses himself into Michael's lap, desperate to feel Michael's arms around his waist, the hard press of his chest against Alex's.

"I really want to do more than kiss you," Alex pants when they reluctantly part for air, when Michael’s fingers slip beneath his shirt and his nails scrape down Alex’s spine, and Alex feels the touch much lower on the geography of his skin.

Michael laughs, loud and free, and his strong hands on Alex's hips guide his legs apart until Alex is straddling his lap, those same hands pushing Alex's shirt up his chest, over his head.

"Thank God," Michael laughs, and reaches for Alex's belt.

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 7

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alive but weak, Michael wanders Alex’s house as he tries to come to terms with the past few days.

Excerpt:

 At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

 What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

 But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

 So he’d live with it.

--

 “Fuck!”

 Michael’s water glass flew to his hand but bumped the edge of the table and skidded the last few feet, spilling water across its surface. Still cursing, Michael shoved his chair back and got to his feet to clean shit up the old-fashioned way, on weak and shaky legs, with weaker and shakier lungs.

 Max kept healing him, checking for any possible little injury, but it seemed that Michael was just weakened by the enormous strain Jones’s “teaching” had put on his body, and he’d have to build back his strength.

 So there it was. All his fears about not being to protect anyone, all the needy clamor in his head, all of them led him here, by nothing but his own recklessness and desperation. Weak as a kitten. More a burden on Alex, quite literally, in his life, taking up his space, invading his home, leaning on him to get from point A to point B.

 Fuck.

 He was, at least, too tired to wallow in much, in between long jags of ragged sleep, torn apart by vivid dreams of light and letters and scraps of knowledge just out of reach. But despite the awful aftertaste of near-death those dreams represented, they were almost better than his waking hours, hovered over by a furious Isobel and a Max worried half to death, Valenti inspecting him head to toe the normal way, Maria trying to cheer him up, and      Alex    .

 They hadn’t spoken much since Michael awoke. Alex had to work, and when he didn’t, they, well. Cohabitating was a lot to get used to. But no matter how awkward things got, he offered a perfect porcelain protection, and Michael studied him obsessively for flaw, for the true Alex underneath the façade brought on by Michael’s own foolishness.

 “Everything going okay?” Max asked, emerging from the guest bedroom, Buffy at his heels. She’d become his shadow in the days since Michael’s near-death; it was almost endearing enough to keep Michael from snapping at him, but only almost.

 “Fine,” he snarled, but far from driving Max off, his tone brought Max forward, to sit across the table from him and fold his arms.

 If snapping wasn’t gonna keep people away, why had he been working so hard to not be a total asshole for the past few days, through every well-meaning coddle and condescension from any one of their friends, from everyone but Isobel, who wasn’t talking to him.

 Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt disturbed Michael’s surly mood.

 “Go ahead,” he said a little too loudly, before those thoughts could get to him. “Tell me what a hypocrite I am. One of you has to, and it might as well be you. I was fucking stupid after getting on your case constantly, and it almost killed me. Go ahead!”

 “You seem to have gotten a head start, so I don’t see the need,” Max said wryly.

 Michael scoffed.

 Picking up Michael’s abandoned glass, Max ran his finger around the rim as he spoke. “You know, I know what it’s like to lose this. When my heart was still so weak…I pushed myself too hard and almost…well. You know. So I understand. Give yourself time. Let your system settle and see where you are.”

 The words were too kind and too logical for Michael to bear, so he let out another bratty huff and didn’t respond.

 Max just sighed again. “Well. Anyway. Kyle’s going to be here soon. I know you hate him, but he’s—”

 “I don’t.”

 “Huh?”

 “Hate him. Kinda hard to hate the guy after what he did for you. I don’t like the doctor shit, but…”

 That brought out a small smile on Max’s face, and the knot in Michael’s stomach unclenched. “That’s good,” he said.

 A knock on the door saved Michael from having to find a dignified answer, and he stood hastily to answer it—a little too hastily, it turned out, because the world tipped and took Michael with it.

 “How ‘bout you let me,” Max said as Michael dropped heavy back into his chair before falling. He clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Alex’d kill me anyway if it was trouble and I let you answer it.”

     Alex.    The too-casual reminder that he might have some kind of stake in Michael’s well-being sent him reeling. What was he supposed to do with that information, that perspective? How did he earn it, how was he worthy of it, and how did he keep it from flying away? All questions that were too much to answer—questions he’d asked his ceiling and his eyelids and his stars every night for a decade and was farther than ever from answers even now that he was coming to accept the core truth of the problem’s existence.

 Of course, there was no trouble at the door; it was just Kyle, as expected, and he pet Buffy with one hand while waving at Michael with the other.

 “Hey, Guerin. How’s it going?”

 Michael marshalled himself to answer.

 “How do you think it’s going, Doc? A newborn deer’s got fancier footwork than me right now. But I’m alive, so…”

 “Can’t complain,” Kyle finished the sentence with an amused shake of his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

 His exam was quick and efficient, something Michael was grateful enough for that he’d die before he ever let Valenti see it, and when he was done he took a seat across from Michael.

 “It’s not exactly a clean bill of health, but your condition seems stable and improving. The condition of your body, at least. It’s hard for me to give any diagnosis about what might be impacting the use of your powers.”

 “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t expect you to. I’ll figure it out. You’ve done enough,” Michael said, scratching idly at his temple where Max’s handprint lay, thankfully hidden by his hair. “Tell me this, Doc.” He glanced around to make sure Max wasn’t in earshot, and when he spied him through a window throwing a ball for Buffy, he continued, “Have you had a chance to check out Max yet? The healing he did, with his heart—”

 Kyle smiled, and Michael glanced away from his knowing face, shifting in his seat.

 “I did, and you have nothing to worry about. He’s fine. It was a significant strain, but considering the alternative, the outcome could have been much worse.”

 “But what about his condition otherwise?” Michael powered through. “He’s been dealing with depression and exhaustion for months since—"

 The back door swung open and Buffy bounded in for her water bowl, Max following. “How’s it going?” he asked them both, but mostly Kyle, voice full of false cheer.

 “All good,” Kyle said easily, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be fine,” he tacked on the firm reassurance to Michael. “I should get going so I can get ready for work. Catch you later, Max.”

 “Thanks again, man.”

 “Free drinks at the Pony for life, you know my price.”

 As little as Michael cared to socialize with Valenti even now, awkward silence descended when he was gone and it was just the brothers again. What did you say to the guy who saved your life—again—when you had nothing but your own stupidity to blame?

 It didn’t help that Max’s ability to make Michael feel small and stupid and guilty as hell without even trying was still unparalleled, or that he was still too weak to pace it out, or that he was hyperaware of how everyone would perceive him if he sampled some of Alex’s liquor cabinet to take the edge off.

 “I’m going out to the back to get some light exercise,” he said eventually.

 “Okay,” Max said, not arguing or inviting himself along.

 “Thanks,” Michael replied, not elaborating on what for as he passed him at the fastest shuffle he could manage.

 Outside, under the sun, Michael’s head was no clearer, his muscles no stronger. Alex’s backyard was featureless, incomplete, clearly not somewhere he spent much time, unlike the front patio, which at least had some furniture, some lived-in rested energy. And, Michael thought, of course: Alex would spend his leisure somewhere he could anticipate most attempts to accost him.

 Letting out a heavy sigh, Michael ambled from one end of the fence to the other. As he went, Alex’s cameras followed him, and Michael tried not to feel weird about that, weirdly paranoid despite it being      Alex,    weirdly comforted to know Alex could watch him. The whole thing was weird. Living in Alex’s home was…weird.

 At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

 What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

 But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

 So he’d live with it.

 His pocket buzzed frantically, and he swore loudly, startled, before he realized it was just his phone ringing.

 “Fuckin’ spam calls,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Why the hell does anyone carry this shit around all the—”

 But it wasn’t a spam call at all.        Ortecho    sat dead center on the screen, and, not knowing what ring it was on, Michael answered immediately.

 “Mikey!” Liz’s breathless voice shouted before he could say a word.

 “Well it’s about damn—”

 “Thank god, are you okay, why am I hearing from Maria that you almost      died,    what the hell?”

 “Glad to know that’s what it takes to get a hold of you,” Michael snarked back.

 “Listen, I—”

 Michael just sighed. “I know. I get it. But we’ve been calling you a damn lot, Ortecho.”

 “…I know.”

 Despite what he said, he didn’t understand. He’d never understand the running, not as someone so stuck in the ground he’d been planted in that he’d die if he tried to rip himself away. But he couldn’t love Alex after ten years without accepting what he’d never understand and knowing how to survive it.

 He hadn’t thought, until now, that maybe he and Max could talk about this shit. But maybe it’d be worth a try. If there was one thing that Michael      did    know, it was that Liz and Alex wouldn’t talk about how the situations made them similar until they’d exhausted all possible escapes from that conversation.

 “Well…” Michael said into the silence. “How’s California been? How’s the Genoryx lab; they better be letting you do all the mad science shit, or else what good’s a shady government drug company…”

 “Don’t change the subject! You haven’t even answered me.      Are you okay?    ”

 “I…”

 What was the harm in being honest? Liz wasn’t even here, wasn’t even talking to anyone who wasn’t dying, so who would she tell? Maybe Maria, but Maria could read it from him like an open book.

 “Gotta tell you, I’ve been better,” he admitted.

 Liz let out a soft, sympathetic noise. “What happened? You can…you can talk to me, if you want. I know I haven’t been the most reliable, but we’re friends. We are. Okay?”

 Shaking his head, Michael paced the length of the fence again, one hand on it to steady himself.  He reached the house and kept walking to the front, leaving the barren back garden behind.

 “There’s not that much to say. Maria probably told you already. I made a bad gamble on Hyde, and Jekyll had to haul my ass out of the fire. That’s it.”

 That version of the story left out the part Isobel played, but Michael didn’t have the words to describe walking his own head as it melted around him, images flying past bright enough to sear his eyes, snatches of conversation, aphasia in every sense, and how empty and cavernous and      bereft    he felt now, knowing what Jones had stuffed inside him—the knowledge of his entire people—knowing he wasn’t      enough    to contain it, weak, corrupted, and now he might never get it back. And knowing Jones did that to him on purpose, gave him more than his body and mind could handle to make him feel this way, didn’t make the feeling it any damn easier.

 Liz went silent on the other end. There was a question she wasn’t asking, but Michael let it ride, gave her the space.

 But finally, he answered it for her. “Max is okay. His heart held up, and so did the pacemaker. And I’ve got a handprint six inches from my nose, so I can call him on it if he tries to bullshit me.”

 “I—okay. Thank you, Mikey.”

 “Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t. I, uh, said a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have in your voicemail, about Max. But it’s up to you if you want him in your life at all, so, uh. Yeah.”

 “No, no, it’s fine.”

 There was a thunk on the other line like she’d dropped or hit something.

 “Look, I should go,” she said.

 “Okay,” Michael replied.

 “I’m—really glad you’re okay.”

 “And, uh, it was nice to hear from you.”

 “Okay.” Her final reply was soft and hesitant and awkward as Michael felt making an earnest overture a friend might make. “Bye, Mikey.”

 “Don’t be a stranger.”

 She hung up.

 Michael dropped his arm and let his phone dangle at his side for a little while. His legs shook a little, so he held onto the back of one of the patio chairs to steady himself, but he wasn’t ready to sit just yet.

 Friends or not, clearly he and Liz had plenty to work on if they were that fucking awkward without a project between them.

 Still, this was something. Something unexpected. Michael was too tired to sort through feelings right now.

 But he should have—

 Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his phone back up and dashed a text off to her.

     We all get together on Thursday nights. Open invitation. -G  

 Then he dropped his phone face-down on the seat and sat down several feet away so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it if she texted him back.

 All the chairs on Alex’s patio were tilted subtly to watch different angles of the approach to the house, so Michael settled in the one that was shadiest. It was too fucking hot to be relaxing outdoors without water or sunscreen, but the air indoors with Max hovering and Alex…everywhere…was just as stifling.

 Max hadn’t asked him why, yet, even though the question itched at Michael’s head, even through the careful distance they were keeping from the handprint bond between them. Which was good, because, in the sunlight, on the other side of the storm, his arms wrapped around his own stomach, holding himself, Michael couldn’t have answered it himself.

 Eventually, though, people would ask. And what would he tell them—should he admit he thought that the pollen would be enough to keep himself from harm, should he confess that he’d been willing—or thought he was willing—to accept the risks if it meant no one would have to take a blow for him?

 The street stretched long and quiet as far as Michael could see. Every now and then, a car would pass from one point on the line to the next, disappearing down some other driveway or just continuing until the heat haze swallowed it whole. The sun hurt his tired eyes, so he blinked slow, and let minutes trickle past, waiting for something to happen.

 Maybe his phone would ring again; maybe Max would come looking for him. Maybe Flint Manes would leap out of the bushes and shoot him. Maybe Alex would come home from work and smile when he saw him. Maybe Forrest would come home early and try and fight him for shacking up while he was gone. Maybe Jones did something to him that was lying in wait and would detonate his heart any second.

 Thinking of possibilities was an endless sort of entertainment for a man who never knew what to do with having a future and who just nearly lost his lease on it.

 As Michael watched the road, a truck appeared on one side of the horizon, moving faster than most would on a residential street like this. It whipped up dust as it went, and Michael rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into the chair. Fucking assholes in their screaming steel overcompensators almost universally considered themselves above getting work done in a junkyard, and that didn’t exactly give Michael a better opinion of them.

 And this piece of shit in particular, Michael recognized. What the hell was Wyatt fuckin’ Long doing on this side of town? Michael tensed as he roared by, just waiting for him to slow or stop—did he drive by often, harassing Alex for dating his cousin? Or looking for his cousin to harass somewhere off the farm where a real adult might stop him?

 He didn’t do either, though, and in seconds he was gone, cowgirl mudflaps dangling behind him.

 Asshole.

 What time was it anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Michael focused on his phone where he dropped it in the other chair and, slowly, tried to pull it toward him. It took seconds and enough strain his head hurt before it moved, but move it did, wobbling slowly towards him. Halfway there, it changed velocity and came shooting toward him, and he only barely managed to catch it before it overshot and slammed against the wall behind him.

 Still, progress.

 It was later than he thought. Shouldn’t Alex be home from work by now? Should he be worried?

 He was just hovering his thumb over Alex’s contact, deciding whether or not to call, when another car hissed along the drive and slowed. This one, though, turned into Alex’s driveway, and Michael relaxed.

 Alex pulled the car to a stop, and Michael stood up to greet him, stretching as he did. Unexpectedly, Maria was also in the front seat, but her presence answered the question of why Alex was late. If he wasn’t talking to Michael, at least he was talking to someone.

 “Hey,” Michael greeted them.

 “Hey, Guerin,” Maria replied.

 “Is everything alright?” Alex demanded.

 “Yeah, it’s fine. Kyle was by earlier. Seems like I’m still on the mend.”

 “That’s good to hear,” Maria said, as Alex said nothing.

 Michael gave her a smile. “Yeah, it is. So…are you staying for dinner? Maybe I can cook something…”

 Side-eying Alex, who stood as stiff and stoic as Michael had ever seen him, shoulders and back soldier-straight, Maria returned Michael’s smile and said, “Oh, Alex just asked me to take Buffy out for her walk for the next few days, so I’m here to see her.”

 “I didn’t want to impose on you for that,” Alex added.

 Michael rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, chewing on his tongue to hold back any indication of how desperate he was to be imposed upon. The weakness in his legs kept him from making a real argument; despite her age, Buffy was a hell of a walker.

 Was that the reason Alex was asking Maria to step in? Was his leg okay? Michael rocked forward again, swaying toward Alex and tugging himself back, an old, familiar dance.

 “You could’ve. You’re puttin’ me up, I oughtta work for room and board,” Michael joked.

 It didn’t exactly land. If possible, Alex shut down harder, face cold and hard, though his voice was soft.

 “You don’t have to work for me to take care of you when you’re in need,” he said, every syllable clipped and careful.

 Michael should have known something was up then and there, seen it, seen Maria’s downcast eyes and crossed arms, the way she hovered close between them and kept to herself; he should have expected it, Alex to pull some kind of bullshit, but his head didn’t go there. Not yet.

 “So…you going somewhere?” he asked, licking his lips. The thought might have sent a bolt of panic through him, but now that Alex had a life here, a house and a job and roots, the threat was less immediate.

     That didn’t stop Liz,    his mind whispered, but he shook it off.

 Alex wasn’t answering, so Michael continued, “You heading out to meet Forrest in DC? You should have gone with him in the first place, man, take some time off.”

 Maria shot Alex a loaded look, but Alex’s face just hardened.

 “And been across the country when you almost died on my doorstep?” he demanded so fervently Michael took a step back, and Alex closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 “No, uh, it’s fine. You’re right. I’m glad you were here.”

 Somewhere deep in his heart, Michael thought that it wouldn’t have mattered where in the universe Alex was when he lifted his foot and stepped across space to get to his door. His thoughts were inside out, tripled and rearranged with pieces missing, he couldn’t have said what he did or the powers he used or how he could do it again, but he could say this: for a brief moment, he’d possessed the ability to reorder the universe to put himself at Alex’s side, and no technicalities of time or distance would have stopped him.

 He didn’t have that power anymore, though, and neither did he have the ability to read Alex’s mind.

 “Seriously, though,      are    you going somewhere?” he asked again.

 “…I should get inside. My phone’s dead, I need to charge it,” Alex said.

 “      Alex,    ” Maria said in a scalded voice.

 Michael, though, was cold. Frozen. It barely registered when Maria reached out and squeezed his wrist to reassure him; he wasn’t reassured, though he was pathetically grateful to her for trying. She was a good friend—better now than she was or he was when they were two isolated points on a severed line, ten years as two stars on an unintelligible constellation, half its lights gone out.

 But that friendship, as cherished as it was—could it hold him up if the new foundation he’d built for his life was ripped away again? Again, he’d built it up around Alex without expectation or intention. It was reflexive, habitual, migratory. He followed a pattern etched into his bones. He didn’t know any other way to build.

 “Alex, I told you,” Maria said.

 “I know. But—”

 “No! No buts. If you can’t even be honest about what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

 “It’s fine,” Michael said. His voice was distant inside his own skull. “I get it. You don’t have to tell—you don’t owe me anything.”

 For some reason, Alex turned back around to face them, then, his face so openly wracked with pain and indecision that Michael had to close his eyes.

 Even less than he could stand to watch Alex walk away again, he couldn’t stand to watch it hurt so bad and him choose it all the same.

 “I’m      not    leaving you, Guerin. Michael. I’m—not. I’m not!”

 He said it again and again, like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t Michael or Maria, both of whom were silent. Maria pressed closer to Michael, leaning her weight against him, wordless but telling him:      I’m here.  

 “I’m not leaving,” Alex said again.

 Michael forced himself to open his eyes. A few feet in front of him, Alex took up the same amount of space he always did, posture helplessly perfect, hands helplessly flat at his sides.

 Through a tight throat, Michael said, “Okay. Then why…”

 Alex struggled for the words. At his side, Michael felt Maria breathe in and release a heavy sigh.

 “Talk to us, Alex. Please,” she said.

 Dropping his eyes, Alex replied, “I’m just going to be busy and out of the house a lot for the next few days and won’t have time to give Buffy the attention she deserves.”

 “Really? That’s it?” her voice was close to tears, and Michael unlocked himself to wrap his arm around her. She continued, “I asked you to      talk to us,    not just repeat what you told me before. What business, Alex? You’re scaring me.”

 “What am I supposed to do?” Alex cried, spreading his arms wide. Then he dropped his arms just as suddenly, head snapping back and forth looking for anyone who might have heard the outburst, then he dragged a hand over his face. He continued, quieter, flatter, “I get so wound up about one threat, and another one starts swinging from my blind side. I’m not waiting for Fields to come calling while Michael is here. And Jones—” That awful blankness crossed his face again. “—What am I supposed to do, let what he did to you go without doing something about it? Wait until he tries again? Absolutely not.”

 Every word stung Michael’s senses; he had no response, mouth parted but silent, eyes wide.

 Maria let out a frustrated growl. “And would you have told anyone these plans if I hadn’t forced you? Oh my god, of course not, you both suck so bad! What part of this one,” she jerked her thumb at Michael, “getting his gray matter pureed forty-eight hours ago makes you think now is the time to run off with some lone wolf Rambo act? What’s the point of being able to see the future if no one ever asks or listens?”

 “Did you? See something?” Michael asked.

 “Well. No. But I might have,” Maria replied.

 “Wait, nothing at all? It’s been how long now?”

 “Too long,” she admitted. “It’s not nothing, I just keep seeing our bearded friend standing in a field. I can’t even tell if it’s now or if it’s from before or even if it’s from the home planet. He doesn’t look at me, just…stands there.” She shivered.

 Alex’s eyebrows drew down. “Can he…block your sight? Is that possible?”

 Shrugging helplessly, Maria said, “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we can’t just ask him. What are we going to do?”

     We.    Part of Michael wanted to protest, in the face of the danger that alliance would pose to two of the people he loved most in the entire world. Standing alone already almost got him killed, left him weaker than he’d ever been, but still part of him would try again, and again, until he was out of second chances, if it meant sparing Alex and Maria anything.

 But that wasn’t in question, was it. They’d made their choice. It was time for Michael to learn to live with it.

 “Thursday’s coming up,” he said. Maria and Alex turned to look at him, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders, curling in on himself. “If you guys are still available. We can talk about a game plan.”

 “      Guerin,    ” Maria sighed. But she smiled when she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course we’re available.”

 Alex didn’t reply. Silence fell between the three of them, until Maria sighed again and headed toward the front door.

 “I already came all this way, I might as well spend a little time with Buffy. Since I won’t be walking her after all.”

 As she passed Alex, he made a soft noise, and whatever it was, she understood perfectly, because she turned to meet Alex’s raising arms, and the two of them hugged tightly.

 “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You were right. I’m sorry I didn’t--I shouldn’t have made you--”

 “Stop with the ‘shouldn’ts’,” Maria replied. “Just...don’t make us watch you destroy yourself alone when we’re here for you, okay?”

 Michael flinched. Neither of them looked at him, but her words hit home anyway. He was part of that grief, too.

 Alex nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”

 Then she gave him one last squeeze, he let her go, and she went inside, leaving Michael and Alex alone.

 And alone, what was there to say? They hadn’t found it so far.

 Michael’s heart still beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, a frantic effort to keep him standing and sane while his brain and body figured out that Alex wasn’t going to disappear from before his eyes, and it only pulsed harder when—he blinked to clear his eyes and—Alex got closer, closing the space between them in a few long, uneven strides.

 On instinct, Michael took a step back, but Alex stopped six inches away, just staring at him with his dark eyes. They scanned from his feet to his hair, taking in every minute tremble of his damaged muscles.

 Jittery, Michael licked his lips and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer--”

 Alex took Michael’s shirt in his fist and pulled him in. They hit, chest to chest, Alex’s arm trapped between them until he pulled it away, down and out, clamped it around Michael’s back and held on, held on for dear life. He didn’t need to hold on so tight; Michael froze with the shock of Alex around him and couldn’t have budged for love or money, not until his mind caught up with his body and he slumped in Alex’s safe arms.

 “I’m so mad at you,” Alex said in his ear, close enough that his hitching breaths stirred Michael’s ear.

 “I know. I know,” Michael spoke back, lips moving against his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut again. Like this, he didn’t need them, dropped every sense that wasn’t touch, anything that didn’t tell him the only thing he needed to know. Alex was here. Michael was here. They were alive. They were together.

 “How could you? What did I do wrong?” His breathing hitched harder, enough for Michael to feel it in Alex’s entire body.

 Gripping him tighter, one arm around his lower back, one arm around his broad shoulders, Michael murmured, “Nothing, God, nothing. I was stupid. I just wanted—I just had to—”

 “I wanted to protect you. That’s all I wanted—did I push too hard?” Hot, wet heat hit Michael’s neck. “I’m so shit at this, Michael, every time I try, I just make everything worse!”

 “No! No, hey, hey.”

 They were too tightly entwined for Michael to do much, but he maneuvered them enough to press their foreheads together.

 “I just wanted to protect      you,    ” Michael rasped. If he looked at Alex this second, this close, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to—be protected. You making that sacrifice for me, I don’t know how to be worth it. It’s not your fault.”

 “You don’t have to do anything. Ever. I’m so fucking—sorry, for all the times I made you feel like you had to—earn...”

 They swayed slightly back and forth, half because Michael had pushed himself too far on his weak legs, half because it was an old self-soothing motion one or both of them fell back on, completely alone in the universe as children. They did it together, now.

 “We’ll figure it out,” Michael swore, clasping Alex’s sweaty hand in his own sweaty hand, in the nonspace between their chests, knuckle to sternum, palm to palm, sternum to knuckle. The words tasted like hope on his tongue.

 They opened their eyes, Alex first, then Michael, and they stood like that for a long time. Alex’s eyes were red from crying, but beautiful. Always beautiful.

     We’ll figure it out.    Neither of them believed it fully, but if both of them held a half, maybe they’d manage to make it work.

 “We should get back inside,” Michael said eventually, dropping Alex’s hand, stiffening his own to keep the shape of it held to his side as they parted.

 “Actually, could we, um.” Alex cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we could sit out here a while longer. It’s a nice sunset? And maybe we could catch up on normal stuff.”

 Michael looked over his shoulder at the sky. It really was stunning, broad beyond comprehension, all alien with pinks and purples and golds.

 “Normal stuff sounds great,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

[planetsam]

“Look if you don’t want her she’s going to the pound,” Wyatt says, “she’s too fat to be of any good on the farm.”

“Do you need to think of the most dickish thing to say? Or does it just naturally come out of your mouth?”

Wyatt’s face screws up but Alex snatches the leash from him before he can say anything. He’s done listening to assholes with the last name Long. On the other end of the leash Buffy regards him with a mix of wariness and disgust. It’s more tempting than Alex would like to admit to shove it back at Wyatt, but his grip tightens on the leash.

“Glad you got a souvenir,” Wyatt sneers and storms off.

Alex tries not to rub the most recent addition to his scar collection and instead looks down at the dog. Buffy whines loudly and the sound matches whatever’s going on his recently repaired gut. Emotionally at least. Physically he’s been given the almost all clear, which for him is good enough. He kneels down and looks at the beagle who backs away.

“Yeah, I get that,” Alex tells her, “do you remember me?” He holds a hand out for her to sniff but she turns her snout up, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He straightens up. Buffy looks in the direction she came from but Wyatt’s long gone. Alex has no idea what to do with a dog, much less a beagle who seems to like him about as much as her owner actually did, but standing in the road with her leash he realizes they’re in the same boat. Both left standing there, wondering what the hell they’re supposed to do now. When he glances down again, Buffy is looking up at him. She’s still reproachful but she hasn’t run and Alex is at a point where he’ll take what he can get.

“You wanna go home or should we go to the pet store first?” He asks. She perks up slightly at that, “pet store it is,” he says, “come on.”

* Since losing his leg Alex has been in several hand to hand situations, gotten kidnapped, discovered aliens and blown up a handful of buildings. He’d say he’s good with his prosthetic. Some days he uses his cane but it’s far and few between. He’s good but he hasn’t had a consistently strong pressure yanking his cane arm walk after walk. And there have been so many fucking walks. Buffy is overweight and though her diet is the main thing, walking helps. It helps one of them at least.

“Buffy, come on,” he says, “heel.”

Buffy huffs, lowers her body and digs in her paws.

Her blatant disregard makes the military man in him seethe. He doesn’t know how one beagle is more difficult to control than than a group of soldiers, but here they are. Buffy does not respect the chain of command. Or maybe she just doesn’t respect him. Alex thinks he’d be used to the universe ignoring what he wants but the manifestation of it in an overweight beagle left behind by a man who manipulated him so openly is a fresh wound on his ruined ego.

“Buffy,” he says.

Buffy puffs herself up and erupts into her signature barks. How such a loud noise can come out of such a small creature is beyond him. Buffy spends a lot of her time napping and laying on her back, but when she gets going it’s impossible to stop or ignore. Alex is used to people staring at him on the street. He’s learned to dismiss the judgement about things he knows he can’t change. For the first time though he gets it. He’s pretty sure he’d cross the street too if he saw what was happening.

“Buffy—“ he starts. She keeps going crazy, “Buffy come on,” he’s got nothing else so he scoops her up again. Immediately she stops barking, “seriously?” He sighs, “you know we’re both supposed to be walking,” Buffy looks over her shoulder at him, “God, fine,” he shifts the weight in his arms and starts walking, “I need the workout anyway.”

“Aren’t you both supposed to be walking?”

Alex turns around to see Michael standing there looking confused. He’s not close enough to hear what he just said, but the fact that it’s the first thing that comes to his mind makes Alex’s chest tight. Buffy gives Michael a look of complete disdain. Michael raises his eyebrows at the dog’s reaction, though Alex is fairly certain Michael is just glad to have an excuse not to look at him. Not that he can fully blame him, not with everything that’s happened recently.

“When did you get a dog?” Michael asks.

“A few days ago,” Alex says, “it was me or the pound,” he explains, “I wasn’t looking to get one.”

“Right,” Michael says slowly.

“Her name’s Buffy,” Alex volunteers. Michael finally meets his eye, arching his eyebrows at him.

“You sure you weren’t looking to get a dog?” Michael asks. Alex looks at him questioningly, “if I had to guess what you would name a dog, Buffy’s pretty high on the list—“

The truth smacks him across the face. Buffy squirms in his arms and he’s all too glad to put her down, even though that means he’s forced to figure out something else to do with his hands. Something that doesn’t involve punching things. All he can do is laugh bitterly at how stupid he is. Laugh and pretend that he doesn’t see the alarm on Michael’s face.

“You okay?” Michael asks. 
“I’m good,” Alex says, shaking his head, “I just realized how much of an idiot I am,” he looks at Michael who looks confused still, “Buffy was Forrest’s dog,” he explains, “he left her behind,” he sighs, “I thought the dog was real.”

“She looks real to me,” Michael says.

“He named her Buffy,” Alex retorts. Michael winces, “like I said, I’m an idiot.”

They both look at Buffy who gives them a look back that says they are both idiots. Alex doesn’t think either of them would disagree after the things that have happened lately. But realizing that there’s a good chance the dog was adopted just to manipulate him is salt in that wound. Not by Forrest necessarily but by someone in Deep Sky.

“Your dog seems to agree,” Michael points out.

“Shit,” Alex mutters looking down at the beagle, then he looks at Michael, “what do you know about microchips?
 “What do I know about what?” Michael asks blankly. 
“I need your help,” Alex says.

It’s got nothing to do with what just happened but Michael goes serious and nods. Alex tries not to be affected by it. Or by how Michael seems committed to being open after months of them lying to each other. 
“Whatever you need,” he says.

There’s a weight to his words that lasts a moment before Buffy decides right there is a good place to go potty.

* “Up you go,” Alex says and gets Buffy onto the table, “good girl.”

Buffy huffs at the compliment but when she spots Kyle she immediately starts wagging her tail. Because Kyle has that effect. He grins and scratches her ears as Buffy rolls onto her back. Alex looks over at Michael who seems surprised by this turn of events. 
“Good thing he wasn’t trying to seduce you,” Michael says, “she’s already fallen for it.”

Kyle looks at him sharply and Michael realizes his mistake with a swear but Alex waves him off. Whether or not there were genuine feelings is an issue for another day. Or another lifetime, if he gets his way. Thankfully neither Michael nor Kyle have made the mistake of suggesting he get rid of the dog in case Deep Sky is spying on him with her. Kyle picks up the device and scans Buffy as best he can until Alex reaches out to help hold her steady. They find the first microchip easily enough. It’s just surprising how easily they also find the second one.

“They put a tracker in the dog?” Kyle shakes his head.

Alex agrees. It seems stupid with all the messed up shit they’ve done, but looking at Buffy with her upturned nose and disdainful glares and imagining her being picked out and named and then used like that makes him ache. Especially if it was in the pursuit of him. It’s not the only thing that’s wrong but Alex has always had a soft spot for animals and it’s the first thing that makes his throat tighten.

“We have to get them out of her.”

“We will,” Michael says, “first lemme make sure they don’t work.”

“It’s not going to hurt her, is it?” Alex asks as Michael reaches out.

Kyle and Michael trade looks and Alex knows his voice sounds odd but the dog’s been through enough. Especially on his behalf. A part of him thinks giving her away might be best but if Deep Sky is still using her then who knows. He could give her away and bring more people into this.

“Alex,” Michael comes around the table and stands next to him, doesn’t say anything when Alex shifts back, “look, it’s not gonna hurt her. I’m going to just disable them. We’ll figure out how to get them out of her after.”

Buffy rolls over and gives Kyle’s hands a lick before she reluctantly belly crawls to Alex. She doesn’t look thrilled about having to come to him, but she sits in between him and Michael and looks at Michael with her usual disdain. It’s not full on affection but Alex appreciates the defense all the same. He looks up at Michael.

“Okay, do it,” he says.

Michael puts his hands on Buffy’s shoulders and focuses. Alex waits for her to yelp or do anything but she just glares at Michael like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever been subjected to. He pulls his hands back and blinks rapidly, going a little pale. It’s one of the effects of whatever they did to him, his powers are there but using them takes more effort than it did. No-one knows when they’ll fully return.

“Kyle get the—“

Kyle gets the bin just in time for Michael to puke in it. Buffy flattens her ears and decides she’s done enough comfort one day. She trots back over to Kyle and flops on her back, bracing a paw against his arm so he has maximum access to her belly. Before Alex can think about what he’s doing his hand settles on Michael’s shoulder as he heaves. It’s another sign of how badly he’s fucked up and Michael consenting to it under duress doesn’t make him feel any better. But he forces himself to hold onto Michael’s shoulder as he empties his stomach.

“Shit that sucks,” he mutters, unthinkingly wrapping his hand around Alex’s elbow. Alex doesn’t let go of his shoulder as he wipes the back of his mouth. He looks up at Alex and gives a quick, shaky smile, “I disabled the chips on both, they’re dead,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Michael nods, looking more relieved than Alex is comfortable with at the words. He tears his eyes away to look at the love fest going on between Buffy and Kyle. It’s honestly hard to say whose fallen more for who. Alex pulls away and tries not to focus on how cold his elbow and palm feel without Michael’s signature heat.

“Now we just gotta get them out,” Michael says.

Kyle seems to be aware they are all looking at him intently. He opens his mouth to reject whatever they’re going to say and Buffy whines for him to continue the belly rubs. It’s written all over his face that of all the ways he saw his life going, this definitely wasn’t one of them. He looks down at Buffy.

“Am I still gonna be your favorite?” He asks her.

Buffy huffs.

“I think that’s a yes,” Michael says.

* “Your back hurting?”

Alex winces at the question, he thought he had done a good job of hiding it. The concern is there in Michael’s voice and it’s not well hidden at all. Alex looks over at him, seeing the guilt in his eyes.

“It’s from picking up Buffy,” he says, “she’s having trouble getting on the furniture.”

It’s almost laughable how furniture is so complicated in his house. Alex never thought the height of a seat could make such a difference in someone’s life. The perfect height for him though is apparently too much for his still overweight beagle. His best solution is to pick her up but for all her laziness Buffy isn’t good at staying put. It’s not overly painful but it’s not ideal while he’s still healing.

“Oh,” Michael says.

“She’ll get better,” Alex says, “she just has to lose some weight,” he rolls his shoulder, “and I have to heal.”

“She can’t stay off the furniture?” Michael asks. Alex glares, “just asking!” Michael says holding up his hands, “I never had a pet. I had a foster home where I wasn’t allowed on the couch once, it sucked.”

Alex doesn’t know how Michael can stand to be so casual about things like that. Mentioning something so devastating hasn’t even interrupted his rhythm in eating his fries.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says quietly. Michael acknowledges it with a quick nod, “I want her to be able to go where she wants,” he explains.

“Except maybe the bunker,” Michael points out.

“Okay maybe the bunker,” Alex agrees.

“What about stairs?” Michael asks, “they make stairs for dogs right?” His brow furrows, “your furniture is custom heigh though, right?” Then he perks up, “I can make her stairs.”

Alex almost chokes on his water. Michael’s response to everything was to throw his tools in his bunker and seal it up. Alex isn’t even sure he has the materials to build dog stairs. But it’s the first time he’s seen Michael look excited about building something.

“Are you okay with that?” He asks, “I can pay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael says, “if it gets Buffy to stop constantly stink eyeing me we’re good.”

“Just tell me how much they cost,” Alex says after a moment’s consideration.

He texts Michael the asked for measurements.

Michael doesn’t want to be alone with him and Alex can’t blame him. He doesn’t really want to be alone with Michael either. Not yet. It’s not until he hears the truck in the driveway that he even thinks more about it. The truck pulls in, parks and Michael gets out before Buffy starts going crazy. Alex feels a rush of affection for her.

“It’s Michael,” he says, “and he’s already almost inside.”

Buffy still puffs up like she’s done her job and Alex scratches her ears before he opens the door. Michael is standing there with two stairs in either hand and a black bag slung over his shoulder.

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says, his mouth dry, “of course,” he says, “come in.”

“Thanks,” Michael says. Buffy looks at him and howls. Michael glares, “the hat isn’t negotiable,” he tells her firmly, even as he takes it off and sets it aside.

Michael puts one of the stairs by the couch and hands Alex the other for his bed. Alex puts it down where it is and follows Michael to the back part of the house. Michael drops the bag and picks out a few tools before moving to the trap door.

“What’s all of this?” Alex asks.

“Eh I could tell you didn’t mean it when I said Buffy wasn’t allowed in the bunker,” he says, “so I put something together.”

“You built her an elevator?”

Michael shrugs and goes pink around the ears.

“Yeah I mean I want her to feel welcome,” he says, “and if you gotta hide I know you aren’t leaving her behind.”

Alex looks over at Buffy whose stink eyeing the stairs like she’d prefer to be carried. He wouldn’t leave her behind. He wouldn’t leave Michael behind either but just being alone in the same room is a lot. He doesn’t want to push this. He doesn’t know if Michael feels that as well.

“Can I get you anything?” He offers, “I have lemonade?”

Michael hesitates for a moment. Alex wonders if he’s read this wrong before Michael nods and Alex finds he can breathe again.

“That sounds good,” Michael says, “thanks.”

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (9/13)

ao3

Michael took a deep breath as he stared at the cabin.

Alex’s truck wasn’t there and he was supposed to just be getting his things so he could go back to miserable living in the airstream. Still, it hurt. He felt like he’d fucked up. Which, he had, but he also still felt like he wasn’t wrong either. Yeah, maybe Alex lied to keep him from leaving, but wouldn’t it have said more if Alex had given it to him and he’d chosen to stay? Why didn’t Alex trust him enough?

He rolled that key over in his palm, the one Alex had given him and that he’d never had the option to use. It got caught in his bandana and almost fell to the ground, but Michael caught it and pressed it into his skin. Was it weird that he kind of wanted to burn it there?

Michael walked up the steps of the porch and slowly fit the key into the lock, turning it with ease. He swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

It was strange to be there now. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Or, it did, but it was like he didn’t fit there. He’d gotten that privilege taken away. Alex had told him he was always welcome no matter what, but… 

He made his way towards the bedroom and saw all of his clothes neatly folded on the bed, waiting for him. Beside the stack was the piece of that ship, glittering in all its glory. Michael’s chest ached and he looked away from it, walking to the other side of the bed and climbing onto it. It still welcomed him, still smelled like Alex, and Michael was probably tired enough to actually fall asleep. He didn’t realize how hard it would be to sleep without Alex again.

Instead, he reached over and grabbed the remote to the TV, turning it on to watch the cameras. He’d gotten used to watching them all the time and waking up in the middle of the night to Alex watching them after a nightmare. He was so paranoid at night regardless of how much he tried to hide it. Michael had yet to figure out how to counteract that. It hurt him to know that Alex probably hadn’t slept at all the night prior.

Stupidly, he rewound the footage to see Alex doing just that. He was curled up in bed, looking at his computer. Michael decided to be creepy and he watched him for a while, curling up in bed as he watched Alex stay up all night and look over to the empty side of the bed every once in a while. Fuck, why couldn’t they ever just talk?

“What are you doing?” Rosa’s voice suddenly said.

Michael nearly jumped out of his skin as he sat up, eyes feeling a little too heavy as he scrambled to make it look like he wasn’t watching Alex. He wasn’t really quick enough.

“You’re supposed to be getting your clothes and leaving, not taking over his bed,” she said. It didn’t take a genius to know that her tone wasn’t it’s usual playful anger. This was real anger and it was 100% for him.

“I’m gonna go, I just…”

“Wanted to make Alex feel worse?” she clarified. He pursed his lips and shook his head, leaning back into the pillows. He wanted to be welcome there again.

“You do realize Alex lied to me, right? For a long time,” Michael pointed out. Rosa nodded curtly.

“And you publically humiliated him,” she said. He sighed, shifting in the bed. He pulled a pillow into his lap and hugged it close.

“We’re both in the wrong then,” Michael said. Rosa rolled her eyes and walked into the room. She sat down on Alex’s side of the bed.

“You are,” Rosa confirmed, “And you need to tell him that. Because I learned that I would much rather have you two fucking above me than have him blaring Blackfire at 2 in the morning while making bread for comfort.”

Michael smiled a little bit, “He listened to Blackfire for comfort?” 

Rosa swatted his arm, but that didn’t keep him from feeling a little bit of joy at that. Michael didn’t know much about Alex’s mother, but he did know that she’d spent the first five years of Alex’s life laying grounds for the punk he’d grow up to be. The idea that Alex went with political rock music for comfort was almost adorable.

“He’s really upset. He was happy with you,” Rosa pointed out. Michael’s shoulders slowly dropped and he nodded, eyes going back to the camera monitors. They were paused on Alex getting up to go into the kitchen, probably to do what Rosa had said.

“I know,” Michael said, “But he lied to me.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to him? Why let it build?” 

“I tried. I gave him so many opportunities and he never did,” Michael scoffed, feeling that anger rise in him all over again. He didn’t know why Alex would be so insistent about honesty if he wasn’t going to abide by it himself. It didn’t make any sense.

“People make mistakes. Just like you did when you called him out in front of everyone,” Rosa said, “So talk to him now. Find out why he didn’t tell you.”

“He told me why. He said he didn’t want me to leave the planet, so he kept it from me,” Michael explained. Rosa was quiet for a moment, so quiet that Michael had to look over at him. She was just staring at him like he was the stupidest person in the world. “What?”

“You both have the emotional intelligence of a fucking thumb, you know that, right?”

“Like you have any room to talk.”

“I do because I’ve had nothing to do for the last three months but watch psychology videos on YouTube,” Rosa said. Michael rolled his eyes. “You need to just talk it out. No yelling from either of you. You guys were happy.”

“Is this what you told him?”

“No, I told him to leave you alone because you’re not worth it,” she answered honestly. He scoffed, but she didn’t seem phased. “Look, I’m on his side. But I do think the only way you two are going to be able to get past this is if you talk, you make it clear you’re not going to leave the plane, and he makes it clear he isn’t going to keep things from you anymore.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it. This whole fucking thing was built on us being honest. That’s what we established over and over and over. He broke that. It was the one thing.”

“Was it the one thing? Or was it just trust in general?” Rosa asked, “Because you know he was lying for a while before you freaked out. What changed?”

Michael let out a heavy breath. What had changed? Sure, he found out about Sanders, but what else? Why take it out on Alex?

“I… I guess it was because he’d become more open about everything else and it hurts that he was able to do that when he knew he was lying,” Michael tried, “Like, how could he say he loved me so much if he was lying about something he knew was important to me?”

“Yeah, he was wrong to do that. But he wasn’t lying about loving you, even I could see that,” Rosa said. Michael groaned, throwing his head back as he hugged the pillow tighter. How fucked was it that he’d gotten into the habit of wanting Alex when he was sad? 

“So, what? I just should apologize, forgive and forget?” 

“No,” Rosa told him, swatting his chest again, “You should talk to him.”

Michael breathed in deep and felt his hand seize up, letting him know that he’d been clenching it for too long. He hated this. He hated that he wasn’t allowed to have good things. Why couldn’t he just put in the effort once and everything that followed magically be fixed?

His eyes drifted towards the piece again and he stared at it for a while. It felt like it was taunting him. It was no longer something Alex kept from him to keep them together, now it was just a stupid reminder of what was keeping them apart. How the hell did he fix that?

“I hate everything.”

“Welcome to life, Guerin.”

-

“So, I talked to my uncle‒you’re welcome, by the way‒and I got him to believe that I stumbled upon our history naturally.”

“And he bought it?”

“Of course. He had no reason not to.”

Alex accepted the bag of Taco Bell that Cam all but hurled at his face. They’d agreed to meet up at Kyle’s apartment after work to go over some details of what to do next. He didn’t mind. More time away from home meant more time to not focus on the distinct smell of rain that Michael had left in his room.

 “He told me he couldn’t tell me much over the phone, which I buy. He wants me to go to Alburquerque to have a talk with him and my cousins so they can catch me up,” Cam carried on as Alex unwrapped the burrito to put hot sauce inside, “I have a feeling they know Jesse Manes tried to talk to me.”

“But aren’t they on Jesse’s side? Like, M.V.C. was originally meant to help, but it went dark side. Isn’t all of it tainted? Meaning your cousins and uncle too,” Kyle said. Cam nodded, taking over the side of the couch.

“I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean they like Jesse. I mean, your dad was apart of it and he wasn’t Jesse’s biggest fan by the end of it,” she explained. Kyle nodded in understanding. “Point is, I agreed to go down there this weekend.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed, “Who do I look like?”

“A woman with a plan,” Alex chimed in. She flashed a little smile before nodding.

“You two are coming down with me. While I’m talking to my uncle, you two are going to go talk to my cousin. Just… a little undercover,” she said, looking between them, “I want you guys to get a feel on him without him knowing who you are and see if we can gauge just how much sketchy shit they’re in.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Kyle asked.

“I did a deep dive and my cousin Casey frequents a gay club in his free time,” Cam explained, turning her eyes to Alex, “Gonna need you to turn on the charm, Manes.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Why me?”

“If I had to sweet talk your brother, you have to sweet talk my cousin.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, that was Kyle.”

“Okay, and you think Kyle can believably flirt with another man for information?” she said, giving Alex that look like they both knew the answer. And they did. Kyle was a lot of things, but manipulative wasn’t one of them. He didn’t think he’d be able to do that at all.

“Okay, fine,” Alex agreed. Not like he had anything holding him back. Besides, maybe it could be fun.

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Kyle commented. After a few seconds of them staring at him with faces that said ‘really?’, he just rolled his eyes in reluctant agreement and went back to his taco. 

“So, I’m thinking I go to my uncle’s and he gives me the rundown of the operation. When he tries to recruit me, I say yes, I get unlimited access to other information we might not have in the Valenti and Manes files,” Cam explained. They nodded, downloading the plan in their minds. It really was a good distraction. Much better than the bullshit Michael had decided on. “Alex goes to the club, charms Casey, ask him about his tattoo. I trust you to be able to dig into that without coming off as a threat. Kyle, you can either go with Alex or stay at the hotel and make sure we both make it back.”

“I’m going with Alex.”

“Why? I don’t need backup,” Alex said. Kyle just tilted his head in doubt. Alex raised his eyebrows. “Why the fuck do you think I need backup or that you of all people would be helpful backup?”

“Because…” Kyle said, waving his head in a flippant little circle as if he should know. Alex just kept staring and so did Cam, waiting for him to explain what his thought process was. He eventually sighed. “Look, you’re the strongest person I know, but… that’s going to be an overwhelming environment.” Alex rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I know you are, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.”

“Kyle, I am a grown ass man.”

“Yeah, and I would feel better if I could watch over you when you’re trying to go after someone who may or may not want to kill you because you’re related to your dad,” Kyle said, “So just let me come and we’ll both be happy.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but decided that wasn’t really something he could argue. If Kyle wanted to play babysitter, he could.

“Fine,” he agreed. Kyle smiled like he was proud of himself.

As Cam started to go over how exactly she’d worded that conversation with her uncle, Alex’s phone buzzed. He very reluctantly fetched it out of his pocket in the middle of taking a bite of his burrito, feeling dread slowly build in his system as he saw Michael’s name. Now what?

Michael: I’m sorry

Michael: I shouldn’t have yelled at you in front of everyone like that. I want to be better than that and I’m sorry

Alex stared at the two messages, completely lost on how to respond or if he even should. An apology was nice and all, but it still felt weird. He wasn’t quite sure that he deserved an apology. Or, at least, not for that. That was a natural reaction to being lied to. He more so would’ve preferred an apology about the whole sleeping with him out of hatred thing. That hurt more.

“Alex.”

He snapped his head up to see Kyle and Cam staring at him in two completely different levels of concern. He locked his phone and dropped it.

“Are you okay?” Kyle asked, voice a bit softer, “We haven’t really… talked since yesterday. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex sighed, shifting in his seat.

“You can talk to us, you know?” Cam said honestly. Alex’s eyes drifted to her and she made unbreakable eye contact. He wasn’t actually sure what he did to deserve a friend like that.

“I’m just… I don’t know, I feel like he was being unnecessarily cruel. Which I guess, like, isn’t that out of character for him, but it… I don’t know, it feels worse than usual somehow,” Alex said before groaning and leaning back into the couch. His eyes mindlessly drifted to the front door and then the windows. 

“Well, it is worse. You two have been on a good page for a couple months now. It hurts more because it is worse,” Kyle said. Alex shrugged a shoulder. 

“I guess. Just hate that he decided it was okay to make me think we were moving forward when it was really just, like, fake,” Alex said, that wave of pain twisting his chest all over again. He tried to will it away, but it didn’t work. It still hurt. “Like why connect with me that way if it was a distraction?”

“He said it was a distraction?” Kyle clarified, “What a fucking dick.”

“That’s the thing, it kinda has been a distraction before. It’s always been easier to just fall into bed instead of talking, but this time… I don’t know, it felt like a step back and now I don’t know what to do,” Alex sighed.

“Honestly, my advice? Focus on the mission. Once we dismantle Project Shepard and it’s little cult counterpart, then we’ll be good and you can put all your focus into that,” Cam suggested. Alex sighed and nodded.

“You’re right.”

“But don’t bury your feelings,” Kyle jumped in, “If you’re upset, you can talk to us.”

Alex looked between them and gave a little smile. He actually believed that.

“I know. Thanks.”

“Now let’s get to planning.”

-

Michael Guerin wasn’t exactly known for his fantastic ideas and today was absolutely not an exception.

After his talk with Rosa and Alex leaving his apology on read, he decided that the best way to actually move a step forward was to do something useful for once. Alex had told him about that sheet of paper that was from the original M.V.C. with ink that was specifically tailored to be useful for aliens. He felt that was pretty advanced for 1948 America. He also had it on good authority (Kyle) that Alex got a little shaken up when it came to trying to get information out of his father. So, maybe, if he got information on that, Alex would sit down with him and they could talk it out.

Alex made a mistake, Michael made a mistake, Michael got the piece, Alex got the information, fair and square, right?

It was when he drove up to the Manes residence that he considered that he might have had a lapse in judgement. Yet, he still got out of the car and let himself into the front door, so maybe he was thriving on that lack of judgment. Part of him felt a little guilty for letting himself into someone else’s house without them knowing; he was committing Alex’s biggest fear. But he was committing it against a piece of shit who hurt Alex, so that felt like enough to excuse his behavior.

He moved as silently as his body would allow, but, as a telekinetic, he’d never really had to work on bodily subtlety. Jesse Manes was already aware of his presence by the time he made himself known, standing with his back to the fireplace. Michael smiled at the man in front of him.

“Hey, Chief,” he said, “Long time, no see.”

Jesse eyed him and nodded his head. It was like he had expected Michael to show up here some day and had just been waiting. Which, honestly, was sort of impressive. Even Michael hadn’t planned this out.

“What are you doing here?” Jesse asked, his walls up high as if actually scared of what Michael could do. That was almost funny given their history. Then again, here he had no weapons immediately on hand and he was alone. The only one around was Flint and he’d left not long before Michael pulled up, he checked. Besides, if something did happen, would Flint really be mad? Unlikely.

“Thought we could talk,” Michael said, walking around to sit on the couch and finding extra confidence in the way Alex’s jeans hugged his thighs. He figured if he acted all casual, it’d be for the best. The more unhinged he was, the more Jesse had the upper hand. It was easier if he pretended he had everything under control regardless of the situation. He learned that from Alex. “Heard of a little thing called M.V.C.?”

Jesse shook his head condescendingly. 

“Clearly I can’t tell my son anything in confidence.”

“Clearly,” Michael said, smiling easily, “So why not tell me a thing or two?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on,” he urged, “It’ll be fun.”

Things fell silent as Jesse seemed to look around and become aware of his exits. It was like getting whiplash, seeing one of Alex’s traits so obvious in his father. Was that how he was raised? To always be on edge? To always be aware of the monster under the bed, in the corner, on the couch?

“Someone directly involved in M.V.C. wrote my mother a note back in 1948,” Michael said blatantly. Jesse didn’t show his shock at that statement, but, again, he shared Alex’s tell signs. “They were warning her of the attack, but they told her it was later than it came. What do you happen to know about that?”

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Because I happen to know that you’re obsessive ass probably has every single detail memorized,” Michael said simply, “So tell me.”

He said nothing.

“What, you plead the fifth?” Michael asked, “‘Cause I think you should tell me.”

“You do realize I get nothing out of it if I tell you? You seem to think I’m stupid,” Jesse said. Michael shrugged.

“Thought you might say that,” he said, digging in his pocket for that piece of paper with the writing on it, “Thought you might also want this. You tell me what you know about it and I had it over, no further questions.”

Again, silence. Michael didn’t waver as they stared at each other. He wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t going to turn up to talk to Alex empty handed along with his apology. Classified information was so much better than flowers and chocolate.

“Listen, Alex located the C part of M.V.C. Whatever you don’t tell us, we’ll find out in a different avenue. Why don’t you play nice for a minute?”

And just like Michael had learned to read Alex, he saw the moment Jesse decided it was worth it.

“This information goes directly to my son, doesn’t it?” Jesse clarified. Michael raised an eyebrow as if to say obviously. He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “If I tell you what I tell you, you have tell him not to investigate the Camerons that are active.”

Michael couldn’t hide the confusion that overcame him.

“Why would I do that?” Michael asked. Jesse clenched his jaw and, for a moment, it almost seemed like he was worried for Alex. Or maybe that was simply wishful thinking and he was actually worried for himself. 

“They’re dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“No,” Jesse said, huffing a laugh as he shook his head, “No, I do what I do because I understand your people are volatile and manipulative and I was taught to protect my legacy. Which is why I don’t affiliate with them. The Camerons that are still active are dangerous to everyone.”

Michael eyed him, but he still nodded. Sure, he wasn’t actually going to believe that 100%, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell Alex to be a little extra cautious. Even though it was strange to hear Jesse actually sound like he gave a shit.

“Right, then,” Jesse sighed, walking over to a cabinet. Michael watched him carefully, half expecting him to pull out a gun. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of old whiskey and two glasses. Michael watched with absolute hesitation as he poured them and handed one to him.

“You expect me to believe this isn’t poison?” Michael asked. Jesse simply shrugged and sat in the large lounge chair that faced him, taking a swig. As he got more comfortable, Michael got more on edge.

“I’m extending niceties,” Jesse explained, taking another swig, “Do you want information or not?”

Michael didn’t trust him one bit, he really, really didn’t. He was horrible and abusive and murderous. But he still took a sip of that whiskey and relished in the way it burned his throat.

Then Jesse started talking.

-

Alex was exhausted as he made his way into the cabin, struggling to drag himself around to check all the locks.

He had a busy weekend ahead of him and he needed to sleep. It didn’t matter that Michael wasn’t here, he would just have to deal with it. He’d accepted (with a little push from Kyle) that he would just have to take a Zoloft before bed so he could calm down enough to sleep. If he stayed up another night, everyone would be screwed.

So he looked over the locks twice for good measure and he made his way into his bedroom, noticing that Michael’s clothes and the piece were still on the bed. Had he not come at all? Was that what the point of the apology was? He just wasn’t coming back?

Alex shook his head and grabbed them, going to his closet to hide them away for the night. However, he scoffed as he realized his last pair of clean jeans were missing. What a fucking bastard.

Despite his annoyance, Alex grabbed something to sleep in and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, washed his face, and even took his meds. He looked at himself in the mirror and forced himself to relax. He was going to be fine. He didn’t need Michael.

Yet, as he turned to leave the bathroom, the man in question was standing right there in the doorway.

Alex’s instincts were already in action though, fist swinging in self defense. Michael, however, caught it and decided it was okay to put his arm around Alex’s waist to steady him, looking him in the eye as he panicked. And Alex was indeed panicking, staring in his eyes as he tried to calm his heart rate. He allowed Michael to hold him there for a few seconds before he pushed him away, taking a step back.

“What the fuck, Guerin?!” Alex snapped. Michael held up his hands in defense, only looking slightly alarmed and that seemed to stem more from Alex’s panic than the fact Alex almost fucking hit him.

“Sorry,” he said, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I-I’ve never actually snuck up on you before, didn’t think that was possible.”

Alex shook his head, a weird mix of anger and hurt and embarrassment filling him as he stared at him. He was too tired, he was off his game. That was bad. But why the fuck was he even here?

“What do you want?” Alex asked. Michael licked his lips and swallowed harshly, hands still held up beside his head.

“We need to talk.”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows, slightly confused. Now they needed to talk? But Michael looked deadly serious, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“It’s important. We need to talk. About a lot of things.”

Despite any type of judgement, Alex nodded and gestured towards the bedroom. He had no idea where this was going, but he was nothing if not a sucker for Michael Guerin. He was willing to listen to anything he had to say.

“Alright. Let’s talk.”

[el-gilliath]

Part 2

Follows this

Something breaks in him during the next week, he’s not going to deny it. Feeling Michael’s anger, betrayal and fleeting moments of happiness shatters his spirit in more ways than he thought it would, though he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s been broken and patched together over and over since he was a kid, his soul’s ability to splinter to protect itself isn’t anything new. 

It does allow him to dissociate like he needs to, so he can move forward. He can go about his week, texting everyone that he’s packed with work because of his reupping. He can hide in the bunker and lick his wounds. He can go to dinner with another man and pretend he’s 100% there and not breaking from Michael in his head. He can ignore Maria calling him, texting that they need to talk. He doesn’t care. He needs to not care, until the bond is completely gone. 

He doesn’t let anyone of the gang see him, he has too much of Michael’s anger alongside his own for that. He doesn’t trust himself with it. He doesn’t trust what he would say.

Kyle asks him why, worried as to why he’s not allowed in the bunker. Alex just tells him he needs time. He’s glad Kyle actually listens to him, and leaves him alone. 

He doesn’t want to talk nor think about Michael, around other people. That should only be done in his lonesome, or accompanied with Buffy. She never judges him, just gives him endless love. It’s the first time he’s experienced it. He’s man enough to admit that he likes it. 

She’s his faithful companion, the one who keeps him sane when his leg hurts, the one who keeps him sane when his PTSD acts up. His flashbacks are usually small, triggered by something stupid like a creaking noise in the cabin. Buffy pulls him out of it like she was made for it, even if she’s not trained for it. He contributes that to her amazing doggy heart, and his fucked up childhood which makes his PTSD more manageable than anything. He hates it, detests it. On his darkest days he’s thankful for it, he knows it’s what made him survive the Air Force.

It’s the seventh day, when he leaves for home. The bond is fading, slowly, though not gently. He wants to grip it tight, keep it in his head forever. He knows how stupid that is, knows that Michael’s anger in his head will warp his own, that it won’t ever quiet. He’d rather have an angry Michael, than no Michael at all. Stupid as that is. 

He’s looking forward to a quiet evening on the couch with Buffy, feeling sorry for himself as the connection fades, cuddling Buffy and watching TV to get through it. 

He sighs deeply, tiredly, when he sees the red truck in front of his cabin. He’s tired of Chevrolet trucks in front of his home, they never lead to anything good. He contemplates leaving, just driving away, but he knows he can’t. Buffy needs him, as much as he needs her, so instead he parks the car and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly through pursed lips. A PTSD breathing technique that actually works. 

He exits his car, taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly as he turns to his porch. He already knows Maria is sitting there so he might just get it over with. 

He doesn’t expect her to sit there with tears in her eyes, half her face hidden in Buffy’s fur. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks as he reaches her. Their friendship might be a bit in the awkward zone, but he never wants Maria to cry. She doesn’t deserve it. 

Maria just looks at him. Not like she’s reading him, just looking. He lets her, doesn’t try to hide anything. He doesn’t know if he could. 

“When did you last see Guerin?”

“A week ago, why?”

“No reason,” Maria says. “Just, my boyfriend went to see you because he was worried about you, and now he’s been avoiding me for a week. Besides coming into the Pony to go on benders.”

“Maria-“

“Do you know he has a Alex sense? Whenever no one has talked to you or no one has seen you for a few days, he starts to worry. He starts asking about you thinking he’s so subtle. He can’t keep from worrying, and now he’s acting like Max has just died again, just from seeing you once.”

Alex feels his jaw tightening, feels his teeth clench. 

“And I’m trying, Alex, I’m trying so hard to not react badly or get pissed, but neither of you will tell me anything!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Alex replies. Michael is fading more and more with every second now. “He came here, I told him I was fine and that he shouldn’t worry, and then he left.”

Maria scoffs. “Even if I wasn’t reading you, I’d still know you were lying.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth, Alex!” Maria’s eyes are burning now. Burning with frustration like Michael’s were only a week ago, but also burning with tears. “Just tell me the truth, please. Tell me why my boyfriend is so filled with guilt and anger that only drinking can make it disappear.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s over between us. Has been for a long time.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s what he told you, and that’s what matters. I don’t.”

“He marked you, didn’t he.”

Cold fills him, rising in him along with anger. He doesn’t know how Maria knows, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to talk about this, doesn’t want to think about it now that Michael is disappearing from his mind. It’s all anger, all betrayal, all fleeting moments of happiness. He misses it already, and it’s not even gone yet. 

“I told you. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“Oh now it matters?” He sneers, the anger overpowering him for a moment. He doesn’t notice the way Maria freezes, doesn’t notice the way Buffy raises her head and yips. “Does it matter now, because you’re in the middle of it? Why didn’t it matter months ago, when you went after the one guy you knew I was hopeful about? Why didn’t it matter when I got my heart trampled on? Why does it only matter when something might be hurting you, and not when it was hurting me?”

As soon as he stops talking the wall on Michael’s side lifts, and the connection flares as Alex becomes aware of the fact that Michael can feel him as well. It flares strong, simmering in the bottom of Alex’s stomach, and he knows Michael is standing right behind him. 

He closes his eyes for a second, a moment, a lifetime. He sighs, deeply, painfully. The truth it is. “I let him mark me so he could see how I feel because apparently he didn’t know. I wanted him to know, Maria. I still want him to know.”

“Why?”

He opens his eyes, looks at Maria. He turns his head slightly, seeing the silhouette of Michael standing behind him before he turns to Maria again. 

“Because I love him and I will never stop. He’s the love of my life, Maria. And I fucked up, but so did he.” He sends her a small, sad smile. “And so did you.”

She returns his sad smile, her eyes flicking to Michael as well. Michael hasn’t said anything, but he feels sad now. No anger, no betrayal. Just sadness. And love. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you are Maria, but you’re not sorry for getting with him. You’re just sorry because you feel guilty.”

“No, I’m-“

“Stop. Please. I told you, I get it. I will always get it, when it comes to Michael Guerin.” He walks over to her and leans down, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead. “But I won’t ever completely get over it. And that’s something we both have to live with.”

The bond fades more as he straightens, the momentary strengthening a lie as many things has been in his life. His gaze finds Michael’s, their eyes locking as the bond fades completely. It’s empty now, he’s alone again. And now more than ever, he doesn’t want to be. 

“I think you both should go.”

Maria nods, getting to her feet with another loving pat of Buffy, who’s been sitting quietly by her side. She moves over to Michael and lays her hand on his arm, a loving touch that Alex both hates her for and feels proud of her for. Neither of them expects it when Michael moves away. 

“Michael?” She asks, voice unsure. Alex watches, a nervous prickle in his hands, a glimmer of something starting in the base of his skull. He’s unsure of what it is, but he won’t call it hope. It’s another piece of him, to broken for that. 

He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Michael and Maria has a wordless conversation, Buffy now at his side. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know why he watches, now that he can no longer feel Michael.

He frowns as Maria huffs a sad laugh, looking over at him. He’s surprised when she comes over and hugs him, he can’t do anything but hug her back. He’s even more surprised when she breaks the hug, smiling her sad smile before she gets in her truck and drives off. Leaving Michael behind.

His gaze meets Michael’s again, their eyes locking once more. He doesn’t understand what is going on.

He has a feeling he’s about to find out.

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 1/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor. 

warnings: for this part -- grief, allusions to depression, unhappy ending (for the moment), alcohol abuse. michael isn’t in a good place & it shows.

part II will be up tomorrow! you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer.

The first time Alex stops him from going too far, Michael’s standing over a bleeding redneck in the middle of the Wild Pony, fist raised to land the blow that would cross the line between ‘drunk and disorderly’ and ‘assault.’ It’s a line he’s usually careful to avoid — he’s accepted his role as the town drunk and has no problem throwing a few punches when they’re well-deserved, but Michael has never wanted to end up in a cell for longer than one night.

But less than a week after he’d watched the prison holding his mother explode less than twenty yards in front of him, Michael’s no longer thinking about the consequences of his actions. He’s stuck in that moment, watching it happen over and over, and even the two full bottles of acetone-laced whiskey he’s consumed aren’t enough to end the cycle. Instead, he’s just light-headed as the grief, the guilt, he’s been trying so desperately to suppress begins to morph in his chest. Maybe he would’ve been able to handle it, or at least leave town before he lost his mind, if someone hadn’t bumped into him, splashing a wave of Max’s favorite beer all over the back of his unwashed t-shirt.

Unwanted images flood Michael’s mind, brought on by sense memory he hadn’t even realized existed. Max, shooting beer cans out of the sky with a backwards baseball cap and a wide grin. Max, sitting across from Michael at one of the stupid high school parties Isobel dragged them to, that same beer in his curled fingers, only half-consumed because Max had always been afraid of what would happen if he got too drunk to control himself in public. Max, sitting at the firepit in front of Michael’s trailer, a pyramid of beer cans to one side of his chair and the perpetual tension in his shoulders absent for once as he and Michael stared silently up at the stars, both asking questions the universe refused to answer.

Michael blinks rapidly, determinedly ignoring the sting in his eyes, and gives up on trying to hold himself in check. The surrender is all the impetus Michael’s grief needs to change completely, and the moment he regains his balance, he whirls on the man behind him, ignoring the slurred apologies to shove him, hard. He’s conscious of eyes on him — bystanders and bartenders alike. Maria is by the door, and vaguely, Michael hears her calling his name, telling him to cool off, but her voice just adds to the maelstrom raging inside him. He’s been using Maria, looking to her for distraction and something easy, when everything else in his life is fraught with pain and complication, but it’s not working anymore, and the guilt of knowing that he’s going to hurt her only adds to the weight he labors beneath.

“Man, what the fuck is your problem?” Michael’s victim demands, hitching up his worn Wranglers and squaring his shoulders in challenge. “I said I was sorry!” 

Words are beyond Michael now, and even if he could find them, he wouldn’t waste one on this man. He simply lashes out, kicking the man’s knees out from under him hard enough that his skull strikes the wood floor with an echoing thud. The alcohol makes it hard to maintain his own balance after the sudden movement, but his misdirected fury has burned off the worst of the buzz, and Michael keeps his footing. He lunges again, blind in his determination to make someone else hurt as much as he does in that moment, and his opponent gets to his feet just in time to save his nose from being broken by the heel of Michael’s shoe. He bellows in outrage and lands a punch of his own. Pain sparks along Michael’s cheek, but it’s barely noticeable in comparison to the invisible, gaping wound in his chest and doesn’t slow him down in the slightest. 

His arm draws back, muscles taught, fingers clenched. There’s a voice in the back of his head that sounds painfully like Max’s lectures every time he entered the Sheriff’s office to find Michael waiting for him in a cell. You’re better than this, Michael. One of these days I’m not going to be able to stop you from being sent to a real jail — and we both know you don’t belong there.

Max was right, to an extent. He isn’t here to stop Michael from being sent anywhere now … but any question of whether Michael belonged in a prison died with the mother he failed to save. Prison is the least of what he deserves. 

Voices, some familiar, some not, add to the cacophony of emotional noise in his head, but none of them matter enough to stop him. None of them even register, really, aside from grating on Michael’s ears. 

In the end, it’s one word that stops him -- his name, only his name, said so evenly that Michael shouldn’t have even been able to pick it out of the noise of the crowd. 

“Guerin.” 

A steady hand clamps around Michael’s wrist, familiarity evident in the touch. There’s no hesitation, no tremble or sign of fear -- just the slide of callouses against the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, warm and anchoring in a way Michael’s never quite understood. He allows the hand to push his arm down to his side, to spin him around until he’s looking straight into Alex Manes’ too-solemn face that he can’t mistake, not even drunk on acetone and a surplus of emotion. 

Stunned, Michael stares at his ex … something, because ‘boyfriend’ is never going to be the right word to describe Alex, and ‘lover’ makes their affair sound like something more than it was. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the night Max killed Noah, and Michael can’t imagine why Alex is here, stopping him from fucking up again, when he could be literally anywhere else, where he wouldn’t have to deal with Michael and his bullshit. 

The thought, and the guilt that rises like bile in his throat, kickstarts him from staring to action. Michael wrenches out of the hold, but makes no move to advance upon either Alex or his earlier opponent. Any urge to do violence is gone, leaving him feeling hollow and empty. His wrist burns where Alex’s hand had been, not from pain, but from the absence of the touch, and Michael hates himself even more for wishing Alex would reach out again. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” Alex tells him calmly, and nods toward the exit to the bar. He’s wearing a leather jacket, Michael notes distractedly, and his hair’s gotten longer. Just slightly out of regulation parameters, whereas before, it would’ve been cut at least a week ago to avoid that. Alex is getting on with his life, moving away from the military rules and routines impressed upon him for years, and Michael can’t help but resent that Alex couldn’t have made that decision when it was possible for Michael to move on with him. 

But resentment and heartbreak pales in comparison to the grief and anger that have taken root in his chest, so Michael stops trying to think and allows the light-headed, overheated feeling of over-indulgence to lessen it all. But even then, Michael’s not drunk enough to miss the softness in Alex’s eyes where they linger on him, nor the hesitance in his body language as he reaches out to rest a careful hand on Michael’s shoulder. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he offers, and the kindness is almost unnerving when Michael expects the opposite.  

“I --” Someone’s bound to have called the police, Michael thinks, even as he tries to slow his racing mind in order to answer. He knows he can’t just go home. He’s got to answer for what he’s done — that guy hadn’t even done anything other than make Michael remember things he didn’t want to, he’s got to —

“Kyle’s handling it,” Alex says, interrupting Michael’s painstaking thought process. It takes him a minute to realize that he’s been speaking aloud, and Alex’s grip on his shoulder has tightened in concern. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but Valenti is standing in front of the guy with the bump on his head, arms crossed and a scowl on his face severe enough to keep him from coming at Michael to blacken his other eye. 

“Michael? Are you okay?” 

The laugh in response to such a stupid question is short and bitter, and makes his nose ache where he’d been struck. Michael nods anyway, an automatic, ingrained response from years of pretending that nothing could touch him. He flicks his curls out of his swollen eye with a clumsy  hand, trying to focus on Alex. Apparently, his reaction hadn’t been particularly reassuring. Not if Alex’s wide eyes and thin lips are any indication. 

Great. Now he’s scaring Alex, like standing him up and betraying him hadn’t been enough. Michael inhales sharply, trying to summon the strength to apologize, to tell Alex that he’s fine, that he should go and stop letting Michael trample all over his heart, but Alex speaks first.

“No one’s arresting you tonight, Guerin. Sheriff Valenti knows about what happened to Max,  and —” 

Michael shoves away from Alex abruptly and pretends not to see the flash of hurt that crosses Alex’s face before he schools his expression. He hates seeing it, hates hurting Alex, but that’s all he can do lately, it seems. Hurt the people  he cares about. Maria. Isobel. Alex. Even Liz. He’s pushed them all away and hidden behind the tall, thorny walls of his own pain. And the walls have grown so tall, so labyrinthine, that even Michael himself can’t escape them now.  Hearing his brother’s name is too much on top of everything else, and no matter how his heart screams for him to burrow into Alex’s chest and beg for forgiveness, for comfort, Michael’s not nearly drunk enough to believe he deserves either.  

The crowds part around him as he moves gracelessly toward the bar’s exit. Maria holds the door for him, tries to say something, but Michael just pushes past her and out into the night. 

No one comes after him. 

[bestillmyslashyheart]

Truth Hurts

It wasn’t that things weren’t going well, they were, it’s just-

Maria watched Michael swindle some tourists at pool from across the bar. A small smile played at her lips as she watched his face light up with pleasure when he took their money and gave them a mock salute. The tourists grumbled something undoubtedly unpleasant but Maria was too far away to hear. She wasn’t too far away to see Michael’s face darken as he took a step towards them. If it weren’t for Max grabbing his arm, she might have worried that Michael would end up spending the night in the drunk tank. Again.

A loud groan drew her attention back to the bar where an elegant blonde heap formally known as Isobel was slumped over the counter.

“I need wine. Lots of wine.” Her voice was muffled but audible. Maria’s smile grew unbidden as she fetched a bottle of white wine that she kept stocked these days just for Isobel. Not that she’d admit that but no one else had ever come into the Pony for wine so long as they’d been in business.

Maria placed the glass next to Isobel’s head. “Need a kick?” She asked. She kept acetone stocked under the bar these days for Michael and the Evans twins. It had taken her a while to come to terms with the whole alien thing but once she had, she’d done her best to be accommodating. But Isobel shook her head as she sat up and threw the glass back in one gulp.

Maria raised an eyebrow when Isobel slammed the empty glass back down in front of her. “Bad day?”

“Today is the 7th anniversary of my wedding to Noah.” Isobel admitted as Maria poured another glass. She froze mid-pour and looked up at Isobel.

Isobel didn’t say anything more. Rather she just reached over and tipped the end of the bottle up to fill her glass.

Maria watched as she downed the second glass almost as quickly as the first. “You sure you don’t want something more?”

“Oh I do.” Isobel told her. “But not here.”

Maria nodded. She could understand that. Michael had explained to her that acetone was like heroin to them almost. And while Michael had an absurdly high tolerance that worried her, Isobel didn’t. If Isobel started downing acetone like she was tossing back the wine, she’d very quickly become too intoxicated to control herself. And an Isobel without control spelled migraines for everyone.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Maria offered. “All the booze and acetone you could want without the crowds.”

Isobel snorted as she stared at the wine Maria was pouring into her glass. “And have to sit around and watch you and Michael be all loved up later? Pass.” She took a sip. Maria was happy to see that it was normal sized. “I really don’t want to be around happy couples today.”

Maria glanced up and over at Michael. He was still at the pool tables, now in the middle of a game with Max. Max was bent over the table lining up a shot while Michael stood behind him staring at his phone. There was a soft smile on his face as he sent a reply and it didn’t fade when he put it away. Maria looked away.

She and Michael didn’t talk about Alex. They’d had one stuttering conversation right when they first decided to start dating but it was too painful a subject for them to ever bring up again. So while Maria couldn’t say for sure that it had been Alex on the other end of the phone that made Michael smile like that, she couldn’t say for sure that it wasn’t. It bothered her, to think that they were still in touch, that Alex could be the one putting that smile on Michael’s face. But not as much as she thought it should.

“We don’t have any plans tonight,” Maria told Isobel when she looked back over to see the blonde pouring out the last of the bottle into her glass. She took the empty with a worried look at Isobel and threw it away. She didn’t grab another. “Why don’t you go on up and I’ll bring you something more to drink. You won’t have to worry about messing with anyone’s head accidentally,” or anyone bearing witness to Isobel acting human, she didn’t say. She knew Isobel hated feeling vulnerable and while Maria was touched that she would come here to drink in the first place, she also knew that Isobel would prefer to drink her sorrows away in private.

Isobel searched her face for a moment before nodding and throwing back the last of her wine. She grabbed her purse and headed for the back door. There was a staircase back there that led straight upstairs to Maria’s apartment without having to go outside to the exterior entrance.

Maria helped another customer before signalling for the bartender to keep an eye out. She stooped down and grabbed a couple bottles of wine and a bottle of acetone and with her hands full, she followed Isobel upstairs.

“That was a bad idea,” Isobel groaned as Maria nudged the kitchen door open with her foot.

“What was?” Maria asked as she unburdened herself.

“The wine. That fast.”

Maria chuckled. “You’re on a mission to drunken oblivion.” She opened a wine bottle and pushed it towards Isobel but the bottle of acetone shot across the table first. Maria eyed it in surprise as Isobel twisted the top off and gulped some down.

“Since when-”

Isobel shrugged. “Since Max died. Michael and I discovered that we could access all three of our powers. We’re still best at our original ones but I can do some telekinesis here and there.” She took another sip. “Michael didn’t tell you?”

Maria shook her head. “I didn’t know about aliens then so I guess it didn’t come up.”

Isobel hummed and took another sip. Neither woman said a word for a while, Isobel content to drink in silence and Maria happy to keep her company.

“How could I have been so stupid?” Isobel bemoaned a while later. Her voice was quiet and Maria almost thought she’d imagined it but Isobel looked at her like she was waiting for an answer.

“You weren’t stupid, Isobel. You loved him.” Maria told her. “There was no way you could have known who and what he was.”

“I’m a fucking telepath,” Isobel spat out. “I literally read people’s minds and I didn’t know that my husband was a psychotic serial killer who used my body to kill people.”

Maria paused for a second. “I have mild psychic powers,” she admitted. “Nothing like yours, I can’t read minds or anything, but I get feelings and I can see auras. If I choose to, that is. When I was younger, I couldn’t control it that well and it was awful. It was sensory overload all of the time. I knew too much and it ruined things because sometimes people need their secrets. So I learned how to control it and I don’t use it very often. These days, hardly at all, really.” Maria reached out and land her hand on Isobel’s. “If someone I trust lies to me, I try to accept it. What I don’t do, or try not to do, is blame myself for it. They chose to lie to me. Yes, if I want to, I can find out when people are lying to me but the point of trusting people is that I shouldn’t have to. And I imagine it’s the same for you. Yes, you could have searched Noah’s mind for the truth but you loved him and you trusted him. He’s the one who violated that trust. That’s on him, not you. You are not to blame for what he did. And you shouldn’t bear any guilt for it. You don’t deserve that.”

Isobel stared at her. After a moment, she nodded and looked away, a hand coming up to discretely wipe away a tear. Maria squeezed the hand she was still holding and pulled away.

“I need to get back to the bar but stay as long as you want,” she told Isobel. “I’ll be back up later but if you need anything just text me, okay?”

Isobel nodded but didn’t say anything as Maria slipped out the door.

“Hey babe,” Michael called as she came back into the bar. “Everything okay? You kind of disappeared there for a while. I was coming upstairs to check on you.”

Maria plastered a smile on her face and shook her head as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Everything’s good. Just needed to take a break for a bit.”

Michael shrugged and accepted her explanation. He double checked that she didn’t need anything before he went back to join Max, and now Liz, at the pool table. She watched him go with an odd feeling in her chest. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him about Isobel, she was his sister and he’d want to know that she was having a hard time, but something held her back.

She tried not to think about why as she stepped back behind the bar and started helping customers. The next time she looked over at Michael and company, he waved her over. She smiled and held up a finger but dallied around for a bit before joining them.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy spending time with Liz and Max and obviously Michael, it’s just that she’d rather be upstairs right now.

She really tried not to think about that too much either.

----

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Maria asked, glancing between the three aliens and Liz.

“It’s fine,” Liz assured her. “We’ve already tested the lethality of this serum, now we just need to gauge the side effects.” She and Kyle prepared three syringes of her and Michael’s latest serum while the rest of the human squad waited close by, armed and ready with enough silver to throw them all back into their pods in case Liz was wrong about the lethality.

“But dosing all three of them at one time?” Maria asked, dubious. “I feel like it would be safer if you did one at a time. That way the other two could help deal with the side effects.”

Liz shrugged. “Max didn’t have any when we tested it on him last week. I don’t forsee any this time but we’re prepared if it does. Better to be safe than sorry.” She nodded at where Rosa and Alex stood waiting behind Maria. When Maria didn’t offer any more objections, she turned back to Kyle and sorted out the vials.

“Ok, so each vial has a different amount of the serum. This is to test how much is necessary to be effective and also if the possibility of side effects increases with the amount,” Liz explained, mostly for Rosa and Alex’s benefit since everyone else had gone over this several times already. “We’re going to do this in terms of control over your powers. If the serum disturbs your powers rather than negates them, we don’t want to have any accidents.”

Kyle handed her the syringe loaded with the least amount of the serum. Liz took it carefully and stepped over to Max as he rolled up his sleeve.

“This is more than we injected last time so be prepared for that,” Liz warned him. Max nodded but didn’t say anything as she administered the serum.

There was a pause after she stepped away where everyone kept a wary eye on Max to see if anything happened. After a few minutes with no reaction, Liz took the next syringe and injected it into Isobel. Again, they waited for a reaction. When nothing happened, Liz took the last syringe and injected it carefully into Michael.

“This is about double what I gave Max, okay?” She told him. Michael nodded. He’d gone over it enough times the last week that he knew the set up. Hell, he was the one who volunteered for the largest dose, knowing that Max had a tendency to lose it and Isobel could literally fry everyone’s brains if she lost control of her powers.

When she was done with Micheal, Liz stepped back and put the last syringe on the small table they’d set up. She watched the aliens carefully for a few minutes, all of the humans tensed and ready to respond should something happened. But nothing did.

“Well that was anticlimatic,” Isobel huffed after a while. “I think we’re fine.”

Max and Michael exchanged looks and patted their chests as if expecting to find a physical wound before shrugging.

“Great,” Isobel said in a faux happy tone, “then can we get out of here? My shoes are killing my feet.”

Everyone paused.

“Did you just admit that those ridiculous shoes hurt?” Rosa asked with a laugh.

Liz turned to stare at Isobel. The woman loved her clothes and though Liz knew the shoes had to be uncomfortable, Isobel cared too much about the aesthetic to ever complain about the pain.

Isobel’s brows were furrowed and she had a hand halfway to her mouth like she couldn’t believe she’d said that.

“Iz?” Max asked, more curious than worried.

“I don’t know why I said that.” Isobel looked at Max. “I mean these shoes are absolutely torture but I don’t know why I said that.” Isobel’s voice got higher and louder, her hand clapping over her mouth.

Liz didn’t move. She wasn’t sure what was going on and she wanted to wait to see more before reacting. Isobel mumbled something but the words were inaudible with her hand clapped over her mouth. From the way her eyes widened, it was again something she hadn’t intended to say.

She heard a shift from behind her as Alex stepped forward. He put down the silver he’d been holding on to and held out a cautious hand towards Isobel. Liz watched warily; she knew Alex and Isobel had been spending time together lately and he was probably closer to her than any human at this point but Isobel looked freaked out. Liz shot out a hand to stop him but Michael beat her to it.

“Fuck, Alex, you’re so beautiful.” Michael breathed, his voice filled with awe.

Everyone froze. Alex’s head whipped towards Michael in shock while Liz heard Maria gasp behind her.

Michael’s eyes widened. “You are honestly the most beautiful thing on this planet. I love you so goddamn much.” His eyes widened further as he too slapped a hand over his mouth. He exchanged incredulous glances with Isobel. Later, Liz would laugh herself silly over the remembered image of the two alien siblings staring at each other with their hands clasped over their mouths but that would be later.

“Max,” Liz asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Liz could feel Alex in front of her and Maria behind her both stiff with shock, neither moving. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He assured her. “I mean I’m really hungry but other than that.”

“Hungry?” Kyle asked. “Is that new?”

“No,” Max shook his head. “Just didn’t eat breakfast.”

Liz glanced at him. “We had breakfast not two hours ago.”

“You did. I threw it in the trash because it was inedible.”  

Liz slowly turned to stare at him as Max too now covered his mouth. Michael’s burst of laughter split the air.

“You can’t tell your girlfriend she can’t cook, man. Alex-”

“Put your hand back over your mouth, Guerin.” Alex’s voice was sharp and stern and Michael complied instantly.

Rosa burst into laughter. Liz didn’t react as she exchanged glances with Kyle but she finally turned around when Rosa didn’t stop. Her sister was pressed back against the cave wall and leaned over, bracing herself on her knees. Her laughter was incongruous with the tense mood in the cave and it was startling.

“Rosa,” she warned but Rosa waved her off as she slowly got herself under control.

“Your cooking is awful, Liz.” Liz glared at her but Rosa just grinned. “And I personally would love to hear more about how beautiful Alex is.”

“Don’t-” Alex tried to say but Michael didn’t listen.

“Oh man, first thing in the morning? The way his skin glows when the sun hits him?” Michael started off. “Waking up to that every morning would be enough to keep me on this stupid planet.”

Maria turned on her heel and left.

Michael opened his mouth to keep going but Alex stepped in front of him and covered his mouth with his own hand.

“Don’t,” Alex warned, his voice hard. Michael mumbled something beneath Alex’s hand and grabbed at Alex’s hips and pulled him closer. Alex stumbled forward a step. The two stood frozen in an intimate tableau before Alex dropped his hand and backed away.

“Alex, please don’t walk away. I miss you,” Michael pleaded, his face twisting as Alex backed away, shaking his head as he took another step before turning and leaving.

“Way to go Michael,” Isobel chided. “You have the most perfect woman in the world as your girlfriend and you’re too hung up on the ex that broke your heart to appreciate her.”

Michael turned to stare at her as she covered her mouth back up, her eyes wide with horror.

“Woah, you’re in love with Maria?” Rosa asked from the back. Liz had forgotten she was still in there.

Isobel tried to mumble but eventually her head bobbed up and down. The look on her face told Liz that she hadn’t intended to do that.

“Ok,” Liz said, getting everyone’s attention away from Isobel whose face was quickly becoming a concerning shade of red. “Clearly there were side effects.”

“I need to go after Alex,” Michael took a step forward but was stopped by Kyle’s hand in his chest.

“Yeah, no. That’s not going to happen.” Kyle warned. Michael opened his mouth but Kyle covered it.

“Rosa can you take all of this stuff to the car?” Liz asked. “While we figure out what’s happening.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious what’s happening, Elizabeth.” Rosa told her. “You gave them truth serum.” But she stepped forward and started collecting all of their supplies without objection. Everyone was silent while she worked. Everyone except Michael that is but with Kyle’s hand firmly over his mouth, Liz couldn’t make out anything he was saying.

Well, she could make out Alex’s name a couple of times. Not Maria’s, she thought with a pang. She spared a moment to regret encouraging Maria towards a relationship that now clearly had no future but she shoved that aside to examine the problem in front of her.

Max was the only one with his hand uncovered though his jaw was clenched tight.

“Rosa’s right,” Kyle told her. “This is clearly some kind of truth serum.”

Liz glared at him. “First things first, can any of you use your powers?”

Max shrugged.

“Try?” Liz urged. Max nodded and closed his eyes. The lantern on the table, one of the few things Rosa hadn’t been able to grab, exploded. Liz and Kyle jumped away with a shout. But almost as soon as it happened, the shards reassembled themselves and the light flickered back on.

All eyes turned to Michael who was staring at the lantern with wide eyes. The next moment, the world went soft. Liz turned slowly to see Isobel smirking before the cave came back into focus.

Liz took an unsteady step and caught herself on the table. “Ok. Safe to say, your powers are not gone.”

“Looks like we got a power boost, instead.” Isobel glared at her.

“Can we get back to the truth serum part?” Michael asked.

Liz nodded as she straightened. “Each of you are telling the absolute truth, right? Even when you don’t want to?” The three aliens nodded.

“Except it’s not uniform,” Kyle stated. “Michael’s blurting out his deepest secrets.”

“Not that deep,” Isobel cut in, earning a glare from Michael.

“Isobel,” Kyle glared at her as he continued, “seems to be similar, saying things she normally wouldn’t but it’s at least in context. While Max has only answered direct questions so far.”

“Hey Max,” Michael asked. “What do you really think of me?”

“You’re my brother, Michael, and I love you,” Max told him, his jaw clenching tight as he answered. “But I think you care too much about your own problems sometimes. You’re wasting your life drinking and getting into petty fights and you’re using your childhood as an excuse to not better yourself and it’s getting old. You need to pull yourself together and figure out how to be an actual person. You spend too much time thinking about the fact that you’re an alien and not enough about the fact that you’ve spent your entire life on Earth. You’re in such a rush to leave that you’ve never let yourself have a reason to stay.”

“Alex is my reason to stay,” Michael told him, his face hardening.

“Alex left you,” Max told him. “And it broke you. I get that you love him but I don’t understand going back for seconds and thirds let alone more.”

“No, you don’t. Because you never asked. You’ve known about me and Alex since high school and it took you 10 years to bring it up. If you actually gave a shit, if you cared that him leaving broke me, why not say something sooner?”

Max shrugged. “You never brought it up. Figured that’s the way you wanted it.”

“Since when have you given a shit about what I wanted?” Michael asked with a laugh.

“Ok, let’s table this for now and figure out however to undo it,” Isobel suggested as she stepped between them and put her hands up as if to hold them off.

“You knew too, Izzy,” Michael accused.

“It was pretty obvious, Michael. Every time he came home you’d be stupidly happy before getting all depressed when he left again.”

“And you never thought that hey, my brother’s hurting I should talk to him? Be there for him?” Michael asked, his voice wavering. “Both of you just assumed that I needed to go through even more trauma all on my own? Because I haven’t done it enough in my life?”

“That’s not what it was, Michael,” Isobel told him. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Fuck you, Isobel.” Michael told her harshly. “I was there for you through every single relationship, every heartbreak. And you couldn’t be there for me?”

“You didn’t tell us!” Max yelled.

“So what?!” Michael yelled back. “You knew anyway! Least you could’ve done was act on it. But I’m only your brother when you need something from me. Never when I need either of you.”

He turned on his heel and marched out of the cave. The silence in his wake was deafening.

“He probably shouldn’t be talking to anyone right now,” Liz pondered out loud. “Rosa?” She called, knowing her sister was probably right outside the cave. Sure enough, Rosa’s head popped around the corner.

“Maria and Alex are long gone,” Rosa told them.

Kyle and Isobel both muttered something under their breaths but Liz ignored them. “Can you go with Michael?”

“Where?”

“Wherever. Just try to keep him away from people. Who knows what he’ll say right now. Just call me if his condition changes in any way.”

Rosa nodded and disappeared. Liz turned back to the twins.

“We should go back to Max’s. There’s no point in staying here.”

“I’m going home.” Isobel protested.

Liz sighed but nodded. “Ok, yeah. None of you seem to be having any physical side effects but I do want to keep you under observation. Kyle can take you home and-” she watched as Kyle nodded before shaking her head. “No, I’ll take you home and Kyle can go with Max.”

“Liz?” Max questioned as he took a step toward her. Liz pressed a kiss to his lips and smiled.

“No offense, Max, but every relationship needs its little white lies. I don’t need or want to know literally everything. So I’ll stay with Isobel until this thing wears off and Kyle can keep you company.”

Max nodded and kissed her again.

“I so do not need to see happy couples right now,” Isobel protested and they broke apart. “Are we going?”

Liz nodded and grabbed the lantern as Kyle folded up their table. Within moments, the cave looked as if they’d never been there.

The walk to the cars was silent. Isobel slid into the passenger seat of Liz’s car without a word as Kyle and Max got into their own cars and drove off.

Liz paused before starting the car but Isobel just stared out the window.

The rest is on AO3

[malex-overlord-believe]

Ask Me

Michael returns Maria's necklace earlier.

All Alex wants is a drink and maybe some normality that the Wild Pony brings. He grabs a seat at the bar waiting for Maria to swing by and tell her how the trip to Texas went.

She comes not a minute after he’s seated with a shot of the good stuff ready for them both.

“Manes I made the biggest mistake of my life last night.”

Alex doesn’t think whoever she banged is that bad since she seems a bit lighter.

“Why don’t you tell me about how Texas went then you can lament all about your biggest mistake.” He throws back his shot and enjoys the slight burn that helps take his mind off of all the crazy stuff going on in his head.

Maria nods at the action and takes her too before pouring them another.

“Texas was a hack which sucked and lead me to said ‘biggest mistake’ because I can’t believe I really did what I did. I mean sure there’s always been a bit of tension between us and i’m not saying it wouldn’t have never happened, but still: why him.” She’s leaning against the bar with her elbows on the counter and dramatically covers her face with her hands. They both laugh when she peeks through them with a small smile.

“So DeLuca gonna tell me who ‘he’ is?” They knock their glasses together and down their shot. “Don’t keep me guessing.”

“Well alright it’s-”

She’s cut off when the doors swing open and Michael Geurin walks in shouting, “Hey DeLuca you forgot this. Did you put it in my boot on purpose because this thing is pointy and it hurt!”

Alex turns without a thought to see Michael dangling Maria’s necklace in his hands, who pauses when he sees Alex’s face before continuing to walk over.

Alex thinks he’s in shock but- no he’s felt that before. This is… something else. It’s not anger or hurt because he can’t be at either of them for- well being adults. It’s this weird mix of feelings he honestly doesn’t want to get into. Ever.

“Speak of the Devil. Thank you now leave and never return.” Maria snatches her necklace and tries to shoo Michael away but he just takes the empty seat next to Alex, still looking at him. Alex feels like it’s almost a challenge.

“Geurin.” He says first.

“Alex.”

Alex looks back at Maria who’s glaring at Michael until it turns into a frown. That’s a ‘i’m feeling something here’ frown and Alex doesn’t want to get into that either.

“Maria tells me you’re her biggest mistake.” He downs the new shot Maria poured them and tries not to look back at Michael but he canfeel his eyes still on him. Of course everything he was trying to ignore for just one night wants him to deal with it now. Typical.

“She wouldn’t be the first.”

Maria slides the bottle and their shot glasses out of Michaels reach. “Ya but I might be the last. I wasn’t lying about cutting things Guerin. Now leave.”

Michael finally just sighs in defeat and Alex can feel his gaze finally leave him but it's different this time, like it's final. That's what he wants right? To end this cycle they have of coming back to each other, ending up hurt, leaving then starting the whole thing over again. Right?

“Guess everybody wants to leave me.” He tosses a ten on the counter and stands to go but there’s something pushing at Alex to make him stay and not make this feel like it's actually ending.

“Wait Geurin-”

“You were right Manes, not a bang but a whimper. I’ll start making myself scarce.”

He should just let Michael walk. This time he isn’t the one walking away, this thing between them will finally end and it hurts but maybe-

“Michael Geurin you sit the fuck down now.” Maria hisses as she stares at Alex. He doesn’t even know what his face might look like right now but it’s probably telling her everything.

She slams the bottle down loud enough for everyone to hear and gets up on the counter. “Everyone who doesn’t want to be barred for life better leave in the next two minutes. Now.” Her eyes narrow at Michael who takes a step towards the rush of people leaving. “Geurin you stay or so help me I will end you.” she warns and Michael actually heeds the warning. He slowly makes his way back but sits with one stool between them.  

Hoping off the bar and quickly going to lock-up, she shouts a reminder for everyone to bring any taken glasses back tomorrow before shutting the door.

Maria crosses her arms as she leans back against the locked doors, eyeing the two men all the way at the bar counter. She gives her head a quick shake as she goes to turn the music off before slowly walking over.

“You.” She points at Alex. “Are an idiot but i’m thinking there’s way more to it than that.”

“You.” her hand swings to Michael. “Are still a mistake but a somewhat fun one.” There’s a pause as she ruminates before nodding. “ You’re also Museum Guy.”

Michael lifts a brow at that. “Museum guy?... Oh.”

“Dear lord I slept with Museum guy.”

She takes the seat between them and glares at Alex. “You made museum guy sleep with me!”

“That- I don’t even know what to say to that.” He argues.

“You told her about that.”

Alex reluctantly looks around Maria at Michael. He tries not to look too much into what he sees on Michael’s face.

“Sorta. Just the- the good parts.” Alex gets out. He really is tired. With what he knows now. What he wants to know. Everything he’s feeling. Just… Everything is started to be way more than he thinks he can handle and Alex Manes has handled so much shit.

So many emotions run through Michael’s face before it lands on his stupid go-lucky cowboy attitude. “Oh so you remember we had good parts now?” He gives Alex a sharp nod but his eyes are cold. “And here I thought I was the only one who did.”

Maria slams her hands on the table.

“Guerin stop being a dick and cut the act. I’m going to get you a glass, grab stuff that’ll make us regret drinking, and by the end of tonight we’re figuring out this thing between you two.”

It’s silent as Maria goes behind the bar while Alex tries his best to avoid looking at Michael and Michael only looks at him.

A shot glass is placed in-front of Michael and all glasses are filled with a brand new bottle of something with a fancy name that Alex can smell from his seat.

Michael and Maria down their drinks but Alex is hesitant, considering if drinking while dealing with whatever Maria thinks they need to deal with, is a good idea.

“Alex we are adults and we both know you won’t open up until you’ve had a bit of good old-fashion truth serum in you.” His glass is pushed closer.

He can still feel Michael’s eyes on him but it’s the worried look from Maria that makes him finally drink.

A satisfied grin replaces the worry and Maria leans against the bar eyeing them both.

“So Michael is Museum Guy. It took ten goddamn years for you to tell me and I had to figure it out. Michael and I had a simple easy hook-up last night cause life is shit. It meant nothing, Geurin don’t give me that look, sure it was good but we’re better off as friends, who else am I going to get annoyed with but who gets me? You two need to figure out whatever the hell your shit is right now because i’m starting to get a headache from this hopeful heartbreak thing you both got going on.” She finishes by pouring and draining another shot then hopping over the bar and moving to sit next to Alex, leaving the free seat between him and Michael. “Who’s going first?”

Alex watches as Michael eyes them both before pulling a bottle of nail polish remover out from his jacket and taking a couple gulps straight from it. The surprise from the action is the only thing that stopped Alex from launching across to slap the bottle away.

Michael lets out a long sigh with his eyes closed, looking so tired but ready to get whatever they’re doing over with.

“I’m so fucking tired of everything right now so i’m only saying this once: I’m an Alien.” His eyes bore into Alex, like he’s trying to find something but Alex doesn’t know what.

He’s not gonna lie though, finally hearing Michael say it makes all this alien drama he’s been dealing with so much easier. Alec can actually feel some of the chaos in his head quiet down while the tension in his whole body gives just a little bit.

“I’m not saying having sex with you was out of this world.”

Alex is blaming the alcohol on that even though he’s only had a few shots. He feels Maria shift closer and peer over his shoulder at Michael. “Prove it.”

He scoffs and shakes the nail polish remover like that should be enough but rolls his eyes as he focuses on the shot glasses on the bar until they start to float.

“Crash landed back in 47’ but I didn’t wake up until a century later.” The glasses start to spin in a lazy orbit until they settle gently back on the counter.

Alex didn’t know that part but he can easily piece together the other things. Michael and the Evan twins being found all those years ago. Max and Isobel being adopted. Michael in the system. All of them having to hide this secret for their whole lives.

Whatever tension and relief Alex had a second ago is gone, now replaced with horror. He pours himself another shot.

Alex knows what keeping secrets about yourself does and it being something so vital actually makes his chest hurt.

Maria reaches for the bottle to pour another drink. “Max and Isobel too then.”  

Michael stays quiet.

“Ok well I’m not dumb Guerin but i’ll let this slide. Alex?”

“Guess I made him go into shock.” Michael jokes as he pours a splash of nail polish remover into his glass then brings the bottle over to him to top it off.

Alex swallows down the emotions to keep his voice even. “Who else knows?” He finally asks. His dad brought Kyle in but Alex has a strong suspicion that Liz knows because anyone with eyes can see how her and Max are, and Roswell’s just small enough that there only a few people that would make sense.

“Besides you guys, Liz because she almost died and Max saved her, and Kyle cause Liz can’t keep her mouth shut apparently. I guess having a doc and bio-med researcher came in handy though.” There’s a deep frown on his face and Alex knows Michael still isn’t happy they know but begrudgingly grateful.

“Why tell us then?” Why tell me he asks asks with his eyes. If anything he should have never told Alex, kept him in the dark so he could stay safe.

Michael’s eyes flick away as he turns to face the entrance and lean back against the counter, elbows resting on the wood to support him as his hands dangle over the side. Alex is torn between being grateful he can’t see Michael’s left but desperate to know the mark left on it is still there, the horrid reminder that what happened to them really did happen. That the good parts still happened.

“Guess I’m giving you the best excuse to finally walk away.” Michael has his head tilted up to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he looks back at Alex with a fake smile. “Then again it won’t really matter once I find the remaining pieces and leave. No one wants me to stay, might as well try and find out where i’m from.”

It feels as if pure ice shoots through Alex’s veins, leeching all the warmth leaving him frozen.

Michael leaving. The planet. Leaving to a place Alex won’t be able to follow. He remembers back when he thought Michael might leave after being told to move by the military and how panicked he felt that Michael was leaving to another state but now- now it’s like he can’t breathe, move, do anything right now. Alex always left but some small part of him believed he could always get back to Michael no matter the distant or time it took.

“Pieces? Like for your Alien spaceship?"

Not even the reminder of Maria helps pull him out from where he feels stuck but then his brain gets stuck on the word pieces.

Pieces.

Pieces of alien tech. A piece he has. A piece that could help Michael leave forever.

“Yup. It’s taken a few years, lots of digging and searching on the dark web as well as our good old town, but once I’ve gotten enough I can engineer what I have to so I can leave.”

Alex has just been staring at Michael saying nothing. Trying to read his face and decide what to say, say what he really wants to but he can see a sort of relief on Michael’s face, how it’s a bit more relaxed at the thought of leaving a place that’s been nothing but cruel and unforgiving his whole life.

A hand grabs onto his arm and he turns to see the conflict on Maria’s face reflecting his own about Michael leaving.

But Alex’s mind is stuck on Michael’s face and if he can make Michael feel better- if this is really what Michael needs, to be free and away to be happy, then Alex will help him.

“Michael you’d really- Alex, where are you going?”

Alex gently tugs his arm free and marches to the exit. He’s not thinking, doing anything not to think about what he’s doing. Just keep walking. Unlock the door. Get to his car. Unlock it. Grab his bag. Give Michael the piece he needs to leave-

“Alex what are you doing?”

He tries to shake off the grip on his arm and get closer to his car but the hand only tightens.

“If you’re going to call me in at least give me ahead start Manes.”

Those words finally make him snap. That he thinks Alex would ever- but then he hasn’t really ever done anything to make Michael think otherwise, so all the anger turns to guilt and shame he can only blame himself for.

“Stop making this harder for me Guerin. Let me go so I grab the piece of your stupid ship and you can leave.”

Alex tries to pull away again but Michael’s other hand grabs onto him and brings him closer.

“What are you talking about.”

“Just let me-” He can feel tears of frustration starting to well up but he tries his best to blink them away.

“Alex hey calm down and talk to me-”

He finally pushes Michael away, his chest restricting even more at the hurt confusion that flashes across Michael’s face at his action. But this is all too much and he needs to do this before he can’t- before he losses whatever motivation he has to make Michael happy and be selfish by making him stay. Michael wants him to talk, he’ll talk, say his peace and give Michael what he needs to finally leave for good.

“You want to leave. You want to leave forever and you think nobody wants you to stay. You want to leave a place that’s been nothing but horrible and cruel, and I get that. If you really want to leave then I’ll help but if you stop me now I might-” He clamps his mouth shut and thanks the last few weeks of intense physical therapy that lets him whirl around to get to his car before Michael can stop him again.

He gets as far as unlocking it and a hand on the handle before he’s being turned and pushed back against the door by his shoulders.

“You might what.”

Acetone and alcohol wash against his face with Michael so close. His eyes fall to Michael’s mouth on instinct but he tries to wiggle the hand closest to the door handle with whatever higher brain functions he isn’t slowly losing with being nearly pressed up against Michael’s warm body.

A hand slides up to cups his neck, the contact of skin makes his breath stutter and his hand fall to his side.

“Alex.”

His eyes find Michael’s. Those eyes that never leave him. Those eyes that brings him back to probably the best and worst moments of his life. Those eyes he’s always looked into never saying what he really wants and only things that hurt them both.

“If you don’t let me go then i’m going to be selfish and find a way to make you stay.” He croaks out as his hands go to grip onto the lapels of Michaels Jacket.

“What if I want you to be selfish.” Both hands are cupping his neck now and makes his whole body melt into the hold, the unsaid trust that Michael will hold him up.

“What if I want you to make me stay.” A thumb brushes away a stray tear that falls then their foreheads are pressed together as they breathe the same air, enveloped in this moment. The cool night air up against Alex’s jeep in the empty lot of the Wild Pony with Alex wanting Michael to stay and Michael telling him he wants that too.

But… it can’t be that easy.

“But you’re not happy. You want to leave me.” Alex whispers trying to voice is worries. “What if I can’t- what if we- there’s always something that never just lets us be.”

His father. This town. The world. The damn universe always finds a way to keep them just out of reach.   

“I loved you and I know you loved me too. I still care about you but we don’t even really know each other. I only knew what I thought of you, what I learned from those few moments we had when we were younger and those few times we saw each other when I was on leave, but we’ve always just been physical! I want-” Alex’s right hand snakes its way up to press against Michael’s chest, right over his heart. “I want to know you. I want to- be friends again? Learn who you really are because what we had- the connections I felt was-” Alex tries to find the words but Michael easily voices them for him.

“Cosmic? So strong it’s lasted ten years?” Michael swallows and tries to calm down all his emotions bubbling up from everything Alex is saying, all the stuff he knew Alex was holding back. “Something that keeps hurting us. Something we couldn’t ever really have because I had to keep my secret since it wasn’t just mine.”

Alex shakes his head at that. “I already had my suspicions and knew about the Alien thing and I honestly don’t really care about that. God i’ve known for nearly a month Guerin but all finding out did was give me the chance to finally protect you.”

He looks up to see this shocked but soft look in Michael’s eyes, like amazement.

“I’m a skilled hacker. I’ve built connections in the government. I can help you go home and leave this planet if you really want that.”

“But you don’t want that.”

Alex’s jaw tightens.

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it does!” Michael yells and Alex can feel his jeep starting to shake behind him before going still. “You just said you want to know me and be friends and you don’t wantme to leave.”  

His hand tightens in Alex’s hair and presses them closer together.

“I already said I wanted you to make me stay. The only thing keeping me here is my siblings and you. Sure I want to leave but so do a lot of other people. You’re not such a stranger to doing it.”

“Guerin-”

“All you ever had to do was ask me. That night you stayed when I didn’t even ask you to, was like a dream Alex. I woke up and you were there but then you left  still not wanting people to know. Then you came to me at the drive-in, which honest to god felt like a date, but you left and only came back to say things were over because I was a criminal.” There’s a desperation in his eyes, like he’s trying to get everything out before he crumbles under the pain. “I didn't think you'd be at the Wild Pony tonight but I'm glad you were because I finally got to tell you who I really was but then both you and Maria seemed to freak out that I was leaving even though not a couple minutes before you wanted me gone. So until someone actually asks me to stay, I honestly don't see why I should. Why stay if I'm not wanted.”

His eyes drop and so does his head, falling down to rest against Alex's chest, his shirt starting to get wet from tears.

“Why stay at all.” He croaks out as his arms slide down to loosely hold onto Alex's arms and take a shaky breath before starting to pull away.

“Stay.” The words are a whisper said into Michael's curls.

Alex's right hand fists Michael's shirt while his left wraps around Michael's waist to grip onto the bottom of it to stop Michael from pulling away.

“Stay here. With me.”

He pulls Michael flushed against him, the position uncomfortable but so close and perfect.

“I'm done running away.”

Alex's right hand trials up to snake his fingers in Michael's hair and gently tugs so he can look at him.

“I want you, so please, stay?” he pleads as more tears fall.

Michael stares at him with wet eyes in equal parts hope and fear.

“Don't ask if you don't mean it. There's only so many times I can hope Alex before I'm hollowed out.” His hands rising to hold Alex's face in them. “I need to know you mean it.”

Alex holds Michaels gaze with determination.

“Michael. I want you to stay.”

[foramomentonly]

Nail In My Coffin, Part Four

Part One    Part Two    Part Three

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery .

Author’s Note: This takes place between Parts Two and Three, but they don’t have to be read chronologically. I’m certainly not writing them that way! Hope you enjoy! I’m tagging these under Malex fashion au.

TW for discussion of chronic pain and loss of limb/amputation (but in absolutely no detail)

Read on AO3

It's a bad day. Alex knows it the second he opens his eyes. He tries to sit up in bed and feels his hip seize and a shooting, all-encompassing pain travel from the hinge of his joint all the way down his stump and into the empty space that still aches like it remembers what it felt like to be whole. He suffers through his morning exercises that do jack shit on days like this and showers. His crutch is leaning against the dresser as he searches a drawer for clean clothes, and even though he longs to say fuck it and take it with him, he steels himself and instead digs out his prescription painkillers—the ones you absolutely do not fuck around with—and swallows a single pill dry, stuffing the bottle in his pocket in preparation for a long, agonizing day in the studio.

When he and Kyle were first selected for the show, Alex requested a sit-down with the producers. He got fifteen minutes. He used them to explain, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be talking on camera about his prosthesis or his partial loss of limb in the line of duty. His feelings about his military service are ambivalent. It’s shaped who he has become in ways Alex both values and, on days when he disassociates and feels his grasp on his own humanity go slippery and loose, fears. But he would not allow himself to become a sympathetic poster child on a potentially global scale for streaming’s brand of heartwarming American nationalism—a decorated vet, a queer, Indigenous man who put his body on the line for a country that really does love and respect him after all. The producers played dumb at first, but in the face of Alex’s commanding insistence, they agreed Alex will never be asked directly about his time in the Air Force and, at his discretion, he will only be filmed from the waist up.

The moment they arrive at the studio, driven in from their hotel at an ungodly hour, Alex finds the producer on set and lets them know today is one of those days. When he meets Kyle at their work station he’s touched, but not surprised to find a low stool with a thin seat cushion waiting for him. He and Kyle have shared space for so long—and shared confidences for even longer—that his partner could no doubt tell Alex is in pain simply from the tight line of his mouth and the twitch of his brow when he hefted himself in and out of the large studio van.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, sliding onto the stool and adjusting himself so the pain radiating down his thigh is at a dull, insistent ache rather than a sharp, agonizing jolt. Kyle, a master class in discretion, barely spares him a glance.

“You let them know?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got a lot of hem work to do, before and after Michael gets here,” he warns.

“I know.”

“I can take the bulk of it-”

“No,” Alex says, shutting him down swiftly.

Kyle purses his lips, but doesn’t argue.

***

Michael ambles into the studio with the other models a little after midday. He forces himself to play it casual, wandering over to craft services and making small talk with a designer taking a quick coffee break. But his gaze seeks out Alex across the room, and he grounds himself with deep breaths and the bite of his own nails against his palm to keep from dropping to his knees on the spot. Alex is working with a garment on their dress form, intent and focused, all broad shoulders and perfect posture. He runs a hand across the chest, smoothing the fabric in wide, sure strokes, and Michael licks his lips, misses whatever inane comment was just made in his direction, and he knows he isn’t going to last long.

The first time he’d seen Alex, Michael had assumed he was looking at a fellow professional. Alex’s dark features, his dramatic cheekbones and brow, and the toned body evident underneath an unassuming t-shirt all screamed model. Not to mention those lips. When he was introduced as a designer, one half of a buzz-worthy menswear brand made up of a former Air Force captain and a med school graduate, Michael secretly hoped he’d get a chance to work with them. He loves modeling for so many reasons. He craves the positive attention his looks and swagger bring him—nothing wrong with that—and he finds creative expression in being part of realizing an artist’s vision on the runway or in front of a camera. But the first time an impatient and harried designer had used Michael’s body like a life-size doll, manhandling him into positions and movements with little more than a gruff “up,” he had experienced a bone-deep satisfaction in relinquishing his body and his agency to another person that brought a whole new level of fulfillment to his work. It’s comforting and secure and, on occasion, incredibly erotic. He starts identifying parallel dynamics in his personal life—Isobel basically doms him into doing stupid shit every other week—and seeking it out in his sex life. Still, no professional experience or carefully-planned scene had ever felt like the toe-curling, mind-melting experience of receiving a command or a touch from Alex Manes. 

Michael manages to idle a few more minutes for appearance’s sake before heading over for his consult. Alex and Kyle stand side to side, dark heads drawn together over a what appears to be a task list at the same table Michael had found himself bent over just last week, surrendering completely to Alex’s precise, wicked whims. Just the memory excites him, and Michael practically skips up to his designers’ station. He reaches out a hand and raps his knuckles on the thick tabletop for attention.

“Knock, knock,” he drawls, grinning cheekily at Alex. Alex barely cracks a smile, but that’s hardly unusual. The more stoic Alex is, Michael’s coming to realize, and the more brusque his commands, the more gorgeous it is when he inevitably comes apart. 

Kyle smiles affably.

“Hi, Guerin,” he says, moving to take their garments off the dress form, and Michael lets his smile fall slightly when Alex keeps his back to him at the table, knuckles white as he grips the edge almost as if for balance.

“So, for now we’ll just ask you to try on the skirt-pants,” Kyle explains, leading him up onto the base, “but could you also take off your shirt? It’ll just be in Alex’s way while he’s making adjustments.”

Michael watches Kyle return to Alex’s side and speak low into his ear, a hand hovering over the small of Alex’s back. He knows better than to be suspicious of Alex and Kyle’s relationship—it’s clearly a deep, brotherly bond—but Kyle almost seems to be taking care of Alex and, well, Michael wants to be the one to do that.

“I’ll bring you a water,” Kyle says in a louder voice, heading off towards the back of the studio, and Michael fumbles to get changed as Alex turns abruptly towards him, supplies in hand. 

“I could have brought you something,” Michael says, “I was over there.”

“It’s fine,” Alex answers briskly, setting his materials on the edge of the base and lowering himself slowly into a squat. He glances up at Michael and maybe he senses Michael’s anxiety or maybe he’d just been preoccupied before, but his face softens and he offers a warm, soothing smile.

“I”m sorry, beautiful,” he murmurs, and Michael feels like his body and mind are sinking slowly into a warm, sweet-smelling pool. “Step forward for me.”

Michael steps closer and Alex’s fingers immediately curl around his ankle, squeezing lightly. 

“I’m gonna be down here for awhile,” Alex says, voice clear, but a tad strained. “Stay still for me, sweetheart.”

Michael breathes deep, lets the weight of the command sit heavy on his shoulders, straighten his spine, anchor his feet to the ground. And then he lets himself float, mind clear and body featherlight, Alex’s touch guiding his movements and keeping him grounded. Maybe ten minutes pass, maybe an hour. Michael is only sure of the light press of Alex’s grip on his ankle and the brush of his fingertips across a shin or up his thigh. Alex is quiet, diligent as he works, but the occasional gentle squeeze and soft, “There you go.” is all Michael needs to know he’s done good.

At some point, Alex’s hand slides up his leg, gripping tight on his calf. Michael expects to be guided into a different position or angle, but instead, Alex groans and adjusts his own stance, cupping the back of his right thigh and glowering when he briefly loses his balance and digs blunt fingernails into Michael’s calf to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his palm over the crescent moons indented in Michael’s skin. 

“It’s okay,” Michael replies, looking down assuringly at Alex.

Alex begins to rise slowly, his mouth a tight grimace, and Michael realizes he’s sweating lightly. He lets his arm jut out subtly, bending slightly at the elbow, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Alex grips his forearm tightly to pull himself the rest of the way to standing. Circling Michael slowly, Alex slips behind him and grasps Michael’s hips. He could be checking the fit of the garment’s waist, but his usually busy fingers are still and he’s pressing into Michael where they’re connected, shifting his body weight from his right side to his left and using his grip on Michael for balance. In the silence between them, Michael hears his labored breathing, feels the heavy puffs on his naked back.

“Rest for a minute, Captain,” he says softly, “no one’s gonna see.”

Alex squeezes Michael’s hips and Michael feels the damp press of Alex’s forehead between the blades of his shoulders. Scanning the room, he checks that no one is paying them any attention; between the countdown to runway and the minor disaster happening with a team’s dress across the studio they aren’t on anyone’s radar.

“Take your time,” Michael whispers, “no one’s looking.”

Alex’s breathing steadies after another minute, falling in sync with Michael’s own. The rustle of a pill bottle is loud to Michael’s ear after the stillness of their shared moment; he hears the pop of a cap and feels Alex lift and tilt his head back, then more rustling as the bottle is capped and goes back into, Michael assumes, Alex’s pocket. He waits. Alex chances a soft kiss to the back of Michael’s neck, then appears in front of him looking rumpled and tired, but steady.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says.

He looks down, fixing his attention on the front clasp of the garment, and Michael wonders if that’s the most Alex is going to say. Michael’s already decided he’s not going to press him. But after a beat Alex begins to speak.

“I lost a quarter of my right leg, amputated just under the knee on my last tour,” he says, voice pitched low, tone detached and clinical. “That was a little over a year ago. I have a prosthesis and some days I use a crutch. I do physical therapy, but it only takes you so far.” He adjusts his shoulders, takes a quick look around, and continues. “There’s pain. Some days it’s manageable. Others…” He breathes out. “I’m private. I don’t want my personal business turned into some kind of after-school special.” Alex raises his head and fixes Michael with an intense, searching gaze. “This is a lot. You can take your time to process everything, and if you don’t want to continue our— as we’ve been, I understand. But I’m asking for your discretion either way.”

Michael meets his gaze openly, steadily.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” he says. “I don’t need time. I want you. I want to be what you need.”

Alex smiles and his hand twitches at Michael’s waist. His let the back of his fingers brush against Michael’s abdomen, a gentle caress that’s all warmth and no heat. 

Michael tilts his head closer and whispers, “What do you need, Alex?”

“I need fifteen minutes,” he answers, “and I need a reason to sit down.”

Michael grins, cocky and sure and drawing attention to himself as he rears back and says loudly, “I just don’t get this look, man. Maybe if I could see the sketches? You could give me some insight?”

Smirking privately at Michael, Alex lets a well-practiced annoyance pull at his features as he rolls his eyes dramatically and turn away.

“Over here,” he snaps, gesturing to his work station. Michael leans on the table next to Alex’s stool as he slides onto it, breathing a quiet, grateful sigh and taking a long swig of the water Kyle had left for him, subtly massaging his thigh.

“I’d do that for you, you know, if I could,” Michael murmurs, shifting closer under the guise of examining a sketch and letting his fingers dance over Alex’s knee. “I can promise a very happy ending.”

Alex snorts, pressing the back of his hand to his lips and swallowing a mouthful of water with a gasp, shoulders shaking with laughter. Michael shoots him a dirty grin.

From his place behind the dress form, Kyle makes a face like a carp and a noise like an offended bull.

He glares at them from around his work and says, “This is why I take so many damn coffee breaks.”

[spaceskam]

too late to turn back

wheel of crack wednesday on a saturday because days of the week are social constructs

ao3

“Max, he is dangerous.”

“He’s not that dangerous.”

“Dangerous enough!” 

Max rolled his eyes at Isobel’s scolding. There were a lot of things that came to mind whenever he thought about Alex Manes. Dangerous wasn’t one of them.

“I’m honestly kinda proud,” Michael said, grinning as he stabbed a fry into an obscene pile of mayonnaise, “Max Evans, doing something wrong.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong! I’m doing something right,” Max insisted, shifting in his seat as his eyes flickered up to see Alex Manes sitting five tables over. He was sitting alone and completely lost in the book on quantum mechanics. “He has nowhere to go.”

“So you think, wow, let’s hide him in the basement Mom and Isobel won’t find out?” Isobel said, mocking his voice and then scoffing. Max rolled his eyes all over again.

“Please, don’t tell Mom,” Max said. Isobel scoffed.

“Oh, I’m not. Because if I tell her, she’s going to think I’m the one hiding the boy and just blaming it on you,” Isobel said. Max grinned.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

-

“Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.”

Max watched from the stairs as Alex made himself comfortable. He was sitting on the tiny, back-breaking couch that Max’s dad had bitched about until they got a new one. Alex didn’t seem to mind. His backpack was shoved beneath it for both easy access and easy hiding, and he was simply wearing two jackets and two pairs of pants instead of using a blanket. Too much evidence, he said.

“You’d tell me if you needed anything, right?” Max asked, slowly making his way closer. Alex smirked and looked at him, the strands of hair that had fallen from his haphazard bun making him look all the more daring.

“You know I wouldn’t.”

Max huffed a laugh, “You’re staying in my house, you should know you’re free to ask for anything.”

“I’m staying in your house and you’re feeding me–that’s exactly why I ask for nothing,” Alex pointed out. Max sucked in a slow breath.

Alex had such a way of speaking that was impossible not to listen and absorb each word. He was straight up intoxicating and it had Max confused about a lot of things in life. He recognized the feeling of infatuation, the borderline obsession, the terrifying need to protect. Isobel said it was super strange that he mothered everyone he liked. Was he mothering Alex?

“I brought you some socks,” Max said suddenly when he remembered the pair he’d shoved in his pocket. Alex laughed sweetly and accepted them with painted fingertips.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. Max sat and stared and tried to think of something else to say. He didn’t quite want to leave, but he didn’t know why he wanted to stay.

“So, uh…” Max said dumbly, looking to Alex and his long dark hair and his pretty eyelashes that brushed his high cheekbones every time he blinked. He was gorgeous. “Goodnight, I guess.”

Alex smiled and nodded. “Goodnight.”

Max climbed back up the stairs and made it all the way until he got into his room before he slammed his head into the wall.

-

“Okay, house is empty.”

Alex appeared from the basement door with a grin. His hair was down and stretching just past his shoulders, messy from sleep. Max tried not to stare too long. This was a problem. He couldn’t have a thing for Alex Manes. Of course, he already knew he did and he already put himself in a position where he had to be around him all the time. Oh, how easy it’d be if he didn’t put himself through hell.

“Here’s a towel,” Max said, stiffly handing out a clean towel to Alex. He took it sleepily and nodded.

“Thanks, man.”

Max stood like an actual creep outside the bathroom door. Well, in his defense, it was right off the side of the kitchen. He had limited places to stand. But, still, he stood only a few feet away and listened to the shower turn on and tried to come up with something to say. 

Alex Manes was dangerous. Or, so he’d been told. Alex had been something of a local myth since elementary school. He got into his first fight in third grade, far before most testosterone-filled violence began. He’d slammed another boy’s head into the wall and got suspended for a week. No one really talked to him after that.

Middle school and high school were also filled with fights, progressively more as they got older. Every time someone mentioned a fight, the response would be “who did Alex beat up this time?”. Parents even started a petition to get him completely kicked out of the school. But the problem was he never got suspended enough to warrant expulsion, he never did enough damage either. Well, at least not in school. 

The night before their first day of freshman year, Alex Manes got arrested for allegedly attacking his father. 

The story went that his dad was simply driving and Alex lost it in a rage, grabbing his hair from where he was in the backseat and using it as leverage to repeatedly punch his dad in the face. Apparently, the charges were dropped because Mr. Manes forgave him. The more Max got to know Alex, the more he questioned what actually happened that night. What actually happened during all those fights Alex got into? Because the Alex Max had gotten to know was sweet and thankful. He had manners and was soft and wore Max’s socks even though their feet were different sizes and the toe area flopped around when he walked from the extra space.

That Alex was cute. That Alex was what caught Max’s eye in the first place. He didn’t like danger. He liked the way Alex would lean over to share his math book in class chew on his black-stained nails quieter than should be humanly possible. He liked the way Alex tucked his hair behind his ears and ignored every authority figure that told him to cut his hair.

Max disliked the handprint-shaped bruises he saw on Alex’s arms. He disliked the fact that he found a bag of extra clothes tucked in the back of the library with Alex’s favorite pen inside. He disliked how defensive Alex got whenever he asked if he was sleeping at school. He disliked the confusion on his face whenever he offered him a safe place to rest his head.

And now Max had spent five minutes staring at a bathroom door and wistfully thinking about the boy on the other side, easily another addition on the ‘maybe I’m not heterosexual list’ that he’d been compiling since junior year. How was he supposed to know who he was jealous of whenever he saw Kyle Valenti and Liz Ortecho kiss in the hall? 

“Max, honey, are you in the shower?” 

Max’s eyes went wide as his long thought process was broken by the sound of his mother’s heels against the floor as she came back inside. Without a second thought, he dove inside the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him.

“Yeah!” he called back.

“Is my phone in there?” she asked. Max’s eyes managed to get even wider whenever he spotted the phone on the charger beside Isobel’s straightener. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Uh,” he said, “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna come in real quick, I’m gonna be so late for work,” she rambled with a laugh. Max panicked and his world seemed to slow down as the doorknob began to turn. 

And suddenly he was in the shower, ruining his shoes and staring at a naked Alex Manes.

Alex gave a shocked look as Max clamped his hand over his mouth, but his eyebrows soon came down in realization once he heard the sound of Max’s mother on the other side of the shower curtain. 

“I don’t know how I even made it out the door without it,” his mother laughed. Max closed his eyes and prayed she would leave. He only reopened them because he felt Alex smirk against his palm and he got a few of a very wet, very hot male with his head cocked to the side and a raised eyebrow.

Maybe I’m Not Heterosexual Reason #54: THAT.

“I-I don’t know, Mom, aren’t you gonna be late?” he called. Alex wiggled his eyebrows and Max folded his lips in, trying to keep in any type of reaction. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to look.

“Oh, I know you don’t want your mom in the bathroom while you’re taking a shower, I get it, you’re all grown now,” she said wistfully and Max wanted to scream. Was this really the time for a childhood story? “It seems like just yesterday that you wanted me to wash your hair every night so you could play with your little rubber duckies.”

“Mom!” he said, feeling his face flush. Alex smiled wildly against his palm.

“Alright, alright! I’ll see you and Izzy at dinner. Be safe, I love you!”

“Love you too.”

He waited until the door closed to drop his hand from Alex’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” Max said. Alex huffed a breath through his nose, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Shit happens,” he answered. Alex turned around to face the stream and Max couldn’t help himself. He stared at the thick, wet hair and watched as it dripped water down his spine and down to the curve of his ass. God, help him.

And then Alex turned back around with a bottle of body wash in his hands and Max had to snap his eyes up to his face once again to pretend like he didn’t see too much.

“Is this your way of telling me to wash your hair?” Alex asked. Max forced an annoyed face to cover his embarrassment and climbed out of the shower, ignoring the squishy noises his shoes made. His face was burning and his mind was racing and he needed to get away from the really hot, really wet man in his shower before he tried something stupid. Alex’s laughter didn’t help.

“Just shower.”

“Wait, the duckies!”

-

Yes. Alex Manes was dangerous.

It was very, very difficult to reconcile how the man who had been laughing and teasing him on the drive to school that morning about rubber ducks was now being dragged out of the bathroom for slamming someone’s head into the sink hard enough to break it. The guy being dragged out behind him was bleeding, but upright and cursing up a storm. Alex was stoic as always.

“Dangerous!” Isobel hissed in his ear. Max shrugged her off and watched as Alex got hauled away. 

The whole thing bothered him for the rest of the day. And here he thought he was going to be plagued with images of his tan skin all day. Instead, it was Alex’s ‘I don’t give a fuck’ face and his bloody fists. 

Still, Max waited in his car for him after school ended. He stayed until all the other cars that didn’t belong to either football players or cheerleaders who were staying after school for practice were gone. Alex never showed his face. When Max tried to text him, he didn’t get a response. He thought about going home to see if he’d shown up there, but he knew better. He knew he didn’t.

Instead, Max checked the library. Then he checked the bathrooms. He checked the janitor’s closets. He checked everywhere until the only place left was behind the bleachers on the football field. Sure enough, Alex was brooding behind them with his stuff he must’ve broken into Max’s house to retrieve.

“What are you doing?” Max asked softly. Alex just tilted his head in his direction, face cold and hard like it was when he got dragged out of the bathroom. Max longed for the sweet version of him and tried really hard to think of a way to get it back. “I waited for you and you never showed. I got worried.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair,” Alex said, a tight smile on his face as he lifted his bag. Max frowned and furrowed his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Look, I know you don’t want me in your house, so I’m leaving so you don’t have to let your pity force you to let me stay,” he said. Max shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked the grass. What was he supposed to say? How did he properly word how much he enjoyed his presence without sounding super fucking creepy?

“I… I don’t want you to stay because I pity you. I don’t pity you,” Max said carefully, licking his lips, “I want you to stay because I like you.” Alex stayed silent. “Listen, I don’t know what happened today and I don’t know what happened with your dad or why you don’t have a place to go to, but I want to give you a place. I don’t want anything from you and I’m not doing it to make myself feel better, I just… I don’t know, you’re my friend. Friends help each other out.”

“You consider me your friend?” Alex asked. Max looked at him sheepishly and shrugged.

“I dunno, yeah,” he fumbled. Alex huffed a laugh and shook his head. Max slowly went to sit down. “I’m not scared of you like everyone else is.”

“You probably should be,” Alex said cryptically. Max picked at the grass.

“Well, I’m not.”

They stayed silent for a while. A long while. Long enough that football practice ended and the coach was probably questioning why his car was still parked outside. And if he wasn’t, then Isobel sure as hell was. But he had no intention of leaving unless Alex left with him.

Eventually, Alex spoke.

“He called me a fag,” he admitted. Max looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “And he, like, did a stupid walk that I’m assuming was supposed to be gay and waved his arm around and shit. I told him to fuck off, but he shoved me and told me that I couldn’t talk to him like that. So I smashed his head into the sink.” Alex finished the story with a noncommittal shrug, frowning at the grass as he ripped it up like it personally wronged him.

“Seriously?” Max asked dumbly. Alex huffed and looked up at him.

“What are you surprised about?” he wondered. Max blinked and tried to decide what exactly he wanted to answer with. This one little detail about this one fight seemed to make the previous ones make sense. The first fight started whenever the boys in their class decided gay was the funniest insult. They got worse the more feminine Alex portrayed himself. Or, whatever it was called. Max never thought of the long hair or the painted nails or the jewelry Alex wore as feminine‒he simply saw them as Alex.

“He seriously fucked with you after you have a reputation of beating the shit out of people like him?” Max decided. It was the right answer; Alex smiled.

“Bigots don’t learn their lessons from other people very well,” he said. Max grunted in response, shaking his head.

“Dumbasses. Maybe they all just think they’re stronger than the last one and so they fight you on purpose to see if they can be the winner this time. Alas, you are the strongest padawan,” Max said. Alex’s smile got wider and he laughed, big and genuine, and threw some grass at Max. “I’m just saying!”

“I don’t know, man, I don’t know why they do it. And I know I shouldn’t feed into it by fighting, but I just get so pissed, you know?” Alex said. Max hummed and nodded. He understood sort of. He wasn’t a fighter, but, from what he knew that Alex didn’t tell him, he probably only knew how to be violent whenever his feelings got hurt. Part of Max, the mothering part, wanted to teach him a different way.

“I’m sorry they say that stuff about you,” Max said, “Are you suspended?” 

Alex shrugged one shoulder. “Just one day. I told Mr. Johnson that Joel hit me first and I simply pushed him off and he slipped into the sink. Joel went with it.”

“Why’d he go with it?” Max asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Alex smirked something sinister.

“I don’t know,” he laughed, “But he did.”

They sat there in the grass for a little while longer, talking about nothing. It was easier than the nights he snuck down to the basement. Max didn’t find himself fumbling for words. It was just him and this boy he really, really liked.

“Would it bother you… if they were making fun of me for the truth?” Alex asked well after the sun went down. Max’s phone had gone off multiple times, but he’d ignored it. He would take a week full of yelling if it meant taking this moment with Alex.

“No,” Max answered honestly, “Well, it would bother me that people are fucking with you for something you can’t help.”

Alex let out a long breath and laid back in the grass. Max smiled at him and nudged his thigh with his foot. When Alex's dark eyes flickered up to him, Max gulped and laid beside him. They stared at each other and looked away and looked back and looked away. Max searched his mind for the words to describe it. This feeling. This… not straightness.

He couldn’t find one.

“I like this,” Alex said, turning his head towards the sky that he could see through the bleachers.

“What?” Max asked. His chest was full of something he couldn’t name.

“I don’t know. This, us,” Alex breathed. It was the kind of honesty that Max would choke on. Alex offered it easily. It was mind-numbing.

So, instead of trying to make his mind work, he propped himself up on his elbow. Max looked down at Alex and tried to find his words again. What was this? What did one call this? This all-encompassing thing. Alex Manes and his long hair and his dark eyes and his nice lips and Max’s desire to touch.

And so he did.

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was primal, maybe Alex would kill him once he was done, but he reached out and touched his thumb to those lips anyways. Alex turned to him, eyes wide with a different type of shock than usual and then Max watched as it clicked.

Slowly, Alex lifted onto his elbow as well. Max held his breath as Alex’s tongue reached for his thumb. Then he wasn’t holding his breath. He just couldn’t fucking breathe.

Alex moved closer, eyes flickering from Max’s to his lips and then back. He was breathing. At least one of them was. So Max leaned in entirely and tried to remember what breathing felt like.

Kissing Alex Manes was not what he expected. He’d expected it to be rough, dangerous, quick. He didn’t expect it to be so slow. Alex dragged out each agonizing second, single-handedly putting Max’s heart in his throat with the sweet taste of his tongue.

Alex Manes kissed with purpose. It felt like he’d been planning this and had full intention to make it worth the wait. And it so, so fucking was.

“Wait,” Alex said after a few minutes of painfully slow kisses, gently pulling away. Max followed in a desperate attempt to make it last but settled for falling helplessly onto Alex’s chest as he laid back down.

Fuck.

Alex let out a breathy little laugh and patted his shoulder, gently rubbing his back which made it a million times harder for Max to get his mind straight. How was he ever supposed to think about anything ever again after that? 

“Why’d you stop?” Max asked after he managed to keep his mind back down to earth just enough to question why the hell that stopped. He wanted that over and over and over. He didn’t want it all.

“You are one of the most painfully heterosexual people I’ve ever met in my life, Max Evans,” Alex told him, “I’m not sure why you just kissed me, but I have a feeling you’ll regret it once you’re in a better state of mind. I don’t want you regretting anything.”

Max furrowed his eyebrows and lifted his head to look up at Alex. He thought Max was straight. Granted, he didn’t have any outwardly gay or even bisexual things about him. Of all the billions of stereotypes they had for queer people, Max didn’t fit any of them.

He just fit the one box that was the only real requirement.

“I’m into you,” Max said, “I don’t… I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if I’m gay or bisexual or pansexual or… I don’t know, none of them feel right to me. All I know is that I’m into you and I’ve… been interested in other guys before. Just… no one real, I guess. I sound stupid.”

“No,” Alex said quickly, the softest, sweetest smile on his face that Max had ever seen. He felt blessed that it was for him. “No, you don’t sound stupid. You sound exactly right.”

Max swallowed harshly and kept staring until Alex moved in and kissed him again. Long fingers went into his hair and Max settled into Alex’s side. And they kissed. And kissed. And kissed. 

“Let’s go home.”

-

”Fuck me.”

Max grinned helplessly as he looked up to Alex. He had pinched himself twice trying to wake up from this insane dream, but it never worked and he was still on his knees in front of Alex Manes. They had made it up to his bedroom where Alex was bracing himself against his dresser. 

Technically, Max was grounded for not telling anyone where he disappeared to for hours and then ignoring everyone and then, when he finally did get home, refused to say where he was. He couldn’t exactly say he’d been making out with the delinquent that he was hiding in the basement, so he said nothing and took the disappointed look from his mother.

“You are way too good at that for a guy who claims to have no prior experience,” Alex breathed. Max smiled even wider and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood back on his feet and tried not to think too much about the way Alex looked up at him with his flushed cheeks. 

“I don’t, but you’re a really good motivator to get good at it,” Max said and tried not to sound so fucking childish. He couldn’t help it. He’d never done anything with anyone of any gender past kissing until he’d gotten with Alex a week ago. He found it hard to control himself.

“Shut up,” Alex laughed, hand reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. Max took a deep breath as their lips pressed together. It was still too good. “Hey, can I ask a question?”

“Anything,” Max breathed. Alex snorted and scratched behind his ear like Max was a dog. And perhaps he was because he loved it.

“How much longer until I need to be out of the basement?” Alex asked. That very quickly sobered Max up and he pulled away with furrowed eyebrows.

“What do you mean? Why would you need to go?” he wondered. Alex gave him a smile that said he was naive. 

“We both know the longer I stay, the more likely it is that we’re going to get caught. You know damn well that your mom won’t let us see each other if she finds out you’ve been sneaking me in,” Alex said. Max grunted unhappily and let his forehead fall onto Alex’s.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whined. Alex smiled softly and combed through his hair.

“I know, but we’re running on borrowed time.”

“Where would you go? If you stopped staying here, where are you gonna stay?” Max asked, fingers gripping at Alex’s sides. Alex shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out.”

“No, I am gonna worry about it. I don’t want you sleeping on a bench or some shit. I want you to be safe,” Max said. Alex didn’t answer. They stared at each other for a moment and then Max decided to ask something he knew he shouldn’t. “Could… Could you maybe go home?”

Alex took a whole step away and shook his head. “Not an option.”

“Why?” Max asked. He knew he was stepping into uncharted territory, but he didn’t want to lose Alex. He’d just gotten a taste of something good. “I mean, maybe you could talk it out with your dad or something. I’m sure he wants you back home.”

Alex was staring at him with that hardened face, the one that was never used on Max. It made him feel small. He looked down towards the floor.

“Not. An. Option.” 

“I’m sorry,” Max murmured, “I just…”

They were silent for another beat until Alex moved back into his space and placed a hand on his cheek. They locked eyes and Max wanted even more for them to work it out somehow.

“My dad isn’t the type of guy to talk it out with, okay?” Alex said, “I’ll figure it out.”

Reluctantly, Max nodded.

“Okay.”

-

Isobel mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ over her mother’s shoulder. They were caught.

Anne Evans stood with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised, Alex’s extra back just dumped unceremoniously at her feet. Max looked over to Alex who had his hardened face on. Thankfully, they hadn’t been kissing whenever they came into the room. That would’ve added an extra layer of shit. 

“Care to explain?” she said cooly. Max grimaced and closed his eyes.

Except then he realized that he couldn’t do that. He genuinely had explaining to do. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince his mom to let Alex stay.

“He has nowhere to go,” Max started, doing his best puppy eyes, “I was doing a good thing, giving him a place to stay, right? Like, you wouldn’t just let a seventeen-year-old be on the street.” Max looked over to Alex and tried to make sure that he wasn’t offending him. There wasn’t really a good, clean way to do this.

“And you didn’t think to ask me?” Anne demanded. Max bowed his head. He really hadn’t. He just assumed the answer was no. “Maybe if you would’ve asked we could’ve figured it out. But instead, you acted like there was something to hide, which makes me think that there is. This is unlike you. You’ve always asked me first, but now you’re being secretive and hiding people in my house without asking. I cannot begin to articulate the absolute disrespect you showed me, Max. I didn’t expect this from you.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, this is my fault,” Alex jumped in, “I didn’t have to stay here, but I did. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Anne said. Max’s eyes widened and he instinctively looked to Alex.

“No!” Alex gave him a look that said 'not now’, but this wasn’t okay. “You have nowhere to stay, Alex!”

“It’s okay,” Alex said, turning to his mother once more, “I’m sorry.”

Alex left swiftly and then it was just Anne Evans and her two children. Isobel was looking awkward and out of place which was uncharacteristic and Max was glaring at his mother which was equally as uncharacteristic.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. I know boys like him, don’t think I don’t. I don’t want that kind of person in my house,” Anne said. Max scoffed, rage boiling in him. She didn’t know anything.

“Alex isn’t like whatever you’re thinking. He’s nice and smart and he doesn’t do anything bad. He really just doesn’t have a place to go home to and it’s not fair that he’s being punished for it!” Max argued. Anne sighed slowly and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“If he was really nice and smart, he would’ve asked for permission to stay under my room.”

“He doesn’t know how to ask for things like that! He assumes the answer is no!” Max spat, shaking his head, “I thought you of all people would be more sympathetic to him.”

His mother gave him a look that looked like Isobel and it became that much more difficult to see that they weren’t actually related. But Max felt it more than ever.

“Why in the world would you think that I would let a boy with violent tendencies into my house?” Anne asked. Max scoffed.

“Because you took in me and Isobel whenever you had no idea what we were capable of,” Max said. That seemed to shut her up. “Guess I was wrong.”

Max stalked up to his room and was already typing a text to Alex.

-

It took three days before Max finally figured out what ended up happening to Alex. He’d been rudely left in the dark from all sides whenever his mom grounded him and no one had been answering his texts. He wasn’t sure if he was just being ignored or if his service had been turned off.

Turns out, people were just figuring out all the gritty details before telling him.

“So you’re staying with Michael?” Max asked, eyebrows furrowed as looked at Alex. He was allowed to come over, they just weren’t allowed upstairs or in the basement. He had a feeling his mother knew it was more than they were letting on and she just wasn’t going to force him to say it. She would just treat it like he already had. He couldn’t say it was the worst-case scenario.

“Yeah,” Alex said with a soft laugh, “Turns out two people from fucked up families get along well.”

“I don’t even understand,” Max said, rubbing his head that seemed to ache with his confusion. Alex smiled at him and gave a small laugh.

“Well, your mom basically tracked me down that night and told me to get in her car. I thought she was gonna kill me, not gonna lie,” Alex admitted, “But she brought me out to Foster’s Ranch. I can live with them as long as I work on the ranch. It’s not so bad; Michael’s a good teacher. Besides, I think it’ll be good for me to get some of my aggression out by doing manual labor.”

Max licked his lips and nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Michael and Alex spending so much alone time together on acres of land, but he couldn’t say anything. Alex had a safe place to stay. That was worth whatever the future might bring.

“And we can still see each other,” Max said. Alex nodded.

“And we can still see each other.”

They stared for a moment before Max looked around the room quickly and then leaned in for a kiss. Alex kept it short, but still accepted it willingly. 

“Thank you,” Alex whispered, “For caring about me.”

Max didn’t know how to explain that Alex didn’t know the half of it. So, instead, he took his hand in his own and tried to think of the positives. Alex was going to be okay. He was going to be okay.

“No problem.”

[bestillmyslashyheart]

I have a fic prompt for you. A conversation between Alex and Liz about Michael and how terrified he is of losing him because he’s building an ship to leave him and earth. Also how much he loves him

Liz stomped up the stairs even as she looked around. She had been here once before, in high school when Kyle wanted to take her away but couldn’t afford to actually go anywhere. She’d been surprised to hear that Alex was living in the old hunting cabin now - she’d completely forgotten that Alex and Kyle grew up together, had been best friends even at one point, and that Alex knew Kyle’s father.

She knocked gently on the front door. When only silence greeted her, she banged harder. Alex’s car was in the driveway so she knew he was here. 

“Alex!” Liz finally yelled. “It’s me! You weren’t answering your phone so I wanted to stop by!” 

Nothing.

“Door’s open.”

At first she thought she’d imagined it, the voice so faint, but she tried the door anyway and it opened easily under her touch. “Alex?” She asked when she entered to find the main room empty.

“Kitchen.”

Liz shut the door behind her and padded softly through the house until she found the kitchen. Alex was slumped in one of the chairs, his eyes bloodshot and his hair a mess. He was wearing an old band t-shirt and two crutches were leaning against the wall close by. On the table in front of him was a half empty bottle of whiskey which, from the looks of it, he’d been steadily making his way through all by himself.

“Alex?” She asked softly as she sat down opposite him. “What’s wrong?”

Alex didn’t answer her. He just picked up the bottle and took another swig. Liz looked around and didn’t see a glass which meant Alex had planned to go through the bottle. When he set it down on the table she reached out and grabbed it, reaching behind her and placing it on the counter, far out of Alex’s reach.

“Is this about the alien thing? Kyle told me you know everything now.” It was why she wanted to talk to Alex today. She’d been wrapped up in solving Isobel’s problem and had neglected her friendships but she knew first hand how a revelation like this could rock your whole worldview and she wanted to be there for Alex in case he needed someone. “It’s okay to be freaked out about it, you know.”

Alex laughed and Liz flinched. It was a harsh sound, bitter almost. “I’ve known about aliens for months, Liz. I’ve had time to process.” Liz furrowed her brow. Kyle only told her yesterday that he’d filled Alex in on everything after Alex took over the military project from his dad. 

“Then why-”

“He’s leaving.” Alex told her. If anything, she was more confused. “Or he wants to leave, at least. He just needs to figure out how and then he’ll be gone. Forever.”

Liz reached across the table and covered Alex’s hand with hers. He hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone but if this was just boy problems, she could do this. It would be a welcome relief from the constant alien drama. “Who, Alex? Who’s trying to leave?”

“Guerin.” He sounded heartbroken to admit it and Liz stilled. 

“Wait, Guerin? Why would Guerin be leaving? Why would you care?”

Alex ran a hand over his face as he let out that harsh laugh again. Liz decided if she never heard that sound again, it would be too soon. “Because I”ve been in love with him for over ten years.” He admitted.

Liz sat back in surprise. 

“I kept pushing him away because I thought it would be better or safer or I don’t even remember why, honestly but it sounded like a good reason at the time, I’m sure. But I think I did it partly because I knew he’d be there when I came back? Like, I can’t fucking stay away from him so of course I always come back and he’s always still there and I guess I just assumed that he always would be. But first there was Maria,” Liz closed her eyes at that, “and then he told me he’s trying to leave. To go home.” Her eyes shot open. She hadn’t known that Michael was trying to build a ship or anything like that. All three of them seemed settled here - Michael might not be as happy as Max and Isobel to be playing happy human but she never thought he’d leave them. 

“Alex, are you sure he wants to leave?” She’d deal with the relationship drama in a second.

Alex nodded as he pressed his hands into his eyes. “He’s building a console that should be able to guide him home. It’s almost done, Liz, he’s only missing one piece.” This time his laugh was more hysterical than bitter. Liz wasn’t sure she liked it any better. “And I have it! My fucking luck in life, I guess, I have the missing piece that the love of my fucking life needs to leave me behind forever.”

Liz didn’t say anything, she just reached around and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter and slid it across the table to Alex. He eagerly took a large sip. And then another.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything about him?” She asked after a beat.

Alex shrugged. “At first, because it was new and it was ours and it wasn’t for anyone else. And then my dad took a hammer to his hand because he caught us together.” Liz put her hand to her mouth in shock. She’d always wondered what had happened to Michael’s hand. She never would have guessed that the answer would be Jesse Manes. “After that? I was afraid. I felt like my dad would be lurking around every corner, ready to finish what he started if he ever found out about us. It was stupid, most of the times we had together my dad wasn’t even around but I couldn’t get it out of my head so we just snuck around. Kept it secret from everyone.”

She had to ask. “Maria?”

“She didn’t know. Michael and I had talked the day before and I shut him down completely so there was nothing going on and I’d never told her he was Museum Guy so no one did anything wrong. I know that. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though.” He was starting to slur his words pretty badly and Liz knew they were reaching the end of the conversation.

She let him mumble some more, unable to clearly make out what he was saying, watching as he took a few more sips from the bottle as she pulled out her phone.

“What’s up, Doc?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m out at Alex’s and I think I could use your help.”

“Is he okay?” Michael switched from playful teasing to worried something in an instant. “Is he hurt?”

“No, no, he’s fine,” she assured him. She heard the jangle of keys in the background followed by the slam of a car door and the turn of the engine. “He’s just had about three quarters of a bottle of whiskey by himself and he’s a few seconds away from passing out at the table. I think he’d be more comfortable in bed but there’s no way I can get him there by myself.”

She heard him curse mildly before answering. “I’m on my way. It’s gonna  take me about 20 minutes, though.”

“I’ll be here,” she promised.

Sure enough, 20 minutes later she heard the rumble of his truck as it cruised up the driveway. A slammed door and a few seconds later, Michael burst through the front door.

“Hey, he’s back-”

Michael filled the doorway before she could finish getting the words out. His face was creased with worry but his features softened considerably when he saw Alex. The man was slumped over the table, drooling. Liz wouldn’t be unkind if she said it wasn’t an attractive sight. Michael would obviously disagree, though, if the look on his face was any indication.

Liz stepped to the side as Michael picked Alex up off the table and cradled him in his arms. Liz eyed the empty pant leg on Alex’s right side with surprise. She’d never seen him without the prosthetic before and since he’d started walking without a crutch, she sometimes found herself forgetting that he was missing part of a limb. Michael clearly didn’t have the same reaction she did. He maneuvered his way down the hallway and through the doorway to Alex’s room without so much as a twitch of surprise. Liz waited while she listened to Michael move about the bedroom without any hesitation. 

It was only a few minutes before he reappeared in the kitchen, his whole body radiating apprehension. As much as Liz would love to know more about the apparent ten year secret relationship he’d been having with one of her best friends, she wasn’t going to pry. Not with him at least.

“Someone should probably stay with him,” Michael said. He looked like was itching to run away but he stayed put. “He’s not going to be able to get to the bathroom or anything when he wakes up.”

Liz nodded. “Yeah someone should definitely stay.” She shrugged and grabbed her keys. “I have to get to the lab. Work, you know?”

She felt a smile tugging at her lips when Michael shot her a glare but she pushed it down. Something told her that Michael wouldn’t take it well if he thought she might be laughing at him right now.

“Liz-” He started to protest.

“I don’t know what’s going on. Until an hour ago, I never would’ve thought in a million years that you’d be someone I should call if something happened to Alex.” She told him bluntly. “But Alex was in a talking mood earlier, what with all the whiskey, and he told me a few things.”

Michael stiffened. “Like what?”

She stared at him, not willing to look away. “Like he’s been in love with you for ten years. His dad is the one who broke your hand and he was so traumatized by it that he spent a decade pushing you away in some inane attempt to keep you safe.” Michael flinched and Liz took a deep breath. “He also said you’re building a ship or a console or something that will get you off this planet and back to your own, wherever that may be. I think it was that last bit that made him start drinking today. He’s terrified of losing you, Michael. I’ve never seen him look so scared as when he told me you were planning to leave.” She left out the parts about being hurt over Maria and Alex holding the missing piece - she figured he deserved to decide when to tell Michael those things.

Michael swallowed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t tell Max that last part, yeah?”

Liz shook her head. “I don’t want to lie to him.”

Michael shot her a look and she rolled her eyes. “It’s not a lie, Ortecho. It’s keeping your mouth shut about my personal business. My secrets aren’t yours to tell.”

She thought for a moment before nodding. “Fine, I won’t say anything about you trying to leave. But Alex?”

“Max already knows about Alex.” Michael cut her off before she could continue. 

Liz was surprised. She hadn’t thought Michael’s relationship issues would be something the two of them talked about but she supposed she didn’t know everything about them. 

“Look, I’ll stay here. You can go to work.” Michael told her as he settled into a chair.

Liz eyed him, wondering if she should say something else, what she wasn’t sure, before settling for a nod. She left without another word, Michael’s eyes trained on the bedroom door.