#if alex is anything like me he might’ve had a hard time readjusting to sleep after that.

[theoryofwhatnow]

no i’m fine i’m just thinking about the fact that there was a time where alex would peacefully fall asleep to the sound of nigel tinkering with his tools, or the soft sound of his breathing as he lay in the opposite bed across the room from alex.

“nigel was moved to another room. it was strange, i almost missed him.”

[pastelwitchling]

Based on the Roswell, New Mexico season 3 trailer. I’m just having some fun with it, I don’t think the second half of this fic is how the episode is going to go.

Alex’s heart started to hammer as the bus came to a stop. He exhaled slowly. He was back home. He was sure everything would ease back into place eventually.

He made sure he had his backpack and grabbed his duffel bag as the doors opened, and he stepped out. The clean, crisp Roswell air hit his face and eased some of the painful thumping in his chest. Until he looked up and found where he’d been let off.

Towering above him, Jesse Manes’ statue saluted him. It felt like mockery. Welcome home, son, it seemed to be saying. Back where I can see you.

Alex sighed, forcing his gaze down, to where Forrest Long stood with his hands in his pockets, watching him with a smirk at his lips.

“Captain Manes returns,” he said.

A smile tugged at Alex’s lips as they met each other halfway. “That’s retired Captain Manes, thank you,” he said as he wrapped his free arm around Forrest’s shoulders, Forrest’s arms coming around his waist. Alex pressed his face to Forrest’s scarf and deeply inhaled the smell of hay and fresh ink, letting it engulf him. He thought of barns and horses and pages with poetry and music notes scribbled into the margins. It made him laugh as he pulled back.

Forrest’s hand lingered on his waist underneath his jacket while Alex let his hand fall down Forrest’s arm, keeping him close.

“How was your trip?”

Alex hummed, managing to keep his smile in place even as it threatened to slip away. “Long,” he said. It was enough of a truth not to haunt him.

“But it’s over now, right?” Forrest said. “Your enlistment’s ended, they can’t ask you to talk to anymore recruits. I mean, seriously, who knew being awarded a Purple Heart meant you had to Captain America it up to all the troops?”

Alex nodded wordlessly. In truth, his enlistment had ended the day before he’d left, but he couldn’t really have told Forrest that he would be off for a year to dismantle the rest of Project Shepherd. It was a kind lie, a merciful one. Forrest was better off not knowing.

The gun Alex had taken to keeping at his hip weighed heavily, as if disagreeing with him. He ignored it.

Forrest brushed away his bangs, his fingers gently tracing down Alex’s cheek to his jaw. “I missed you.”

Alex sighed, letting himself lean into Forrest. “I missed you more.”

They smiled into their kiss, and Alex felt like a single window opened up in his chest, letting fresh air into his stifled heart. The kiss was long, and when they pulled back, Alex pulled Forrest in again to take comfort in the warmth of his jacket against his cheek.

He opened his eyes and his brows furrowed. Michael Guerin, on the other side of the street, was already walking away.

 Hours later found Alex in his garage, the door wide open to the cool autumn breeze and the birds’ chirping, as he rummaged through his many paint cans and his toolbox to look for more cleaning solution. Forrest had helped him air out his house, clean the furniture, until he had to leave no more than ten minutes ago for his work.

Alex didn’t mind it. He’d kept working, the strain on his already tired muscles a welcome relief from his mess of thoughts. He caught the scent of rain before he saw Michael stride into his garage from the corner of his eyes, his thumbs hooked in his belt. Over a year ago, he might’ve been apprehensive, but now he could only smile around Michael.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi,” Michael said. His smile was too small, too polite, he was trying too hard to seem nonchalant.

Alex raised a brow. “Didn’t want to say hello at the bus stop?” At Michael’s glance, he said, “Yeah, I saw you. I assume you were there to see me? If not, it was one hell of a coincidence.”

“You looked busy,” was all Michael said on the matter. He sniffed. “So, where’s Long?”

Alex had turned his back to Michael again as he looked through his things. He couldn’t help the smile that split his lips. He knew that Michael must’ve waited to make sure Forrest was gone before he set foot in here.

But all he said was, “Work.”

Michael hummed. “That’s it, huh? Project Shepherd’s gone?”

Alex’s smile fell away at once. “Yeah,” he said, and even he could hear the dark satisfaction in his voice. “It’s dead. You should be thrilled.”

“It took you away for a year,” Michael said, seemingly unable and unwilling to hide the longing in his words this time. “I just hope the death was long and slow.”

Alex said nothing to this.

“You need any help?”

“Uhh,” he found the Windex he’d been looking for on a top shelf. “No, I’m good.”

He reached for it, and felt his shirt ride up.

“Just ‘cause,” Michael was saying, “I don’t really have to . . . be anywhere . . . what’s that?”

His words were stiff, suspicious. Alex looked over his shoulder and saw his eyes were narrowed at something on Alex’s back, where his shirt exposed naked skin. Naked, scarred skin.

Damn it.

Michael came up to him, reaching for the hem of his shirt as if planning to push it up and get a better view at Alex’s new injury.

Alex turned at once so that Michael’s hand met his stomach. He tugged his shirt down and said, “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“That was a scar,” Michael said. “Did someone do that to you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex insisted. “I’m fine, really.”

“Alex –”

“I got into a little trouble with some of my dad’s . . . more loyal soldiers.” He managed a smile. “I’m okay, really.”

Michael stared. “Then let me see.”

He gaped. “No!”

“Why not?!”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” he snapped, and Michael looked startled. He stepped back, hurt, and Alex’s shoulders slumped.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, an apology on the tip of his tongue, just as a sudden CLANK went off somewhere in the corner.

In an instant, Alex had turned to shield Michael, his gun raised and aimed . . . at a disturbed paint can lid that had popped open. He was shaking.

It wasn’t until he heard Michael’s shocked and quiet, “Alex . . .” that he realized where he was and brought his weapon down. Neither of them moved for a long time. Alex was frustrated and embarrassed, but beneath it all, he was still tense with nerves.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “No matter where I went . . . there was an attack.” He shook his head. “The scar, I . . . I was sleeping, and one guy with a knife tried to . . . I found a vet who was willing to stitch me back together. I was hunted, Guerin. I had to stop them. I did things . . .”

His shoulders slumped and he holstered his weapon. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’ll be fine. I am fine.” He turned to face Michael who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “I’ve been through worse. I just need a minute to – to readjust, okay?” He sighed again, and it was steadier. “Okay?”

Michael visibly swallowed, then wrapped his arms around Alex, pulling him in. Alex stood surprised against him, the scent of rain engulfing him and filling him up without any effort. Michael slid a hand into his hair and pressed his lips to the crook of Alex’s neck.

“I’ll stay outside your place tonight,” he told him. “In my truck. I’ll guard you so you can get some sleep.”

Alex’s eyes burned. “I don’t need you to.”

Michael held him tighter. “I know. But I’m staying anyway. No one will touch you, Alex.”

Alex clenched his jaw to the warmth of Michael’s arms around him, his strong chest, the scratch of his stubble against his skin, the scent of his curls. All the windows in his chest opened, letting in the raging storm that came whenever Michael was around.

He’d spent a year beating down whatever was left of Project Shepherd, away from his brothers, his boyfriend . . . his Michael. He didn’t believe in rewards, but he would give himself this much. He wanted Michael to stay.

Alex melted against him, wrapping his arms around his waist as his lower lip trembled and a tear escaped down his cheek. He nodded, and Michael nuzzled the crook of his neck.

“Thanks, Guerin,” he whispered, and Michael’s hold turned unbearably tight.

Michael breathed, “Anything for you.”