#roswellgiftexchange | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roswell-gift-exchange · 7 years

Text

Fic: What Waits in Darkness (Polar, PG-13)

What Waits in Darkness to @mrskatiegecko / from @grufflepuff

I started out with every intention to write an episode tag for Missing. I guess technically this isn't not an episode tag, but…it ended up going in a very different direction from what I originally planned. I hope you like it, @mrskatiegecko, even though it doesn’t successfully hit many of the things you mentioned in your survey.

made for round two of the @roswell-gift-exchange

It started not long after Michael returned her journal. Or maybe it’d been going since long before that night, but she’d just never noticed it before. Either way, Michael was spending a lot more time in the restaurant, especially around closing. She never quite saw him come in, and she was never the one to take his order, but, almost without fail, he would still be sitting there at his booth even after the last diners filed out the door.

There was just something about being in the restaurant after closing. No matter how crazy, rushed, or busy it was during the course of the day, that same silent hush always fell over the empty booths and tables once that “Closed” sign was turned around. It was eerie. It was creepy. The front windows made it worse. When darkness closed in around the restaurant there was really no way to know what could possibly be lurking outside, watching. It was probably her most childish fear, all things considered. But it was still always present in the back of her mind.

So she never asked him to leave. She never asked any of the other servers not to ask him to leave, but…they didn’t. Or if they did, he didn’t listen.

She kind of…liked it. Which was stupid. At best, he barely tolerated her most of the time, and that’s when he wasn’t actively seething at her. It wasn’t like she could necessarily count on him as protection in case anything bad ever happened after hours. Right? She studied him out of the corner of her eye as she tried to refill the sugar dispensers. If someone came in right now, waving a gun or demanding money or something, he might try to stop them. So what if it was probably only so he wouldn’t have to give a statement to the police or deal with Maria losing her mind if either of them got hurt? In this sort of situation, it was the action—not the thought—that counted, surely.

He was reading something, some thick, dog-eared book. She hadn’t been able to get a look at the title, but he seemed utterly engrossed in it. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes trained intently on the page. But he took his time with the words—not like he was struggling with them or anything like that, but like he was trying to absorb them, really make sense of them. It was kind of sexy.

Immediately, she felt shame rush through her. He was with Maria. Her best friend. This really wasn’t okay. It absolutely was not okay for her to be sitting here, alone, with her best friend’s love interest, noticing the way he tugged at his lower lip as he read.

“Hey, if you’re just going to sit there staring at me, would you mind warming me up?” He’d lifted his mug in the air to illustrate his request, but he still wasn’t looking at her. Heat suffused her cheeks, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to stumble through an explanation. She slid off of the seat and went to get the last of the coffee.

“Looks to me like you’re the one just sitting there. I’m refilling the sugar.” She gestured with her free hand as she poured fresh coffee—well hot coffee, anyway—into his mug. He still didn’t look up, but it almost sounded like…maybe he laughed?

“You’ve been watching me for the last ten minutes.” He started to turn the page in his book, but then hesitated, apparently rereading something. Liz caught herself staring at his hand, the way his fingers curled beneath the page, and forced herself to look away. “That’s all I needed. Thanks.”

She tried not to laugh as she turned and headed back to the damn sugar. She was tempted to ask him how he’d kept track of how long she’d been staring if he was so busy reading, but that ran the risk of sounding like she was confessing to having been staring. So. Fine. She spun the seat around to face the counter completely, and worked twice as hard to get the job done. And if she felt his gaze rake down her back as solidly as if he’d been touching her, well…surely that was just her imagination.

When she’d finally finished, she swept up all of the dispensers into her arms and carried them behind the counter. Then she set about the rest of her closing-up tasks: wiping the tables down, putting the chairs up, sweeping. Without meaning to, she gave Michael’s booth as wide a berth as she could manage.

It was so stupid. Her mind just kept going back to that night he returned her journal. It should have made her want to crawl into a hole and die—standing face to face with someone who was essentially a stranger and yet who had read her most private thoughts. To her credit, most of the time she was appropriately mortified by that night.

But sometimes she focused on other things. How he’d looked at her—his eyes had been sharp and intimidating at first, but then they’d softened, somehow, as he’d paced around the restaurant. How, when he’d pulled her journal out, the first thing she felt hadn’t been horror, but relief. Relief that he’d been the one who had it, and yes, that meant that he’d been reading it, but, more importantly, it’d been safe. That whole time that she’d been panicking and imagining the worst, her journal had been in his care.

Thank you for giving me one more reason to envy Max Evans.

Words had bubbled up inside her when he’d said that, mostly explanations for the countless embarrassing things she’d said about Max in her journal. Starry-eyed descriptions and purple prose and who knew what else. Max had saved her life, and…she’d kind of lost her mind for a while there. But he’d read it all, and he was sitting in front of her, telling her that her journal spoke of who she was. And then, unless she was mistaken, his eyes had flickered down to her mouth for a moment before he’d looked away and gotten up to leave.

She was absolutely ridiculous, projecting this amount of intimacy onto her non-relationship with Michael. He’d made it clear, over and over again, that he didn’t want anything to do with her. He’d taken her journal, and read it, out of self-preservation alone. Granted, that didn’t quite explain why he’d given it back to her instead of burning it to ashes, but there was no reason for her to still be reading this much into such a brief interaction. So, in an attempt to force it out of her mind and just get these last few tasks finished, she heaved a frustrated sigh and focused on mopping the floor.

Just as Liz dunked the mop back into the bucket, and then put it into the wringer to get rid of the excess water, a movement in the window caught her eye. She looked up, involuntarily, and then stumbled backwards with a sound that was half-scream, half-growl. Someone was standing way too close to the door, with their hands and the side of their face pressed against the glass. Initially, she had the dizzying, bewildering thought that it was an actual alien—the face was bulbous and oddly-proportioned and…silver, and the fingers were inhumanly long. But then her rational brain kicked in and she recognized it for was it was—that stupid costume that they sold at the UFO Center. When the visitor saw her looking, they turned their head and wiggled their fingers at her.

Someone else appeared beside the costumed person—except, no, not beside them. It was Michael’s reflection. He was standing next to her. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for that. “Do you know that idiot?” He asked, jerking his chin towards the alien. “That’s not Maxwell.”

Liz shook her head. Max had worn something like that once, but even from this distance, in the dark, on the other side of a pane of glass, Liz knew that it wasn’t Max. She swallowed, hard. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes slid away from the alien’s face, to the deadbolt on the door, and her stomach dropped. She hadn’t locked the door. Just like the night that Michael had returned her goddamned journal, she hadn’t locked the door.

Of course, if…whoever that was, was determined to get inside the restaurant, the deadbolt was not going to keep them from breaking the door and just stepping through, but…she didn’t have to make it easy for them. Her heart was beating way too fast. Could she make it in time? She was still quite a distance away from the door, but maybe she could make it.

So, before she could talk herself out of it, Liz started forward. She thought she heard Michael hiss her name behind her, but she made it to the door—just in time for the alien to pull it open and step inside.

Fuck.

One single, helpless syllable was the only thing on Liz’s mind as she stared up at the intruder. She couldn’t see through the eyeholes of the mask. Nothing else about them seemed particularly familiar. Someone—Michael, it had to be Michael—grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards, away from the alien. As he did, she couldn’t tear her eyes off of whoever it was. They yanked off their stupid gloves and reached into their pocket. Another sharp yank, and suddenly she was standing behind Michael, while he blocked her with his body.

“Hey, pal, we’re closed. I know what it’s like, jonesing for that Green Martian shake, but you’re gonna have to come back in the morning.” He had his hands up and out, like he was approaching a wild animal and trying to show that he meant no harm, but Liz caught the beginnings of an orange glow in his hands. She touched his back, because how else was she supposed to draw Michael’s attention to the problem without also telling the visitor?

“I don’t want a milkshake, stupid.” Liz wracked her brain, trying to identify the voice, but she came up empty. She had no idea who this person was. Michael’s back stiffened, and he took a step backwards, closer to Liz, which is when she saw it.

The alien was pointing a gun at them. The silver glinted menacingly in the dim lights of the restaurant. Her whole body went numb. Suddenly she was thrust backwards through time, to that first afternoon. That was how she thought about it: The first. The beginning of this whole mess.

“Okay,” Michael said, placating, and she realized that the alien must have said something. He kept his hands up (Liz was relieved to see that the glow had gone away, at least) but walked slowly over to the register. He wanted money? No, the alien wanted money. When he was standing behind the register, he fumbled with the screen, with the drawer. She should be the one standing there. She should be the one doing this, not Michael.

“There’s a key—” Her voice started out too loud, and the alien swiveled towards her. Suddenly all she could see was the barrel of that gun. She froze, hands outstretched in front of her like they could stop a stray bullet. They hadn’t the last time.

“Hey, buddy, focus on me. She’s not gonna do anything stupid. Come on.” Michael’s voice was tight, but he was trying to get the alien to point the gun at him. A quick, warm rush of gratitude ran through her chilled body. The alien was still looking at her, though, and finally gestured with the gun for her to join Michael. She did, though her feet currently seemed to be fully encased in blocks of concrete. With hands that trembled too much, she fumbled with the key to the register until Michael finally took it from her and did it himself. When he did, he pulled the drawer out and held it out to the alien.

“That’s it?” The disgust in his voice was almost enough to make Liz laugh. Quiet, queasy laughter was bubbling up inside her, but somehow she managed to choke it down.

“We did a deposit earlier…” Her throat was dry.

In one fluid movement, the alien came around to their side of the register—way too close—and swiped his hand around inside the register as though looking for the secret stash of money. When he didn’t find anything, he pointed his gun at her again.

“Where’s your tips, then? Where do you keep them? Don’t move.” He raised his gun a little higher, threatening. Instinctively, she took a step backwards, right into Michael. She felt him put his hand on her side, but every single one of her senses was tuned in to that gun. The alien tightened his grip. He’d asked her a question, but he was too close. That gun was too close. Language had fled.

“They’re in the pocket of her apron, the one on your left. That’s where she keeps them.” How could he possibly sound this calm? Her heart was literally going to explode in her chest, and Michael sounded like he was chatting with an old friend.

The alien reached into her pocket, and if she’d had more presence of mind, she might have been disgusted by the feeling of him rooting around in her clothing. But then he pulled out her miserable wad of singles and stuffed it into his own pocket, along with what little remained in the drawer. When he was satisfied, he chucked Liz under the chin with the barrel of his gun and walked backwards towards the door. “Pleasure doing business with you folks. You have a good night, now.”

And just like that, he was gone. Liz felt herself crumbling, and reached to brace herself against the counter, but Michael grabbed her wrists and spun her around to face him.

“Don’t touch anything. The police might be able to get fingerprints. Are you okay?” His voice sounded softer than she’d ever heard before, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I’m fine,” she said, in a voice that said pretty much the opposite. She cleared her throat. “Really.” The last thing she needed was to look like a delicate little damsel in distress in front of him. How many times had she put his life in danger, now? “What about you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Let’s sit down, though, okay?” He really did sound fine. Liz got the distinct impression, however, that he had not missed the way her legs were trembling, and so she allowed him to lead her over to the counter. But before she could sit, she pulled away from him and went over to the phone.

“I need to call the police. And my dad.” Her brain was slowly coming back to life, now, even though she felt like she could only focus on one thing at a time. Police. Because they’d just been robbed. But before she dialed, she had a brief moment of clarity and looked over at Michael. “You should leave, right? Because when they get here, they’ll have questions? I can wait until you leave.”

He looked like he was thinking. “No, they might find my prints on the register too. I think it’s okay. I don’t want to talk to Valenti, but it’ll look weird if I’m not here when they get here.” He jutted his chin towards the phone. “Just make the call before you faint.”

“I’m not going to faint,” she muttered as she dialed. When someone at the sheriff’s office picked up the phone, she managed to stumble her way through some kind of description of what had just happened, then hung up and numbly dialed the number for her parents upstairs and repeated the story, more or less, when her father picked up the phone. Finally, she made her way back over to the seat next to Michael. After a moment of silence, he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do when someone’s in shock, right? Keep them warm? I know I’ve heard that somewhere.” He kept his hands on her shoulders, through his jacket, as though to keep her from shrugging it off.

“I’m not in shock.” It was bad enough to turn into that frozen mess, but now for Michael Guerin to treat her like she’d been a frozen mess…she didn’t like it.

“Well, humor me?” He ducked a little, to catch her gaze. His eyes were the color of whiskey, she thought dimly. Had she ever noticed that before? “If you pass out and hit your head on the counter or something, I can’t heal you like Max can.”

Liz opened her mouth to tell him, once again, that she had no plans of passing out or fainting or anything else so ridiculous, but then thought better of it and just nodded. She could sit here arguing with him all night like a petulant child, or she could just shut up and move on.

Before the silence could stretch very far between them, she heard her father’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, and he burst through the door. “Lizzie!” He called, looking more frantic than she would have liked. She was still having trouble processing what had happened, but she knew he’d have a million questions, so she started to stand up. But Michael beat her to it, going to Jeff and explaining to him, once again, what had happened. Every once in a while, Jeff would look to Liz over Michael’s shoulder, as though looking for confirmation. All she had to do was nod. An incredulous gratitude continued to build inside her—to Michael.

When most of Jeff’s questions—for now—had been answered, Michael stepped aside, and let him stumble towards Liz. She allowed him to sweep her up into his arms, holding her in a bone-crushing hug while he mumbled apologies and vows that she’d never be alone in the restaurant again, and all of the other types of things that she could have expected from her father.

It wasn’t terribly surprising that the sheriff himself showed up, along with Deputy Blackwood. Beneath the expected veneer of concern, Liz could have sworn that Valenti was pleased to be back in the Crashdown. He asked her all the right questions, but she saw the way his eyes kept wandering. He studied Michael, who was giving his statement to Blackwood. He studied the walls, the tables, everything. He was still looking for something about the shooting. When his eyes focused on Liz, she got the uncomfortable sensation that he was cataloging every single detail about her.

Feeling exposed, she finally slipped her arms through the sleeves of Michael’s jacket and zipped it up. The movement must have caught his eyes, because when she looked over at him, he was already watching her.

“Well, I think we’ve got all the information that we’re going to need from you folks,” Valenti finally drawled. “Before we go, we’re just going to need to take your fingerprints, so we can eliminate your prints from the register and the other surfaces.” His face gave nothing away, but Liz couldn’t help but feel he sounded way too excited about the prospect of having Michael’s fingerprints on file. She caught his eyes again, from across the room.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jeff, who had mostly been listening while Liz and Michael gave their stories, finally spoke up. “You’re not going to fingerprint these…these children. They’re not criminals.”

“Jeff, I understand where you’re coming from, but it’s protocol—” Valenti kept his voice level. Probably he thought he’d dealt with parents like Jeff a thousand times in the past, but Liz recognized the glint in her father’s eyes. She fought back a smile.

“I don’t care if it’s protocol; it’s not going to happen tonight. They’re kids. Just take all the prints off of the register and run them all through the system and when a criminal pops up, that’s the one who pointed a gun at my baby.”

Deputy Blackwood had since gone over to the stupid gloves that the alien had left behind. He picked them up carefully and dropped them into a bag. Liz gestured to him. “He was wearing those gloves. Your guys can get prints from the gloves and match them to prints from the register, can’t they?” She’d watched her share of forensics shows on television: she knew it wasn’t exactly easy, but…it was possible, sometimes.

Valenti gave her a look that would have made her shiver, on a different night, maybe. But tonight she’d stared down possible death, and she had her father on her side. She held her chin up high. Finally, Valenti sighed and looked away.

“If I didn’t know your family better, Jeff, I might think y’all had something to hide. But it’s late, and I know where to find you all if I need you, so I guess we can skip the fingerprinting for now.” He slipped his notepad back into his shirt pocket and gestured to the deputy. A few moments later, they had cleared out of the restaurant.

Jeff stood at the door and watched them go. Even when the taillights of Valenti’s cruiser were long gone, he kept standing there, staring out into the darkness. Liz tried not to shiver. After a while, Michael stalked over to the booth where he’d left all his things, and started packing it all away. Something drew Liz to him. A question. The night was already blurring into one big mess of terror, but something was bothering her. She glanced up to make sure her father was still looking out the windows.

“How did you know where I kept my tips?” She finally asked, leaning against the end of one of the booths. Michael’s easy movements stilled for a moment, and he ducked his head before finally zipping up his bag.

“I’ve been coming here for a while now,” he finally said, as though that explained everything. He looked up at her, and her questions must have shown in her face, because he gave her a little half-smile before going on: “You always put them in the same pocket. I see you do it a hundred times a day. How am I not gonna notice?”

Liz dropped her gaze but raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. Through everything else that had happened that night, she felt a little rush of…well, there was really no other term for it but “pleasure” at the thought that Michael paid enough attention to her to remember anything she did. Ridiculous. There were much bigger things she should be thinking about right now. She pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you for being here tonight,” she mumbled after a while. “Really… Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She didn’t miss that edge in his voice. He was getting uncomfortable. Rather than pressing the issue, or trying to find any other words strong enough to convey what she was really feeling, Liz simply nodded and took a small step backwards, giving him a little more space. He shouldered his bag, but then stood there for a moment too long, like he was trying to think of something else to say. She held her breath.

But then the moment passed, and he shoved one hand deep into his pocket. “Okay, see ya,” he finally said. It may have been the exact right thing to say: the night had flown wildly off-kilter, but to hear Michael try to distance himself from the situation, as usual, was…well, comforting. She felt herself smile a little and, when she looked up at him again, his eyes were a little softer than normal, like maybe he was smiling too. He strode toward the door, bade goodnight to Jeff with an awkward wave, and disappeared into the night as easily as anything.

He left his jacket.

#roswell #roswellgiftexchange #polar #michael x liz #michaelxliz #fanfic #submission #round2

11 notes · View notes

roswell-gift-exchange · 7 years

Text

Fic: Can We Be Friends? (Max/Kyle)

Can We Be Friends? to @noxelementalist / from @4cullensandablack

This is what should have happened with Kyle and Max’s friendship after the Blind Date episode.

made for round two of the @roswell-gift-exchange

Two days after Liz’s blind date

“Hi” says Kyle as he stops at his locker, even though he doesn’t need to. He saw Max heading towards the water fountain.

“Hey” answers Max as he bends to get a sip of water glancing at Kyle, who seems out of sorts.

They both want to bring up the events that happened two night ago, but they just don’t know where to start or even if they should.

“Look, I don’t hope that you think that Saturday night makes us bestie or something” says Kyle as he looks through his locker trying not to pay attention to Max’s reaction to his words.

“I didn’t think that it did” proclaims Max as he finishes moistening his palate. He stands turning towards Kyle.

“Dude,” he screams horrified, “you could at least look like you are digging in your bag for a book or something.”

“Look, Kyle” says Max as he stares at his former enemy, “if you want to be friends with me, you need to man up.”

He continues to stare at Kyle making him feel uncomfortable before Max decides to turn away and head to his next class before the bell rings.

Kyle is unsure how to react to what he just heard, so he shrugs and slams his locker door shut before turning down the hall to head to his class.

What is wrong with me? I am acting like I am asking Liz out on a date or something. Kyle’s thoughts continue to wander as he makes his way to his class.

The next day at 5:30pm.

“Yo, Max” he turns as Kyle leaves his football buddies running up to Max as he exits the Crashdown.

“Hey” says Kyle as he smiles at Max’s confused face.

“Hi” is the only the response that Kyle receives.

“Look, do you want to hang out” asks Kyle.

“Um, I am not sure…I mean…not now I am late for something” answers Max as he stares pass Kyle looking back into the diner.

Sadden Kyle answers, “okay…look…I know I was a jerk to you, so I can understand why you wouldn’t want to be my friend.” He turns away from Max. “See you around, Evans.”

Max looks at Kyle in confusion as he watches him rejoin his buddies, hopping into his truck and driving away. Max didn’t mean to hurt Kyle’s feeling it’s just that he never thought that him and Kyle would actually try to be friends.

“What did Valenti want” ask Michael who joins Max after paying the bill and exiting the Crashdown.

“Uh, you know Kyle” he continues while thinking on his feet, “just being his judgmental self.”

“Hmm” questions Michael while looking at Max in contemplation, “I would have thought that after you’ll had hung out the other night, that the two of you would be besties already.”

“Shut up” laughs Max as he heads towards his jeep with Michael following close behind.

“I guess Liz is the issue” questions Michael as they stand behind the jeep facing each other.

“What are you saying” Max questions in anger, “that my feelings for Liz has ruined another one of my friendship.”

“I didn’t” smiles Michael as realization meets Max’s eyes, “but you just did.”

Max continues to stare at his best friend as understanding of just how much he has lost because of his feelings for Liz Parker, comes into view. Isabel isn’t even speaking to him now. And the only reason Michael joined him after school at the Crashdown was so that he could copy his English assignment.

Shoot besides all of that, him and Liz aren’t even together. Maybe actually trying to be friends with Kyle wouldn’t be so bad.

Friday at 3:30pm

The final bell rings and Max waits at the water fountain for Kyle to make his final run to his locker before football practice.

He was so nervous; you would think he was asking Liz out on a date.

“Hey” says Kyle as comes up short when he rounds the corner and sees Max standing next to his locker waiting for him.

“Before you say anything I just wanted to say” begins Max as Kyle gets closer, “that this is really weird.”

“Understatement of the year” answers Kyle.

“Okay, I think that there is a reason why we dislike each other” he tries again to get his point across.

“You are just two for two today aren’t you, Evans” groans Kyle as he reaches into his bag pack.

“Liz, I meant what I said the other night even though we were drunk. I am over Liz and wish you both the best of luck.”

As Max listens to Kyle he wonders what else he remembers from their bonding night. Hopefully, it isn’t some of the questionable things that he has done with his powers.

“What else do you remember” questions Max.

“Peeing on Mrs. Quick’s lawn” they both laugh at the memory.

“Look Evans, I know I can be a privileged ass sometimes and I am working on that” continues Kyle, “Buddha teaches us that looking into what hurts oneself can effort how we treat others.”

“Um” Max isn’t really into religion so he is unsure of what to say, “I think we can just start by grabbing a burger at the Crashdown.”

“Right, after practice” Kyle opens his locker door placing his books inside before closing it and turning to face Max.

“This might get weird” he says while turning to walk down the hallway. Max is by his side as they round the corner, “Is Isabel dating Guerin?”

“No why?” Max stops in his tracks shocked by this line of questioning.

“Well, since you took my girlfriend. I believe that it is only right that I take your sister” he laughs as he looks at Max’s anger face.

“God, I am just kidding Evans” he laughs “if we are going to be friends, you have to get use to my sense of humor.”

“I may have to rethink this whole friendship thing” answers Max as he hits Kyle on his arm.

“Whatever Evans, you are stuck with me now” laughs Kyle as they make their way to the football field. Max’s jeep is parked in the lot and he turns towards it as Kyle makes his way to the field.

FIN

#roswell #roswellgiftexchange #Panty Brigade #max x kyle #maxxkyle #fanfic #submission #round2

4 notes · View notes