Title: This Ordinary Life, part 1

Author: Courtney

Email: MsDawCreek@aol.com

Rating: R to mild NC-17

Summary: Bad luck and circumstance lead two people to a place they never expected to be.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Spoilers: Through rumors and spoilers for episodes up to Heat Wave.

Thanks: I have a lot of people to thank. First, thanks to Brandi, whose suggestion finally got me on the right track to finish this story instead of starting over for the 4000th time! Also thanks to Melissa for reading it for me and giving me feedback on all my wacky ideas and for letting me spoil the story for her in the name of helping out. And thanks as always to the RAC members for all the fanfic, conversation, and encouragement that I couldn't live without. Thanks! You guys are all the greatest!

Chapter One

She was sitting on the bed brushing the tangles from her long, wet hair when she heard the front door to the tiny apartment being opened. It was nothing to worry about; she knew it was him. She kept brushing out her hair as she heard him call, "Gina!"

"Back here, Danny," she answered back, even though she was not Gina and he was not Danny. But, they'd played so long at this game that it seemed second nature now. Some days, it was almost even real.

"Hey," he mumbled as he walked into the cramped bedroom that they shared.

"Work okay?" she asked conversationally.

"Yeah, same," he responded. She nodded her reply. "Jimmy's gonna let me work that overtime this weekend," he put in.

"That's good, we could definitely use the money," she replied. He nodded and sat on the side of the bed opposite her and started taking off his work boots. She'd finished brushing out her hair and got up to go into the bathroom to start drying it. When she turned, though, she noticed him wincing and holding his head in his hands. "M-" she started, but stopped herself. "Danny? Are you alright?"

He looked up at the petite redhead before him, his wife, and nodded. "Yeah, just tired," he assured her.

"You're sure? Because I could stay home with you tonight. That bar will last without me for one night."

"No, don't do that. Go," he said. "Besides, we need the money. Rent's due in a week and we're still a hundred bucks short. Not to mention the power bill, the water bill . . . you need to go in."

She nodded. He was right. Things were tight financially and even one night of missed tips could mean the difference between whether or not they could buy groceries that next week, so she had to go.

Walking into the bathroom, which was small just like everything else in their one bedroom apartment, she went to the mirror and plugged in her hairdryer. Her shift started in half an hour and she couldn't afford to be late. Though losing her dead end job sometimes felt like an appealing idea, the thought of how they'd survive even a week of lost wages was unacceptable. They were on their own, no one to depend on but each other . . . she had no other choice.

The bathroom grew hot as she ravaged her long, red hair with the heat from the hairdryer. When it was dry, she took her brush and ran it through the strands again. Looking in the mirror, she stared back at the reflection that met her eyes. It was the face of a stranger.

It hadn't been too long ago that her life had seemed normal, mundane even. She'd been like every other teenager, getting up for school, sitting through algebra, eating lunch in the quad with her friends. But, as she looked at the foreign reflection in her bathroom mirror, that life seemed to be a million light years away.

She was married now, at least in theory. And her name was Gina. Gina . . . not the name she would have chosen, maybe, but it was the one on the identification he had managed to get them so it had had to do. And not only had her name changed. She looked completely different. Along with the long, red hair, she also had blue eyes now. She wore clothes that were much different than those she'd worn in her other life. Instead of typical teenaged school clothes, her attire now consisted of a wardrobe filled with selections from yard sales and the local Goodwill. Instead of being a waitress in a diner, she was now a waitress in a bar. They thought she was nineteen, of course, but in a way that was true. Gina Martin was nineteen, and she was Gina Martin now more than she was that half-forgotten girl from her own past.

It had started unexpectedly, this journey they had taken together. He'd never wanted to get her involved. Things had just happened. He'd been shot and he'd needed help. She'd been the closest one so he had come to her. Helping him had been the only thing that she could do. Then, after they were both caught up in this whole mess, it had been too late to turn back. So, here they were, two strangers eking out a dismal life together that they really knew nothing about. Each day was just like the last, every second bringing them further and further into the deception they had created for themselves.

She sighed as she looked in the mirror. It was time to stop rehashing all of this for the thousandth time and get herself to work. It would take a good twenty minutes for her to walk the two blocks to the Roadhouse bar where she worked. Without a car, she didn't have much choice. She quickly dabbed on a little lipstick and smoothed out her hair one last time, then turned and left the bathroom.

He was lying on the bed when she came out. His eyes were closed and she thought his face looked a little pained. His head must be hurting again. These headaches of his worried her, especially when she had to leave him alone during one. The cause of them was most likely something to do with the bullet that had entered his head just behind his ear; the bullet that had started this whole tailspin that their lives were in. He'd been some place that he shouldn't have been, as usual. She wondered if he was ever going to learn that he wasn't indestructible. He was vulnerable just like the rest of the world.

Sitting down softly on the bed beside him, she laid a hand on his forehead and his eyes eased open. "No fever, that's good," she remarked.

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

"Take some aspirin and get some rest. Oh, and eat something. I made spaghetti. Yours is in the refrigerator."

"Okay, thanks," he said.

"Call me at the bar if you need me, okay? Promise?"

He nodded. "Promise."

"I'll call on my break at ten."

"Okay, be careful."

"Always," she replied and then smiled at him slightly before removing her hand from his forehead and getting up from the bed. He watched her gather her keys from the beat up old dresser they shared and pull on an old denim jacket. She looked back one more time before saying, "Bye," and walking out of the bedroom. He heard the apartment door close and knew that she was gone. His head still pounded, so he decided to get up in search of that aspirin.

After finding the pills and eating a little of the dinner she had left for him, he wandered back into the bedroom to lie down. His head was killing him and he knew that if he planned to get to work at 6am then he'd need some sleep. The factory he worked in was loud and stressful and going there with a clear head was bad enough. But, going in with one of his headaches was damned near impossible.

Not that he was complaining. He was lucky to find that job. The pay wasn't great, but it was better than what he'd made pumping gas their first two months in town. With this job and the overtime he managed to get most weekends, they were actually starting to get out of the hole. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

This life, this day to day routine they had settled into of him getting up at sunrise for work and working until dark was not what he'd had in mind for them. He hated that she spent all day as a cashier at the local market, then spent all night waiting tables. He hated that they only saw one another in passing or sometimes not at all. But, most of all, he hated that he had brought her into this whole mess. She wasn't supposed to be in this town, in this life . . . she was supposed to be somewhere else, somewhere better.

When he thought about how he'd turned her life upside down, it renewed the dull ache of guilt that filled him always. That night when it had happened he had known that he should go to his best friend. He knew that Max would know what to do, Max would find them a way out of this. Max always saved his sorry ass. Unfortunately, Max's house had been too far.

Before long, he was sleeping fitfully. His dreams kept turning back to that day . . . that awful day. It had been the last time he saw Roswell, New Mexico. One life had ended that night . . . and two others had begun. He tossed and turned as the memories played out in his mind yet again.

* * * * *

The knock on her window must have woken her because, when she pulled back the curtains to look out, she squinted in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

"Michael?" she'd said in confusion.

"Maria . . . I need your help," he'd managed to say.

"What . . . what happened?" The look of panic on his face was obvious as it reflected in her warm, green eyes.

"It's . . . something happened," he stammered. He was holding his head on the right side as he spoke and she could see blood seeping out around his fingers.

"You're hurt. Come to the door," she ordered and turned to hurry out to him. She made it outside before he could make it to the door and put her arm around his waist to help him into the apartment she shared with her mother.

Fortunately, her mom was out of town that night. By some luck, Amy DeLuca had gone to Albuquerque the day before for some kind of New Age convention. Maria wasn't sure of the specifics, but she was glad that her mom wasn't home to question why she was lugging a bleeding alien through their living room at two in the morning.

She got him into the hall bathroom and sat him on the closed lid of the toilet. "Move your hand, lemme see," she urged. He winced as he removed his blood-covered hand from his wound and Maria gasped. "Oh my God, what happened?" she asked.

"Gunshot," he answered.

"Someone shot you in the head?!" she asked in astonishment. "God, Michael, who?"

His eyes clouded over as he looked down. Softly, almost inaudibly, he responded, "Hank."

Maria wished that had surprised her. Michael's stepfather was such a jerk, though . . . it wasn't such a stretch to think that he'd take out his rage on Michael. All the young man seemed to serve as in that household was a monthly check and Hank's personal punching bag. Though he'd curved his physical attacks as the boy grew old enough to fight back, Hank was still verbally abusive to Michael. Maria had long worried about how this effected him.

"What happened?" she asked as she started to gently clean around his wound with a warm washcloth. He winced, but let her continue.

"I don't want to talk about it," Michael answered in reply to her question.

"Michael, you come to me with a gunshot to the head and ask for my help, then you refuse to even tell me what's really going on? This is serious, Michael. We need to get you to the hospital. And we need to call the police and have them go pick up Hank. That bastard can't get away with this," she said angrily.

"No Maria, we can't do any of that," he said. She thought his voice sounded pained as he told her this. It struck her immediately as odd.

"And why not?" she inquired.

"He's dead . . . I think," Michael said.

"Dead? Hank?"

"Yeah."

"But . . . but . . . how?" she managed.

"Me . . . I did it. It wasn't his fault," he said as he motioned to his wound. "It was mine. I shot him first. I dropped the gun as soon as I did it and he must have managed to pick it up. He hit me as I was running out the door."

Maria's eyes grew wide in shock. She wasn't sure what to say. Michael had shot Hank? But why? What in the hell was going on here? She was sure that there was more to this story than Michael was saying, but she decided now was not the time to press him about it. He was losing a lot of blood and she had no idea how bad this wound really was. From the looks of it, though, she was shocked that he was even sitting up straight.

"You need to see a doctor," she said again.

"I can't," he said adamantly. "They'll arrest me the second I walk in the door. I swear, Maria, I think . . ." his voice trailed off as his eyes cut down to fix on the corner if the tub a few feet away. His next words escaped in a tortured whisper. "I think I killed him."

"No, Micheal, no," she replied as she tried to comfort him. Her hand reached down to squeeze his tightly. "I'm sure you didn't."

"You can't be sure . . . you don't know," he said. She watched his face darken with the pain that these thoughts brought to him. He hated the thought that he'd done such a terrible thing, even to a man who had done nothing but abuse him for the entire time he'd been in his life. A part of Michael still out hope that a tiny part of Hank loved him, wanted him around . . . to think that he'd destroyed that chance was as upsetting as the thought of taking someone else's life.

"It's going to be okay," Maria assured him.

"How?" Michael asked. He turned his face up to look at her and she saw him pleading for an answer. He needed her to know how to fix this, how to make things right. She wasn't sure that she knew how, but she knew that she had to try.

"If the police really are looking for you then we need to get out of town," she reasoned.

"We?"

"Well, you can't very well get out of here alone. You can barely even walk. Besides, you don't have a car and I do."

"No, you can't leave," he said firmly.

"What? Michael, we have no choice," she argued.

"Maria, no. If you leave . . ." he sighed and looked away again. "I'm leaving Roswell tonight . . . and I'm never coming back," he told her. "If you come with me then you'll be an accomplice. You can never come back here either. We'll both have to run. I don't want that for you, Maria. You deserve more than that."

Looking down at him, she understood what he was saying. She knew that helping him would put her in as much danger as he was in. If he really had killed his stepfather with that bullet, then getting him out of town would make her a criminal right along with him. She'd never be able to come home again. Her life would change forever. On the other hand, if she let him go alone or try and make it to the Evans' by himself, there was no way he'd make it. He would either be dead or in jail by morning. To Maria, neither of those things was an option.

"I'm going," she stated.

"Maria . . ."

"No, I'm going," she repeated. "You need someone to help you and you're already here so it might as well be me. We'll get as far from here as we can, then I'll find someone to look at your head. Come on, let's get a move on, we're wasting time." She helped him up and led him back to her room. He followed without any further protest.

He sat on her rumpled, sea-green bedspread and watched as she pulled out a duffel bag and started to fill it. She took only the bare essentials, quickly filling the bag and zipping it up. "Okay," she said as she turned back to him. "Wait here while I go put this in the car." He nodded and she left the room with the bag and her purse. He heard her go out the front door. Moments later, she was back.

"Okay, now we've got to get out of here before they have a chance to set up any road blocks. It won't take long before we're cornered into this town and there's no way out." Michael nodded and allowed her to help him up and lead him out to her mother's red Jetta that was already running in the driveway. She got him into the passenger's seat and closed the door, then came around and got in on the driver's side. She was about to pull out when she felt him reach up and grab her arm.

"Wait, Maria . . . are you sure?" he asked. She looked over at the guy beside her and in an instant she knew her answer. He needed her so badly; his life depended on her at that very moment. And yet, he was willing to let her out of this still. He knew that she was the last option available to him, but he was willing to forsake that to keep from turning her life on end. It just showed her how much she really did mean to him. There was no way she could let him down after that.

"I'm sure," she replied. Their eyes met for a brief moment and they were both still. Then, she snapped back to reality and realized that they had no time to waste. She had to get them out of Roswell . . . and fast.

They drove through the dark and deserted streets, him with a makeshift compress held to his wounded head, her with her eyes peeled for signs of trouble. She wasn't sure if she even breathed until she saw the sign for the highway up ahead. As she turned onto the road that would lead them out of this city, Maria took one more glance in her rearview mirror. The place that had always been her home faded in the distance behind her. She looked for a second, knowing she might never see it again, then looked ahead again and turned onto the highway. There was no turning back now.

* * * * *

"Hey Gina, you got a second?" she heard someone ask. She turned to see Claudia, one of the other waitresses, standing behind her.

"Sure, what's up?"

"I need a favor," Claudia said.

"What kind of favor?" she asked.

"I need you to work my shift on Saturday night," she replied.

"I'm working dayshift on Saturday," the redhead told her.

"I know," Claudia said, "But couldn't you work both? Please? My boyfriend wants to take me to the mountains and I really want to go."

She looked at the girl and wondered not for the first time what she was doing in this town. Claudia was easily 25 years old. She had worked in this bar for over a year and had no other ambitions in life. Claudia was content to wait tables in this smoke-filled place for the rest of her life. She could derive all the pleasure she needed out of life from weekends at the bowling alley and cookouts on Sunday afternoons and the occasional trip to the mountains with her boyfriend. That was life here and that was okay with Claudia and the others. That was just the way things were.

Gina sighed as she realized that this was the way things were for her, too. She was one of these girls. She was expected to take this life as it was and not want more. That sometimes seemed like an impossible task.

"Okay, sure," she told Claudia. With a shrug, she said, "I could use the money anyway."

"That's great!" the other woman squealed. "Thank you so much, Gina! I really appreciate it."

"Sure, no problem," she replied and gave the girl what she hoped appeared to be a sincere smile. They were then back to work, wiping down tables and sweeping floors and soon it was time to call it a night at last.

"Thanks again for taking my shift, Gina," Claudia said as they stood on the sidewalk outside the bar after closing. The others who had helped close were already headed for their cars. Claudia was waiting on her boyfriend and Gina intended to walk as always.

"Sure, it's no big deal," she assured her.

"Well, if you and your husband ever want to do something and you need me to take a weekend for you just ask." The tall blonde flashed her teeth at her companion and a sudden vision of Isabel Evans filled the redhead's mind. That was a name she hadn't let herself think about in quite some time.

"Well, there's Rick. I gotta go," Claudia said with a wave. "Bye!"

"Bye, see ya," Gina waved after her, then turned to start walking home. It wasn't long before they'd pulled off and she was alone in the dark streets of this sleepy town. They'd picked this place, Camden, West Virginia, at random, really. It wasn't too small of a town that they stood out, but it also wasn't so big that they couldn't keep an eye on everything that happened around them. It had been just the kind of place they were looking for.

Still, Camden was far from perfect. Most of the girls that Gina knew were like Claudia. They'd either dropped out of school or just barely finished. They all seemed to have bleached hair and long fingernails and a perpetual habit of smacking their gum in the ear of any person trying to hold a conversation with them. True, they were all pretty nice, but they just weren't her kind of crowd. She longed for just one person that she could really talk to . . . just one soul that she could really call a friend.

She had that person, of course. He was in bed in the apartment she was walking towards, hopefully sleeping by this late hour. He was calling himself Danny, but changing his name and his hair and his clothes could never hide the man she knew from her sights. Somewhere under all the falseness still lay the boy she'd fallen in love with back in a town she longed to return to and longed to forget.

He'd broken her heart in that town; she couldn't lie to herself about that. So many nights she had lay awake and cried over his rejection of her that she eventually had no more tears left to cry. The night that he'd finally ended things still played out in her head all the time. It was still the most hurt she had ever been, and still she hated him for that. She wondered sometimes if she could ever forgive him and move on . . . or if she'd just keep sleeping in the bed beside him and trying to make herself dream of a time when he made her happy and nothing else mattered. The answer to that question still alluded her, and she could only hope that she'd find it eventually. Until then, she'd just go on. It was all she could do.

With the heavy, world-weary sigh of a person twice her age, she walked on towards home.

* * * * *

"Mom, Michael's here, I'm leaving," Maria called to her mother as she opened the front door to greet the boy who approached the front steps.

"Have fun, sweetie. Don't stay out too late," Amy DeLuca called back to her daughter.

"Okay mom, see you later," Maria replied and headed out, closing the door behind her.

She smiled at Michael as he approached. When he'd reached her side, she tilted her head up to kiss him, then said, "Hey you."

"Hey," he replied. She heard something in his voice that told her something was wrong.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head and replied, "Nothing, it's nothing. Everything is fine, how're you doing?"

"Michael, don't give me that shit. Something's wrong," she stated as she turned to look straight into his eyes.

"Maria, it's fine," he assured her as he took her hands in his. "Really, fine."

She still didn't quite believe him, but she knew that what he was worried about would come out in time so she just nodded an okay.

"We better get going if we're going to catch the movie. You driving?" he asked.

"Nah, you drive," she said as she handed him the keys to her mother's car. He took them and they walked together to the car and got inside. Before long, they were on the road.

"I've never been to a drive-in movie before," Maria said as she flipped through the radio stations in search of something to listen to.

"You haven't? I have once," he said. "With Max and Izzy. But that was a long time ago."

"This should be fun," she said with a smile. He smiled back and nodded, but he seemed like he was somewhere else. She made herself ignore that, though, and kept looking for a decent song on the radio. She finally stopped at one. A whiny, female voice filled the car.

"This is chick music," Michael complained.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And?"

"And I can't drive when we listen to chick music. It distracts me," he said.

"You didn't have trouble focusing when we were making out during this song the other night," she teased.

He couldn't help but smirk. "That's different."

She laughed a little. "Well, I'm glad you think so," she said. "Okay, well turn the station if you want. I can't find anything else."

He looked over at her and let his eyes stay on her for a moment. "No," he finally said, "that's okay."

"Michael, you can change it. It's okay," she assured him.

"No, this is fine," he said.

She shrugged. "Whatever." His strange behavior was getting stranger and she wondered how long it would take him to tell her what was on his mind.

Later, at the drive-in, they were sitting in the car giving little thought to the movie that played on the huge screen in front of them. Harrison Ford and Billy Dee Williams were fighting for intergalactic justice, but all Maria cared about was the guy who was currently kissing the breath out of her.

Michael had his arms around her waist as she sat across his lap with her arms around his neck and her lips locked with his in a frenzied kiss. She could feel his arousal pressing against the backs of her thighs and it made her kiss him deeper. She already had a pretty good idea where she'd like this night to go, and it seemed he felt the same way. When she lowered her hand to the front of his pants and cupped him through the denim material, though, he pulled his mouth from hers.

"Maria, wait," he said, his breathing ragged as he struggled for air.

"Wh . . . Michael, what do you mean? It's . . . it's okay. We can . . . I'm ready . . . I *want* to . . ." She smiled as she lowered her kiss-swollen lips to his neck and started kissing her way up towards his ear.

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her back. "No, we can't," he said as he looked at her. The look of hurt that passed over her face almost made him stop, but he knew this was the best thing. This had to end eventually and he wanted it to end before they were both too far gone.

"I don't understand, Michael," she said weakly as she looked at him.

"Maria . . ." he sighed and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "Here, sit over here," he said as he edged her off his lap and back onto the seat beside him. She was still watching him, waiting for an answer to his unusual behavior. He looked at her and forced out the words. "We can't do this anymore."

Shock, hurt and confusion mingled in her eyes before she asked, "Why?"

"I . . ." he wasn't sure what to say. There had to be words that wouldn't hurt her, but he didn't know of any that would insure that she got his message. She was getting way too close to him and he had to put a stop to that right now. "I don't want you to get hurt, Maria."

"Why would I get hurt?" she asked.

"Because . . . because I know that you want the first guy you . . . well, you know, you're first . . . you want him to be special. And I'm not." He looked to her for a reaction.

She smiled slightly and assured him, "You are very special, Michael."

"No, Maria, I'm not. I'm not special in the way that you want me to be . . . need me to be. I like this . . . what we have, what we do. I like to kiss you, Maria, but that's all this is. That's all this can ever be."

Suddenly his words hit home. He was telling her that she was just a distraction, just an amusement for him. She was nothing important in his life. She was nothing to him like he had become to her.

"Get out of my car," she stated vehemently.

"Maria, I'm sorry," he said as he saw the tears in her eyes and regretted his actions immediately.

"Get out!" she screamed. He could do nothing but obey. He got out of the car and she scooted into the driver's seat. The window was down and she looked out at him coldly. "You're a real asshole," she spat at him.

"I know, I'm sorry," he replied sincerely.

"Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you! Never, *ever* talk to me again! Ever!" And with that she had sped away. He knew he'd never be the same as he watched her go. And he never had.

* * * * *

He heard the door creak as she came into the bedroom. It was chilly and the heat barely worked in their apartment so she shivered as she stripped out of the jeans and T-shirt she wore at the bar and into a pair of sweats. He felt the bed lean slightly with her weight as she sat on the edge, then scrambled under the covers. Her feet brushed his leg and he felt how icy they were.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"You're cold," he said matter-of-factly.

"It's pretty chilly out there tonight," she agreed.

"You shouldn't have to walk home in that," he said.

"It's okay, I'll survive," she replied.

"C'mere," he said softly and before she knew it he was holding her in his arms, her back pressed to his chest. It was a bit of a shock, but she soon settled into the embrace and started to warm up in the process. They may have been posing as a married couple and sleeping in the same bed, but the two of them were far from intimate. Even these slight touches roused something in her that she didn't know even existed for him anymore. Or at least she had hoped that it didn't.

"Go to sleep, you need your rest," he whispered against her ear. She wanted to respond, but something told her not to. If she started talking then the whole thing would vanish. He'd realize that this was wrong and so would she and he'd move back to his side of the bed and leave her cold and alone on her side. She didn't want that. So, she stayed quiet . . . and they slept.

* * * * *

She walked into the kitchen to find him sitting at the table drinking coffee. It was Sunday morning and the one day he didn't have to work that week so she had assumed he'd try to sleep in. He hadn't though; it was just barely seven in the morning.

"Hey, did you eat?" she asked as she walked past him and over to the coffeepot to pour herself a cup. She still wore the flannel nightshirt she'd slept in and a pair of bright red slipper socks.

"Yeah, I had some toast," he replied.

"Toast isn't breakfast," she replied. "You want me to make you some eggs? I got some more hot sauce at the store yesterday," she offered.

"I'm fine," he replied. She looked over at him and nodded. He was sitting there in his sweatpants, a worn-through T-shirt and socks, reading the morning paper. She poured a fair amount of half-and-half into her coffee cup, and then leaned back against the counter to sip at the hot liquid as he returned to his reading.

He looked different now than he had in their other life. So much about him had changed. His physique for one thing. Working at the factory was pretty strenuous and he'd gained a lot of muscle since starting his job there. He also looked older now, more tormented than he had even during his brooding high school days. But now, the shadows that covered his eyes were not from his singular focus on finding a way home. She knew that the thought of returning to where he had come from was now all but lost to him. Instead, the darkness that followed him was more about guilt than anything else. He tortured himself daily for the fact that he felt he'd ruined her perfect life. The truth was, though, she didn't blame him at all.

If he'd left her back in that desert town and gone on his own, she'd have surely been a hundred times more miserable than she was here with him. At least now she knew he was okay; she knew he was making it from one day to the next. While life here in this low rent apartment in Camden, West Virginia was far from easy, a life of not knowing would have been far worse.

She sighed as she turned to refill her empty cup. She seemed to drink a lot more coffee these days. Caffeine helped to calm her in an odd way.

"So," she said as she walked over and sat across from him at the table. He looked up quizzically at the woman whom he called his wife. "What are you going to do today?"

He shrugged. "Not really sure. What are you going to do?" he asked.

She hadn't thought about it. Today was the first day off for both of them in weeks and neither could get very motivated to even leave the apartment, much less make plans for the day. "I'm really not sure," she admitted.

"Well, we could, um . . . we could go do . . . something," he stammered.

He seemed so nervous, like a high school freshman asking a girl to the big homecoming dance. She smiled. "I'd like that."

"What about a movie, can we afford it?" he asked.

She thought for a moment, then replied, "Well, I don't know. Probably, but what is there to see?"

"You know, I don't even have a clue," he said with a chuckle. "Well, we could just go see the first thing playing," he suggested.

"Sure," she nodded, "Sounds like fun." Fun. There was a concept she hadn't considered in a long while. The thought of going on a date seemed positively foreign. She hated that; she hated that their youth was being spent this way when they should just be out living; out making the most of life while they still had the chance.

"We're going to have fun today," he told her and for a second she thought that maybe he'd read her mind. That was impossible, though. He no longer had the ability to do anything supernatural or otherworldly. He was just like everyone else now. Just like her. Danny Martin; ordinary guy.

He'd never be ordinary to her.

* * * * *

"Michael, how're you doing over there?" Maria asked as she tried to keep her eyes on the road and on him at the same time.

"Okay . . . my head just hurts pretty bad," he replied. She didn't like the sound of his voice. It was weak, like he could pass out at any minute. She knew she needed to get him as far away from Roswell as possible, but she also knew he needed help. She just wondered where she'd find that.

"I have to get word to Max and Iz . . . I'm gonna need them to help," he said.

"How are we going to do that, Michael?" she asked. Calling Max and Isabel right now would be just as effective as sending the police a color-coded map to their hideout. They'd be tracked down in no time flat.

"It's late, they'll be asleep," he replied.

She knew what he was thinking and she knew instantly that it was a bad idea. "No, wait, Michael. You can't go to sleep, not with a head wound like that. It's . . . it's very dangerous," she told him.

"Maria," he answered, "I have to. They're the only ones who can heal me."

She looked over at her passenger again and let her eyes linger on him a moment before she finally nodded in reply. He was right, there was really no place else they could turn. Max or Isabel would have to help him . . . or he'd have little hope of surviving.

Maria watched helplessly from the driver's seat as Michael's eyes slid shut. She just hoped she'd get the chance to see them open back up very soon.

* * * * *

"Roman Holiday is showing in about half an hour," he said as he walked back over from the box office to where she waited on the sidewalk outside the theater. They couldn't decide on a new movie because they hadn't heard anything about any of them, so instead they were at the town's other theater. It was the dollar theater basically, but they also had a classic movie showing every night and tonight it was Roman Holiday.

"My mom made me watch that movie when I was a kid," she told him.

"Well, we don't have to see it if you don't want," he said.

"No, it's okay. I actually liked it a lot. It's very romantic." At that word their eyes met and for a split second she wondered if that was what she thought it was shining in his eyes. Could it be . . . but no. That was silly. Things weren't like that with them and one night at a sappy old movie was not going to change anything.

"I'll go get the tickets," he replied and turned to hurry quickly back to the box office. She watched him go, all the while wishing that somehow things could be different for them.

He returned a few moments later with the movie tickets and the two walked into the theater together. She went to find them some seats while he headed to the concession stand for popcorn. The lights were just going down when he entered the theater and found the seat next to hers.

"I got you some Snowcaps," he said as he handed her the box of candy.

"Thanks," she said as she took the box.

The theater was fairly empty, only a few other people were there and they were all sitting well away from them. "So," he whispered as the previews started, "What's this movie about anyway?"

"Well, there's this woman, a princess. That's Audrey Hepburn. Anyway, her life seems perfect. She's loved by her people and she's beautiful and rich and respected . . . but something is missing. She's bored in her life. She needs something exciting to happen, something to make her feel like she's really living.

"So, she runs away. She leaves the life she's always known for a chance at the adventure she craves. And that's when she meets the newspaper writer played by Gregory Peck. He's just your average joe, no one special. But there's something about him.

"Anyway, he figures out who she is but doesn't let on. And she doesn't tell him. They end up spending a few days together in Rome and eventually fall in love." She smiled as she remembered the movie that she had seen so long ago. He was watching her, enjoying her description much more than he'd ever enjoy the real thing. Then, she sighed.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, the ending is pretty sad," she whispered back.

"What do you mean? What happens?"

"I can't tell you, then you won't want to watch it," she replied.

"Trust me, I'm not going anywhere," he told her and the look in his eyes made her stomach do flip-flops. Was she imagining things, or was that familiar spark in his eyes what she thought it was? For the second time that evening she felt an electricity between them that she had long forgotten. It felt almost like she remembered . . . almost like it used to feel between them.

She shook her head slightly as she moved her eyes from his. This was not going to happen. They were not in a place in their lives to let this happen. Besides, she still couldn't let herself take that risk with him. Not again; not after all that had happened before.

"So?" she heard him say.

"So what?" she asked in confusion.

"The ending, are you going to ell me or do I have to wait?"

"Oh, that . . . yeah if you really want to know. Um, well she has to go back. I mean, she loves him and she wants to stay, but they both know that she can't. They come from different worlds and--" She stopped when she heard herself say that. A sudden realization washed over her as she thought of how similar the characters on that screen were to herself and this man beside her. They belonged to each other . . . but they couldn't be together. It was at once wonderful and heart wrenching.

"Let's just watch the movie," she whispered as she turned back to the screen. He nodded. And she was suddenly glad for the silence.

* * * * *

'Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up,' Maria chanted to herself as she continued to steal glances at the sleeping alien to her right. What was he doing anyway? Was he breathing? Should she pull over and try to wake him up? 'God, what if he dies in my car. What will I tell my mother!' she thought. Then, 'God, what if he dies? What will I do.' She was overcome with sadness at the thought of losing Michael forever. Yes, a part of her still hated him for rejecting her. And yes, he could be the world's biggest pain in the ass sometimes . . . but she loved him. She hated herself for it, but he would never leave her heart. She supposed she had known all along that, once he found his way in, he'd never leave.

"Michael, please be okay," she said softly as she reached over to him. She took his hand in hers. It felt limp and heavy at his side and tears leapt to her eyes. She needed him to be okay. She needed him to pull through. Not only did she hate the thought of losing someone who meant so much to her, she also couldn't live with the fact that he might die before she forgave him. She needed to forgive him. It was the only way she could ever really be happy again.

* * * * *

She sat in the living room and stared blankly at the television screen. It was turned off and she was all alone. He was taking a shower; she could hear the water running through the paper-thin wall that divided the living room and bathroom.

She needed to forgive him.

The thought kept running through her mind as if it were stuck on some monotonous, continuing loop of filmed that played over and over and over until finally it drove her completely insane.

She wondered what made her think of this. Probably the movie, she thought. It was the first time they'd been out anywhere together since moving to this town six months earlier and, though she was accustomed to sleeping beside him in bed, she was not used to sitting beside him in a dark movie theater and wondering just what it was she kept seeing in his eyes when he looked at her.

She knew it was hopeless now. She'd never be able to detach herself from the situation like she had up till now. There would be no way to sleep beside him without feeling the faint heat that radiated from him against her back. She'd hear his low, even breathing all night and it would become an endless call that beckoned her into his arms. When the sun rose and peeked through the thin window sheers, it would be all she could do not to watch as he was bathed in early morning light. She knew what it was to watch him sleep; she knew that she couldn't resist her urge to love him at those times.

Shaking her head violently, she wondered why this had to be so hard. She could change her name and her hair and her life . . . but she couldn't get over something said nearly two year before. Something that she knew now that he didn't really mean.

And she had forgiven him, at least partially. She was here with him. That was definitely a first step. And she was the one who had been there during that whole awful month after they'd left Roswell. That month where she thought she was losing him for good; a month that never seemed to want to end.

* * * * *

He woke up with a start and she gasped as she saw him moving out of the corner of her eye. Her hand was still holding his and she clasped it tightly and smiled. "Oh Michael, thank God," she said happily.

"I talked to them," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Max and Isabel? What happened?" she asked. She was still driving, getting further and further from Roswell by the second.

"They . . . they tried to heal me in the dream. They tried to help, but . . ." he trailed off and her heart was struck with an overwhelming fear.

"But what?" she dared to ask.

"I dunno," he replied. "I'm just . . . I'm not sure it worked."

"Why?"

"Because . . . something about the way that Isabel was looking at me. Something wasn't right. Max said he thought I'd be okay, that he got the bullet and stopped the bleeding, but . . . something in Izzy's face . . ."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she told him.

"I hope so, Maria," he said weakly, "I really do." When she met his eyes this time she saw his fear more clearly than ever before. She made a vow at that moment that she would protect him from whatever came next . . . and she'd never let him go.

* * * * *

He stepped out of the shower and onto the little white rug that covered the floor. Grabbing his towel that sat atop the sink, he quickly dried his body then ran the towel roughly through his hair. It was lighter now, but still stood up everywhere. No matter what he did it never seemed to want to stay down.

He dropped the towel onto the closed lid of the toilet and moved to the sink to brush his teeth. He knelt to spit into the sink and, upon rising again, caught a glimpse of himself in the foggy mirror. For all the months that they'd been gone, he had not been able to really look closely in the mirror. He was still afraid that he'd see something he didn't want to see; something that reminded him of his other life and of all he'd lost on that one stupid night.

But now, he had to look. He had to see. He'd been settled into this fake life that they were living together and it had been going very smoothly for the past few months. But then, last night, he'd pulled her into his arms and all of that had been lost. All the times he'd told himself that they couldn't get too close, that they needed to keep things as they were for both of their sakes . . . all that suddenly evaporated into her scent, her heat, her body. All he wanted was to crawl inside her and never come out again. He loved her, and he could finally deny it no more.

There had been a lot of times since they'd left when he had wondered why he had gone to her. Sure, she'd been closer than anyone else and the easiest house to get to, but there was a time in his life when he'd have walked barefoot for a hundred miles over the desert sand rather than involve one of her kind in his life. They were the enemy. They were the ones who were out to get him.

How had he let himself love one of them?

He sighed as he turned from the mirror. It was no use. Telling himself that his feelings were wrong was never going to change things. He'd never be able to stop feeling this way. She was a part of him now and he couldn't change that fact, even if it would be the best thing he could do for her.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he went into the bedroom to get dressed. He'd left his towel so he walked into the room naked and headed straight for the dresser. He pulled out a clean pair of boxer shorts and quickly stooped to put them on. Then, he walked to the closet to find a T-shirt. As he opened the door, he was met with another mirror.

The mirror on the inside of the closet door was full-length and he could see his entire body in its reflection. He could get a good look at the man he'd become. He wasn't happy with what he saw.

Though his physique had filled out quite a bit since they'd left, he still looked unhealthy to his own eyes. It was something in the way his eyes looked. They were dull and sunken back, like he'd completely given up on happiness. Maybe he had.

What was there to be happy for anyway? He'd lost all that he'd ever held precious. First his two best friends . . . he still missed them every day. They had been his only family for so long that it was strange to live without them now. Then, there was her. He'd lost her long before they left Roswell. He'd lost her before he ever really had her . . . but she had him. She would always have him.

He sighed again. He seemed to do that a lot these days; sigh with resignation. It was a gesture of surrender, a sign that he had given up on things ever being they way they once were. Just one more way that his heart had of telling him that he could never go back.

He took one more look in the mirror and his thoughts were again on something he'd lost. This was something he couldn't see, though; something that had never been quite able to focus on even when he had it. It was the one thing that connected him to the family he'd never known. The one thing that had kept him going all of those years . . . his link to the people that really and truly loved him. And now it was gone. He'd lost something precious to him, something that could never be replaced.

Again he knew that his life would never be the same.

* * * * *

"No! No, no, no, no!" he screamed. She rushed over to the bed and sat beside him, shaking him gently.

"Michael, wake up," she said softly. "It's just a dream, it's only a dream."

His eyes flew opened and looked wildly about the motel room. They'd been there for a week and it seemed like all he ever did was sleep. Sleep and scream. He seemed to be plagued with nightmares and he'd wake several times a night in a cold sweat. All she knew to do at those times was to hold him and to tell him that things would be alright. They would just have to be.

"You're okay, Michael, you're okay," she assured him as she held him close. He put his arms around her tightly and held on for dear life. She could feel his fear after these dreams and it completely terrified her. What was he dreaming about? She always wondered, but she could never get him to say.

"They took it," he said softly and she wasn't sure she'd really heard him speak at all.

"What?" she replied as she pulled back a little to look at the frightened man in her arms.

"They took it," he repeated.

"Who took what?" she asked in confusion.

His response was to place his hands on her face and look deeply into her eyes. He was so close, his face mere centimeters from her own, and she wondered if he was getting ready to kiss her. Then she wondered, if he did, would she even try to stop him?

But a kiss was not what he had in mind. His hands dropped from her face and he looked down sadly at the worn through comforter on the bed of the cheap motel they were holed up in.

"I can't see inside," he said dejectedly.

"You can't . . ." she started, but then she realized what he was saying and finally his words fell into place. "Are you saying that you've lost your powers?" she asked.

He looked up and stared at her sadly for a moment, then gave a slight nod and turned his eyes down again.

"Oh Michael," she said softly as she placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. "But who? How?"

"I don't know," he said. "I guess the gunshot . . . and then . . . Oh, I don't know what happened. I just know that I keep having this dream and . . . and I know that everything I have of myself is taken from me. And I can't see who took it . . . but I think that it's all my fault. Actually, I know that it is. All of this is my fault."

"No it isn't," she said determinedly.

"I brought this on myself," he said morosely. "Now it's all gone. It's all gone forever . . ." She heard his voice catch and felt his sharp intake of breath as he tried to hold his emotions in. "That's what she saw," he said. "Isabel . . . that's what she saw. That I was no longer one of them, that I was a stranger . . . just an ordinary person like everyone else."

She hated the way his voice sounded. She could hear how lost and alone he felt as his words poured forth. It broke her heart to see him in such a broken state.

"C'mere," she said softly and took him into her arms. He didn't fight her off, just let her hold him. "I'm sorry," she said as she gently stroked his back. "I know this is hard for you and I'm so, so sorry." Her words seemed to open the floodgates in his soul and suddenly he was sobbing. She felt him shudder against her and felt his tears soaking through her shirt. His arms were wrapped around her waist in a vise-like grip and she could feel him shaking with his continued sobs.

"It's okay . . . shh, it's okay," she uttered reassurances, but she wasn't sure how much they would or could help in this situation. What he was losing she could never replace and what he was feeling she could never understand. All she could do was hold him that night . . . and hope they'd make it through this together.

* * * * *

"Gina . . . Gina, wake up," she heard him say. She opened her eyes and looked up to see him standing over her. "You feel asleep on the couch," he offered as way of explanation.

"Oh, ok," she replied groggily. She'd been dreaming . . . dreaming of him. She'd dreamed of that night in the motel room in Forest City, Arkansas. Once again she had felt his tears and his pain washing over her in waves as his sobs continued into the night. She's felt so helpless then, like there was nothing she could ever do for him to make his life right.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say. She hadn't meant to say it out loud. He turned back and gave her a questioning look.

"What?"

"I . . . I . . ." she stammered.

He moved back to the couch and sat beside her. "Are you okay?" he asked in concern. She was acting very strange all of the sudden and it worried him.

"Fine, fine, just . . . I forgive you. I want you to know that. I'm not sure why, but it's important that you know." She looked at him and awaited his response.

"Well . . . I don't deserve it," he finally said.

"Michael--"

"No, don't say that," he warned. He was very adamant that they never use those names. They had to be Gina and Danny Martin. They had to live as if Michael Guerin and Maria DeLuca had never existed.

"Danny," she corrected herself. "I do forgive you," she said again.

His attempt at a smile tugged at the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he said softly.

There was a silence between them as they both wondered what came next. Was this the beginning of something new . . . or were they just finally laying to rest some old demons so that they could get them out of their minds? She finally decided that this was enough for one night.

"I'm going to bed," she told him.

He nodded. "I think I'll sleep out here tonight."

"Are you sure? You don't have to," she said.

"No . . . this is best," he said and she just nodded.

That night as she fell asleep by herself for the first time in ages, she wondered how she could feel so alone and so united with him at the same time.

* * * * * Chapter Three

"Maria, I love you."

"Maria, I need you."

"Maria, I want you."

She sat up bolt upright in the bed and looked around the room. No one else was there; she was all alone. Was it possible that his voice was just in her head? It had seemed so real . . . so close.

"Gina," she heard and nearly jumped off the bed. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said as he walked in from the bathroom. "Have you seen my keys anywhere?" he asked.

"Um, check the jacket you had on yesterday," she suggested.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's probably where they are." He looked at her again and his brow furrowed. "Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, maybe too quickly. He just gave her another look, then nodded.

"Well, okay, I'm leaving for work. Are you working tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I have the midday shift and I'm not working at the market so I'll see you about 8 o'clock."

"Okay, see you then," he replied and walked out of the bedroom. She heard him jingling his keys as he found them in his coat. "Got em," he called back. "Bye."

"Bye," she called back and then she heard him leave. Only once she was sure he was gone did she finally venture out of bed. Her knees felt weak as she moved into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and quickly turned the water on.

She stepped underneath the steam and closed her eyes. God, that dream had felt so real. It had been him, Michael . . . and he'd been so real. In her dream nothing had stood between them, nothing had existed but their love for each other and their want of each other. And she had wanted him so much.

She sighed as she recalled the way his hands had felt on her skin. Her own hands traveled up over her hips, across her stomach, over her breasts, and finally clutched at her shoulders. She needed to feel him again. She wanted to feel him.

The water cascaded down her body and she imagined his lips were following that stream of hot liquid all over her flesh. She could feel the heat of his body against hers. She could smell his distinct scent all around her. She felt like she was quickly losing her mind.

'What am I doing?' she thought ruefully as she opened her eyes. This was ridiculous and not very good for her sanity if she planned to keep living in such close quarters with him. Imagining him doing these things to her and then having to crawl in bed beside him and go to sleep without so much as a kiss might be the finally straw in driving her completely crazy.

"Stop it!" she said to herself. "Stop doing this. It can't happen. Just get over it already."

She turned off the water and quickly threw back the shower curtain. She needed to get out of here. She needed to get dressed and get out of this apartment and get some air. Maybe a nice long walk would clear her head. She sure hoped so.

* * * * *

"I can't believe we just did that," Maria said as she shook her head. They were sitting in a secluded area of the local bus station waiting for their bus to arrive.

"What?" Michael said. "We had to."

"But my mother is going to . . . oh, I can't believe I sold her car," she moaned.

"We had to get rid of it before they used it to find us," he reminded her.

"I know, you're right," she said with a nod. It'd been over a month since they'd left Roswell and he was finally looking a little better. He wasn't so weak anymore, he was sleeping, and she was actually starting to think that he might be okay. She could do nothing but thank God for that.

"Okay, so you are Gina Martin," he told her as he handed her a large envelope. He'd managed to get them some paperwork to change their identities, though she had no clue how he'd done it. The envelope contained a driver's license, social security card, high school records, and even a short history of the woman she was about to become.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Danny Martin," he replied.

"My brother?" she inquired.

"No," he shook his head, then said, "Your husband."

Her mouth dropped. "My . . . my . . . Michael, that will not work," she said.

"I'm not Michael. I'm Danny," he said. "Always, always call me Danny. And yes it will work."

"I can't be married to you," she insisted.

"And why not?" he wanted to know.

"Because . . . because you're . . . I just can't okay? Besides, who's going to believe that anyway."

"Everyone will because we're going to tell them. We'll get an apartment and sleep in the same bed and make up stories about our wedding. It'll be fun," he said, but his expression looked anything but fun. He looked as uneasy about this as she felt.

"We're not sleeping in the same bed," she told him.

"Fine, I'll take the couch," he said.

"You . . ." she started, but then she stopped. What was there to say, really? He was right, they needed to get further from Roswell. They needed to start over. And posing as a married couple did make the most sense. It would keep them from other people, make it seem normal for them to keep to themselves so much. "Okay, fine," she replied reluctantly.

"Good," he said as he nodded. "Okay, now we need to decide where we're going," he told her.

"You don't know yet?" she asked.

"Well, I have a few ideas but I wanted your opinion."

"Okay, well let's hear your ideas then," she said. He nodded and pulled out a map. Several cities were circled in red.

"Take your pick," he said.

She looked over the little red circles and finally chose the one in the middle on the right. She pointed to her selection.

He looked at her choice and nodded. "Camden, West Virginia, here we come."

* * * * *

"Hey Martin, you leaving?" he heard behind him. He turned to see Bob and Dale, two of his co-workers, approaching.

"Yeah, headed home," he told them.

"We're gonna go get a beer, why don't you come," Bob said. He looked at the man for a moment and tried to think of a good way to get out of this.

But then Dale said, "You ever been to the Roadhouse?"

A thought occurred to him and he smiled. "Sure, I'd love to."

* * * * *

"Gina, table three!" she heard her boss say.

"Got it Terry," she called back and headed over to wait on the customers at table three. As she approached, she saw three men around the table. Two were facing her direction and she recognized them as regular patrons. The third man was not one of the usuals at the bar. In fact, he'd never been there before. But, she was as certain of who he was as she was of her own shoe size.

"Hi honey," she said as she touched the man on the shoulder. He turned and smiled, glad that she knew she needed to play along.

"Hi sweetie," he replied. He turned back to the other two men, who were looking at him oddly. "Bob, Dale, my wife, Gina."

"Nice to meet you, Gina," Bob said.

"Pleasure," Dale nodded.

"Hi guys," she smiled. "So, what can I get you all tonight?"

"Coors all around," Bob said and she nodded, then headed off to get their beers.

"You sure have been holding out on us, Dan," Dale said when she had left.

"Yeah, no wonder you always head straight home after work," Bob agreed.

"How's that?" he asked them.

"Well, if I had a woman like that waiting for me when I got home, I wouldn't be in here with a couple a bozos like us either," Dale said.

He turned to look towards the bar and smiled. They were right, she was gorgeous. She'd always been luminous in his eyes. He was both proud and jealous at the realization that other men felt that same way.

She looked up to see him watching her and smiled a little at him. He smiled back and kept his eyes on her as she moved back to the table with their beers. After she'd set them down and started away, he finally turned back to his new friends. But all he could think of the rest of the time he was there was about her.

* * * * *

"Who's that guy you were talking to? Talk about hot," Edith, one of the other waitresses, said.

"That's my husband," she said nonchalantly.

Edith raised her eyebrows and smiled. That was all, then she walked away.

She turned and looked back at the table where the three men sat and her eyes fixed on his profile as he turned to look up at the basketball game on the TV screen. Edith was right, he was hot. She suddenly wondered how she'd slept beside him for so many months and kept her hands to herself.

She didn't know what was happening but she wasn't sure she had the power or the will to stop it. She was beginning to feel for him just like she had before everything had happened, before he'd pushed her away. As much as that scared her, it excited her even more. Maybe there was a chance. Perhaps if they had to be alone in this strange world, at least they could be alone together.

She dismissed the thought, though, knowing that it was still a bad idea. She tore her eyes from him and turned to get back to work.

* * * * *

"Mmm, I love this so much," she said against his lips.

"Me too," he replied as he kissed her neck. She moaned and arched up against him as his tongue flicked out to taste her skin.

"God, Michael," she moaned. They were sitting together on his bed in the middle of the afternoon. They both still had the majority of their clothes on, but the scene playing out wasn't exactly innocent in nature either.

"You're so beautiful," he told her as his hands wandered over her curves and his mouth found hers again. They usually went to her house for their make-out sessions, but her mom was home that afternoon and Hank was still at work so they'd chosen to come here instead.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she met him with her own. Their kisses deepened as his hands continued to wander. Just then, she heard a car door.

"What was that?" she asked as she pulled back from his lips.

"Neighbor," he mumbled as he leaned forward to find her lips again. She heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"I think Hank's home," she whispered.

"So, let him get his own girlfriend," Michael replied as he kissed her neck again.

"Michael, wait, we can't," she said as she pulled back again. He sat back and gave her a pouting look. "Don't do that, we can't and you know it."

"Damn him," Michael grumbled.

"It'll be okay, I'll see you tomorrow," she promised and leaned in to kiss him one more time. Then, before things could get out of hand, she got off the bed and went to the mirror. Her hair was messy, her clothes wrinkled, and her lips red and kiss-swollen, but she guessed it would be okay. Besides, if Hank thought anything was going on she doubted he'd get upset about it anyway. He wasn't exactly the over-protective type.

"Walk me out, okay?" she said and he got up with a nod. They walked out through the living room and Hank raised an eyebrow at the two but didn't say a word.

"Bye, Maria," Michael said as they stood on the front stoop and shared another kiss.

"Bye," she replied and then she was gone.

* * * * *

What had made him think of that day, he wondered. Why was his mind suddenly wandering back to a fumbling make-out session in his tiny little bedroom that had ended up going nowhere in the end? He finished his beer and sighed.

He was home now, having left the bar before her shift ended. He'd been sitting in the living room since he'd arrived back at the apartment. All he could think of was the way it felt to kiss her, to hold her . . . God, he needed more beer.

He was just getting up to go into the kitchen when he heard her key in the front door. His head turned towards the noise. She walked in and smiled at him. "Hi."

"Hey," he replied.

She closed and locked the door behind her and took off her coat as she came to sit across from him on the couch. "So, fancy running into you at work tonight," she said.

"Yeah, the guys from work wanted me to go and I thought they might think it was weird that I always say no so I decided to go this time."

"Well, that's good," she replied.

"So," he said.

"So," she repeated. Great, this is enlightening, she thought.

"You tired?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied. It was only 8 o'clock. "Did you eat dinner yet?"

"No, I'm not hungry," he said.

"Me either," she replied.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asked.

"We don't have a VCR," she pointed out.

He laughed. "Oh yeah. So what do you want to do?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

He looked at her for a second, then took a deep breath before moving forward to capture her lips with his. She let him kiss her, enjoying the feel of his mouth pressed to hers and his tongue sliding against hers. But then, when she realized what they were doing, she pulled back.

"No, we can't," she said breathlessly.

"Why not?" he asked as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Because . . . because this is . . . wrong. We just can't."

"That doesn't make any sense and you know it," he told her.

"I just can't, okay? I just can't." She got up from the couch and walked quickly into the bedroom. His eyes followed her, but for the moment he stayed on the couch. He could hear her rattling around in he bedroom and finally decided to follow.

"I love you," he said as he stood in the opened doorway.

She looked up sharply and whispered, "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"I can't . . . God, I can't," she moaned. She sat down on their bed and put her head in her hands. "It's not supposed to be this way. Our life is not supposed to be like this," she lamented.

"We don't have a life," he told her as he sat down beside her. "You and I, we live in the past. We spend everyday of our miserable existence thinking back to what might have been, to what could have . . . If we wanted to give up on everything we could have just stayed in Roswell and let them arrest me."

She looked up at him then and he saw the tears in her eyes. "Don't say that. I never wanted that to happen," she said.

"I know you didn't. You saved me," he told her. He reached down and took her hands in his. Turning one of her palms up, he used his finger to trace the faint lines there. She watched his every movement carefully. His next words came out in a whisper. "You saved me . . . now let me save us."

When he looked up into her eyes, all she could do was nod. And then his lips were there again, pressing against hers as they fell backwards onto the bed together. His hands moved to her hips and slowly caressed her sides through her T-shirt.

She wanted him, maybe now more than ever. He was right, they'd been through so much. Didn't they at least deserve one little bit of happiness? And if that happiness could be found only in each other's arms then that was where she wanted to stay forever.

She moaned as his hands traveled up her body to cup her breasts through the cloth of her shirt. She arched up against him and tried to pull him closer to her.

"God, I've missed you," he said as he pulled back to let them both catch their breath.

"Me too," she smiled. Somehow she'd thought that this would be hard, falling back into his arms. But, on the contrary, it was the easiest thing she'd ever done.

He reached down the take her shirt in his hands and she lifted up a little as he pulled it over her head and tossed it to the floor. His own shirt quickly followed.

"I dreamed about this last night," she admitted as she looked into his eyes.

He smiled slightly as his dark, desire-filled gaze swept over her face. "I dream about you every night." He bent down again and kissed her. Their tongues dueled as their moans filled the tiny room. She felt his hands everywhere; on her breasts, in her hair, down her sides and over her hips. She ran her fingers through his short, spiky hair and returned his kisses with as much fervor.

She could have kissed him forever . . . but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to do more than kiss him. She'd just come to realize that every feeling she had repressed, every urge she'd tramped down in these last six months was now surging forth within her. She was overcome by a need for him that was too strong to deny, even if she had wanted to. She moved her hands gingerly between them and reached for the button on his jeans.

"Mmm," he groaned against her as she undid the jeans and slowly eased down the zipper. He could feel her knuckles brush his erection and his hips jerked forward in response.

"Take them off," she whispered as she looked up at him. He gave her a smile and quickly kicked the jeans away. His boxers followed.

"Now you," he answered and he reached down to unfasten her jeans and pull them and her panties down her body. She took the liberty of removing her bra and now they both lay bare before each other for the very first time.

His eyes raked over her body before finally returning to her face. He cupped her cheek in one hand and said, "You're so beautiful."

She smiled shyly and didn't know how to respond. But she didn't have to. Before she knew it his lips were on hers yet again. She reached between them again to stroke his erection and he groaned.

"I want to feel you," she said in a husky voice and he replied with a nod. He guided himself inside of her inch by inch, going slowly to allow her to get accustomed to the feel of him. "Ahhhh," she groaned. He hissed in response.

When he was all the way inside of her, he looked into her eyes and implored her with a glance. "Is this okay? Are you okay?" he asked.

"Nothing has ever felt more perfect," she replied and he smiled as he kissed her gently.

When he began to move, so did she. She met him thrust for thrust as he drove into her body again and again. His face was clenched in desire and she struggled to keep her eyes open to watch him. He was so beautiful. It made her ache.

She felt full at that moment, complete. It was like nothing in her life had ever been right until that very moment that he entered her, heart, body and soul. She knew then that she would never be able to let him go. But, his next words cast the final deciding vote for her.

"Maria . . . God, I love you Maria," he moaned as he pumped into her again and again. Her heart swelled at the sound of her name on his lips. It had been so long since she'd hard him say it. It filled her with the most profound happiness that she'd ever felt.

She reached up then and touched his face. "Look at me, Michael. Look at me," she urged. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. "I love you, too. I love you more everyday," she told him.

He smiled down at her and she smiled back. Then his pace sped up and she felt herself teetering on the edge. The pressure within her body built up more and more until she felt like she'd burst. Then, she did. His name exploded from her lips as her body clenched around his. She felt him give one last thrust before bursting inside of her and filling her with his warmth.

When it was over, they lay there together on their bed. He was lying half on top of her, his body still resting inside of hers. He started to pull away, but she stopped him.

"I'm too heavy to be sleeping on top of you," he said.

"You're fine," she assured him. "I just want to stay like this a little longer."

He brought his lips to hers in the sweetest kiss she'd ever received. "You have no idea how long I've wished for this," he told her. "I love you, Maria."

Once again, the sound of her name on his lips brought a smile. "You said my name," she whispered.

He nodded. "Maria is the one I love . . . and that will never change," he replied.

She felt tears well in her eyes at his sweet words. He moved off of her then, but quickly pulled her against his chest and into a snug embrace.

"We may not have the best life here," he told her. "But we will always have each other. Nothing can take that from us."

She nodded against his chest. Nothing would ever come between them again. She'd make sure of that. But for now, all she wanted to do was sleep in his arms. The rest of the world would just have to wait.

* * * * * Chapter Four

The sun was coming up slowly and he watched the shadows as they rapidly retreated from the rays of light that peeked through the tattered mini-blinds. It was still a few hours until his alarm went off, but Danny Martin was wide-awake.

This wasn't anything new; he was usually awake before dawn. The pounding in his head combined with the general tension that filled his life these days seemed to steal him from sleep earlier and earlier with every passing day.

There was something new, though. On this morning, he wasn't lying huddled alone on his own side of the bed as he waited out the coming morning. She was there. His love, his life . . . his Maria. He should call her Gina. To the world she was Gina. But to him, always and only to him, she was Maria . . . his Maria.

He held her tight against his chest as she slept, content to watch the sunrise and ignore his headache if only he could keep her close to him for a little longer. It felt good to be free to hold her again. It had been so long since the last time they'd been like this. Their time together in Roswell seemed a million miles away and a part of another life. He felt like he'd aged at least twenty years during these past six months. Neither of them were teenagers anymore, at least not in spirit. They were old . . . aged beyond their meager years by a life that did them no favors.

It was okay, though. For the past six months, all he had done was curse this life and where it had brought him. He'd hated himself for dragging her along on this horrid adventure. He'd blamed all of her unhappiness on himself. And, though he still felt at fault for the fact that she should have been leading a different life in a different place, he knew today that she was happy. He could feel it. That, the vague sense of what she was feeling, had nothing to do with his forsaken alien powers and everything to do with the love that tied their souls together. He didn't need any magic to know this woman. He knew her better than he knew himself.

A smile crossed his lips as she snuggled closer to him to abate the leftover chill of night that still filled the tiny room. They were both hidden beneath the pile of blankets, but he could still feel her hands and feet against him were like ice. The heat never worked in this damned apartment. Nothing worked. But, for once, he didn't mind. He could keep Maria warm.

His arms tightened around her and he buried his nose in her soft, red mane of hair. She smelled like daffodils. He didn't know why, that's just what came to mind. Vibrant, yellow daffodils that drove out the cold and brightened the dull gray of their lives. She was his daffodil. He smirked as he wondered when he had gotten so damned sappy.

"Michael?" he heard her mumble against his chest.

"Shh, it's still early. Go back to sleep, love," he whispered.

She lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were barely open and her face had the innocent look of a child just roused from an afternoon nap. With the soft, early morning light filtering in behind her, he thought she'd never looked so beautiful. Every time he looked at her it seemed like she was more beautiful than she had been the time before.

"It's early," she said in a rough voice as she repeated his earlier words.

"I know, go back to sleep," he urged again. She ignored him.

"What are you doing up?"

"I dunno, couldn't sleep I guess," he replied.

"Your head hurts, doesn't it?" she asked and even the remnants of sleep couldn't hide the worry in her voice.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

She moved her hand to feel his forehead and said, "You have a fever."

"Your hands are just cold. I swear, I'll be fine."

"I'm getting the thermometer," she said as she moved to get up.

"Maria, stay in bed," he urged. He wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

"I'll be right back," she said.

He let her sit up, but reached out to pull her to him before letting her get out of bed. She let herself be drawn into his arms again and met his lips willingly in a good morning kiss. "Don't be long," he said with a smile as their lips parted.

"I won't, promise," she replied and gave him a grin before finally pulling back and getting up from their shared bed.

He watched after her as she walked to the closet door to retrieve her terry cloth robe and wrapped it around her naked form. Then, she went into the bathroom and he could hear her digging around in the medicine cabinet for the thermometer. She returned to his side a moment later and stuck the thermometer under his tongue, then headed for the kitchen to get him some aspirin and a glass of orange juice. When she returned the second time, she set the pills and the juice on the nightstand and removed the thermometer from his lips.

"103 . . . that's high," she said as she examined it.

"It's been higher," he reminded her.

"Yeah, but not for a while now. I don't like that at all," she said. She turned and picked up the aspirin and juice and turned back to him. "Open up," she instructed. "I want you to take these. Maybe it'll bring down the fever." He opened his mouth and let her give him the pills, then drank some juice from the glass to wash them down.

She sat back down on the bed beside him, her legs tucked beneath her petite frame as she examined his face with worry.

"I'm going to be fine. This isn't even the worst headache I've had," he said. "It's no big deal."

"They're getting bad again, aren't they?" she asked.

"Maria . . ."

"Aren't they?" she said again in a tone that said she wanted the truth, not his sugarcoated version.

He sighed and gave her a shrug. "I've had a few more than usual the past couple of weeks, but I'm sure they'll go away again. They always do."

"You need to see a doctor," she said.

"You know I can't," he replied.

"I know . . . I know that." He sat back against the pillows and she sat perched at his side. She eased him back, making him lie down. "You need to get some sleep," she said softly.

"I can't sleep," he told her.

"Just try. Try for me," she said. She brought her hand up to his forehead and brushed back his unruly hair. As her tiny hand stroked his forehead, his eyes slipped shut. "That's good," she said in a hushed voice. "Just close your eyes. I'm right here."

"Maria," he said softly.

"Shh, sleep now, sweetie," she intoned.

"Sing to me," he implored in a voice that made him sound just like the little boy that she always saw lurking within him. She had to smile at the image that conjured in her mind.

"What makes you think I can sing?" she asked teasingly.

"I've heard you," he said. "In the shower, when you're cooking dinner, when you do housework . . . you sing. I love to hear you sing," he told her. His voice still held that innocent little lithe and she knew that he was drifting off slowly. Maybe, as silly as it might have sounded for a grown man, a lullaby would help him finally get some rest.

"Okay, keep your eyes closed," she said softly. She leaned over him and tucked the blankets around him, then leaned back against the pillows so that she was sitting with her back to the headboard. She pulled him close so that his head rested across her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair in a gentle, calming motion as she tried to decide what she should sing.

She remembered what her mother used to sing to her when she was a little girl and had trouble sleeping. It was a hymn, really, but she'd never thought of it that way. Her mother had never been into church and religion and all of that. Amy DeLuca was more likely to own a mood ring than a Bible. Still, the song had been one that Amy's grandmother had sung often and she had always told Maria that it reminded her of her grandma and that's why she liked it so much.

Thinking that the old, familiar hymn fit their current situation all too well, Maria cleared her throat and began.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost but now am found

Was blind but now I see

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear

And grace my fears relieved

How precious did that grace appear

The hour I first believed."

Michael focused on the sound of her voice and let everything else slip away for the moment. Her fingers continued to comb gently through his hair as her lap served as pillow to him. His arms were wrapped around her legs, just like a little boy being lulled by a gentle lullaby. The throbbing in his temples subsided a tiny bit as her soothing soprano washed over him.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares

I have already come

'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far

And grace will lead me home

How sweet the name of Jesus sounds

In a believer's ear

It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds

And drives away his fear

Must Jesus bear the cross alone

And all the world go free?

No, there's a cross for ev'ryone

And there's a cross for me."

She finished the song and looked down at the man snuggled up in her lap. She could tell by his steady, even breathing that he had finally fallen asleep. He looked peaceful and that eased her mind a little. She worried about him so much these days.

The sun had risen fully in the sky by that time and she looked over at the clock. It was almost time for them to get up for work, but she quickly turned off the alarm. Michael wasn't up to working today and neither was she. They had both worked a ton of overtime lately so they could handle one day of missed pay. She just needed to make sure that he was okay. That was all that she cared about.

Keeping her eyes focused on him, Maria sat in bed as the world around her started to wake up. It didn't matter, though. She could ignore it all. The only thing in the world that made any difference to her was this man in her arms. He was at once the strongest and most fragile soul that she had ever known. He made her feel safe, but he also made her want to protect him. She would have done anything to shield him from hurt, anything to keep him from harm.

With her head clouded with worries for him, she sighed softly. He would be okay today. He would have to be okay. She couldn't even think about him not being okay. He was all she had, and she would not let anything happen to him. So, she closed her eyes, hoping that when they woke, things would be better at last.

* * * * *

He could feel the sweat rolling off his body. Why was it so hot in here all of the sudden? He could hear the television set blaring from the living room. Where was he? Looking around, he realized with sudden clarity just where he was.

Hank's.

That was Hank's TV being played entirely too loud. This was the dirty hallway of the musty trailer he had called home for so many years. He looked down. That was Hank's gun in his hand. Hank's gun . . .

"Where'd you run to, boy? You little chicken shit," Hank called down the dark hall. "You're nothing but a two bit punk. That's all you've ever been and that's all you'll ever be."

Michael gripped the cold steel of the weapon tighter as he took a step towards the man he had come to loathe. The bitter, hateful words filled his head and he clenched his teeth against his rage.

"No wonder your parents left you on the side of the road," Hank continued. "They knew you'd never be nothing. You're worthless, and that's why they didn't want you. Nobody wants you. You're just in the way. You're just a problem they had to get rid of." He snorted then. "Lucky for you I took your sorry ass in or there's no telling where you'd have ended up."

He was shaking now; shaking from the anger that was building within him. But, he wouldn't let Hank win. He couldn't. It wasn't like his opinion mattered anyway. It wasn't like Hank himself had anything in his life that made him worthy of having an opinion about Michael. He was the one that was worthless. He was the one that no one wanted. Michael was wanted. Michael was needed. Michael was loved.

Wasn't he?

"You can't even keep a God damned girlfriend," the old man hollered out again. "Even some little piece of trash can see that you aren't worth her time."

Don't listen, Michael said to himself. He's nothing. Don't listen.

"That little slut you had over here all the time, what was her name? The blonde . . . Anyway, even she could see through you."

He could not talk about her that way, Michael thought. When it was about him it was fine. He could handle that. He could ignore that. But not her; never her. He couldn't let Hank say those things about her.

"Shut the fuck up you stupid bastard!" Michael yelled as he stepped from the hallway into the living room of the filthy trailer that he'd never considered a home.

"Aw, does that hurt your feelings, hearing about the little tramp? Do you miss her, Mickey? Was she that good of a fuck?"

He felt the gun in his hand again and tried to stop shaking. He had to stop shaking. The words that Hank was saying were more than he could block out. This was more than he could take. No one, *no one*, talked about Maria like that. No one.

"Fuck you, Hank!" he snarled.

Hank looked at the boy with disdain. It was then that he saw the gun, his gun, held in a white-knuckled grip in Michael's right hand. He brought his eyes up to meet Michael's and said, "You ain't got the balls and we both know it."

"Try me, you fucking bastard," Michael seethed as he curled his fingers tighter around the pistol's grip.

"Your little whore, she knew you didn't have the balls, too. That's why she kicked your ass to the curb. She needed a real man." Hank smirked up at Michael, ignoring the fire in the younger man's eyes.

"Don't you say that about her," Michael said through clenched teeth. "Don't you EVER say that about her again!"

"What? Don't call her a whore? Is that what bothers you, Mickey? That your girlfriend was a tramp?" Hank nodded. "Yeah, I guess it would get to me, too, if I couldn't even keep a silly little slut around for more than a few weeks." He smiled a sickly grin that turned Michael's stomach to lead. "Well, even the easy ones have *some* standards, boy."

"Fuck you!" Michael yelled as he brought the gun up to aim it at Hank. He'd never been so angry in all his life. He knew that he was going to loss it. There was no way in the world he could stand here much longer and let Hank say those things.

"Just give me the fucking gun, Mickey," Hank said in disgust. He wasn't afraid. Somehow he knew that Michael could never actually pull the trigger.

Michael felt defeated as he, too, realized that he indeed could not kill this bastard that made his life a living hell. Even Hank, even the lowest form of life that he knew . . . still he couldn't do that. His arms sagged as he lowered the gun to his side.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Hank jump towards him. He reached for the gun and Michael pulled his hand back, trying only to get out of the way. When he heard the shot, Michael froze.

Nothing moved for a moment. The air was still; the sound of the television faded . . . there was total silence. Hank lay on the floor in front of him and Michael could see a small red pool forming beneath him.

"Oh God," he choked out. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

His breath came in short gasps and he could feel himself hyperventilating. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. What the fuck had happened?

"Hank? Hank!" he called out. Nothing. No movement, no insults . . . just nothing.

Michael looked down at the gun he still held. He quickly let it drop to the floor with a loud clink. He took a few steps back, not sure of what to do next. Then, he tried to think. What should he do?

Max, he thought. Max would know what to do. Max always knew what to do. He turned around and started for the door with the intent of getting his best friend over here as fast as possible to help Hank, to fix the mess that he himself had managed to make.

He was at the door when he heard it. The click of the gun being cocked. He turned just in time to see Hank raise the pistol. He heard the shot, even saw the bullet moving towards him, but he never felt it. He never felt anything as he was hit. All he remembered was blackness. And darkness took him away.

* * * * *

"NO!!!! NO!!!" he cried out as he thrashed about on the bed. She pulled him closer in her arms and tried her best to quiet him.

It was afternoon by now and Maria had been trying to calm Michael down for over an hour. He'd slept for a while that morning, but then he'd started having these nightmares. She wasn't sure what brought them on, but they seemed to terrify him and she hated to see him that way.

"Michael, wake up sweetie, it's okay," she soothed. She sat on the bed with him in her arms. He was only half-awake and clinging to her like a frightened child that was terrified of the monsters lurking beneath the bed. "Shh, Michael, wake up," she said softly.

"Maria . . . Maria, help me," he said weakly.

"You're okay, honey, everything's okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

His eyes finally began to open, but his arms didn't loosen their hold on her. He was still flushed with fever and she knew that had to be causing some of his anxiety. It was almost like he was hallucinating.

"Where are we?" he asked her as he looked up into her concerned face.

"We're home, we're in our bed," she answered.

"Where's . . . where's Max and Izzy? And Liz and the others . . . where are they?" he asked.

"Michael . . . we're not in Roswell anymore, remember?" she said, her voice holding the patience that she would show a small child. "We're in West Virginia. I'm Gina and you're Danny . . . remember?"

He looked at her with wide, searching eyes and nodded. "Gina," he said softly.

"Yes, Gina," she confirmed

"Is Hank here?" he asked shakily.

The sound of that name made her heart nearly stop. "Michael . . . Hank is . . . Hank isn't here. Just us, just me and you. There's no one here but the two of us."

He nodded again and laid his head back against her shoulder. She cradled his head in her hands and gently rocked him against her. They were quiet for a long time, just holding each other. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm scared, Maria. I miss home. I miss Max and Izzy. I miss what we had."

He sounded sad, sadder than she had ever heard him before. The words filled her eyes with tears and she tried to force then back. "I know," she whispered. "I miss it, too."

"Can we ever go back?" he asked. His fever had to be what was causing this. He never talked about home. It was one of his most staunchly kept rules.

"I don't know, sweetie," she answered. "I hope so, but I just don't know."

He nodded against her again as she continued to hold him close. She knew there was more to this than she was seeing. Whatever had happened in his dream had terrified him. It might be the fever making him finally show his fear, but there were real demons that haunted him every single day. She wondered if he would ever share those fears with her and finally let her share the weight of his burden?

She sighed heavily. She wasn't sure of anything anymore except that she had a lot of things left to learn in her life. Unraveling the mind of Michael Guerin would by far be her toughest task.

She lay back against the pillows again, taking him with her. Sleep was what they needed. That would do them both a world of good right about now. With him wrapped safely in her arms, she finally let sleep take her away. She could only hope that eventually she would find out just what it was that haunted him, but that would have to wait for another day.

* * * * *

To Be Continued