Cracked (Mi/L TEEN) 1/1 7/16/05

[Peachykin]

Title: Cracked

Author: Peachykin

Pairing: Michael/Liz

Rating: T, for language

Disclaimer: These guys belong to Katims, Metz, and the lovely folks at WB and UPN. No infringement intended. Just playing with your forgotten children.

Summary: PAC challenge for the banner, “Coffee Confessions” by flyingbouffant. Thanks for the inspiration Angi! Three years after Graduation. Max Michael and Liz are the only three remaining together. Michael comes home to find Liz asleep on the couch and a nightly ritual leads to life altering revelations.

~*~

Michael squinted in the darkness, fumbling with his keys. It was just like Max to forget to leave the fucking porch light on for him. Finally finding the right key, he clumsily put it lock and turning it. He was tempted to threw the door open, his hand shooting out to catch it before it smacked the wall.

Normally he wouldn’t have cared if he’d disturbed his housemates, nestled contentedly in their room, each other’s arms, but one of them wasn’t where they were supposed to be. One of them was stretched out on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping.

He frowned down at the sleeping woman, a wary smirk twisting on his face and he shook his head, closing the door quietly. Damn Parker. Probably fell asleep watching the news again.

In the three years since they’d left Roswell, there were few things Michael could count on. The sun rising and setting. Work as a bartender and Liz staying up past her bedtime.

He’d nudge her awake. Turn off the television and send her grumpy and groggy form back to her room and the waiting space in bed with Max. She would glare at him for disturbing her slumber, but at the end of the night everyone would be in their place. Just as it had always been.

Sure it was just the three of them now, Kyle and Isabel having left a year earlier and Maria within the first few months on the run. But still, there was an order to be followed. Michael in his room, Max and Liz in theirs. A decidedly fucked up version of the Musketeers, but there they were.

He threw his jacket casually on the armchair and approached the television, his brow furrowing when he found it wasn’t on. He glanced down at the remote on the coffee table. She couldn’t have accidentally turned it off, so had she just felt lazy and couldn’t walk the ten feet to hers and Max’s bedroom?

Shrugging, Michael left her alone, taking quiet steps into the kitchen for his nightly ritual of coffee and bad late night television. He’d wake her up, or more likely, Max would wake up and find her missing. He’d stumble out clumsily, in a near panic, breathe a sigh of relief at seeing her on the couch and then he’d drag her back to their room, admonishing her for staying up too late.

“Bad, Kitten,” Michael whispered as he looked over at Liz on the couch, rolling his eyes at himself. He’d been watching far too much Father Knows Best on TVLand. He was a, “Jeepers,” and a “Swell,” away from complete addiction.

Maybe tonight he’d read that book Liz had picked up for him. A compilation of Oscar Wilde essays. Old, worn, clearly something she’d picked up at a garage sale was sitting at the foot of his bed when he’d finally gone to bed a couple of days earlier. She’d apologized to him that evening, when they’d passed each other, she coming home from work, and him just heading out.

“They didn’t have any Faulkner or Joyce. But I figured Wilde would keep you busy.” She said, smirking up at him, “And try to get over the fact that he was gay and sardonic, Michael. It’s not an affront to your masculinity.”

He hadn’t even thanked her, just snorted at her parting comment and nodded. She’d returned the nod and shut the door. He’d meant to read it, but the nights at the bar, left little for his brain to crave aside from Herman Munster and Eddie Haskell. Tonight, he’d make a date with Mr. Wilde.

Okay not a date…because he didn’t swing that way… Jesus. The guy had been dead for decades. It wasn’t like he was going to hit on him through the pages. Damn Parker for pointing out his rampant homophobia.

He took another glance at the sleeping woman as he scooped grounds into the filter, adding an extra one for good measure. Her legs were tucked almost to her chest, though she needed bother, the couch was a good foot longer than she was. Her eyes moved beneath her lids, dreams of picket fences and fat, dark-haired babies with impossibly big brown eyes, no doubt danced across her mind. Dreams Max’s promises filled her with, only to wake up to the reality she lived.

Paycheck to paycheck. Town to town. Waitressing job to waitressing job. All to come home to her husband and his brother. Hardly out of Teenage Bride’s Monthly.

“I’d want to stay asleep too, Parker,” he whispered with an uncharacteristic compassion, flicking the coffee maker on.

He watched her brow furrow as the moonlight, that had been flirting with her through the worn curtains, struck her face. She grunted turning around, her face burrowing in the back of the couch, her dark hair fanning out on the pillow...

Wait… Pillow?

This was definitely out of order.

He unconsciously walked toward the living room, catching himself in the doorway. Liz never used a pillow when she was watching television. She would always fall asleep awkwardly on the arm of the chair and then grouch about the crick in her neck she’d given herself. He’d bat the hand rubbing at the sore spot and place his over it, sending soothing warmth through its. He’d feel the tension in her muscles melt into palm of his hand, and ignore how the relieved whimper she let out and the softness of her skin, sent his dreams into the realm of the Playboy Channel.

A pillow. She’d wanted to be comfortable, as if she knew she’d be there for the night. Had she and Max fought?

He shook his head letting out a puff of air. No. If they’d had a fight, Max would be the one on the couch. Liz might have given up a lot when she married Max, but sleeping in comfortable bed when pissed off was NOT one of them. More and more lately Michael had been coming home to Max on the couch pillow tucked under him. He’d wake up and trudge back to the bedroom, fairly certain Liz would be too tired to kick him out again.

But this was Liz, using the couch as her bedroom. Very odd indeed.

The coffee maker bubbled and hissed, breaking him of his perusal, for a moment. He was about to turn back to the kitchen when her saw Liz’s move her hair. It was a simple motion. A sleepy swipe of her hand across her face to remove an errant piece of hair that had been tickling her nose. But it was the absence of something on her hand that had caused Michael pause.

Her wedding ring was gone.

The thin piece of gold he’d always watched her play with when she was nervous or deep in thought. She almost looked uncomfortable to wear such a luxury when often times they were forced to live in squalor. He’d heard her and Max argue over it a thousand times. She’d wanted to pawn it to for gas money or groceries, but he always refused, wearing that watery eyed puppy dog look that mad Michael want to smack him with a damn newspaper.

She could have pawned it. Or lost it. She could have taken it off at the diner she worked in and it fell out of a hole in her pocket or someone swiped it…

Michael’s eyes widened and he pushed off the wall, falling on his knees to her side, scanning her face in the moonlight for injuries. Jesus, what if she’d been mugged? They didn’t live in the best neighborhood and she’d had a later shift that day. Maybe she couldn’t or didn’t want to wake Max when she got home.

“Dammit…” he hissed his breath quickening as he narrowed his eyes against the darkness. He couldn’t see if the darkness on her face was shadow or a bruise.

He used his fingers to tip her head gently towards his and his eyes passed over her face quickly, checking her over for visible wounds. It would be just like Parker to come home and die on the couch rather than have her own husband heal her. Stubborn…

Her nose scrunched up and she batted his hand away, peeking her eyes open as she raised her head up off the pillow, “What the hell? Oh…Michael?” Her head fell back on the pillow and she closed her eyes again. “God… I thought I was being molested by an Irish Wolfhound.”

“Hilarious, Parker. Really.” Michael rolled his eyes, realizing by her sarcasm and the ease with which she’d shifted her body on the couch, that she’d not been the victim of a random act of violence, “Go back to sleep.”

She opened her eyes groggily at him, “Not sending me back to Max so you can have some quality time with Wally and the Beav?”

Michael shrugged, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he knew all was not well in Wedded Blissville, “You looked comfortable, and I thought I heard Max snoring anyway. I’m gonna camp out in the kitchen with some bad coffee and Oscar.”

Liz smiled faintly and then sat up further pushing the blanket off her body revealing an old t-shirt he’d given her to sleep in.

Max had thrown out all of her old sleeping shirts a few months back and brought home a couple barely there negligees, as “surprise”, a few months back. He’d seen the pale of her skin at the sight of the frilly lace and satin, and left the simple grey shirt under her pillow. Max never knew where she got the shirt and Michael was sure Liz would never told him where she really got it from, but needless to say it got far more use than the lingerie ever did.

A thought that should have bothered him, but glancing down at the tan of her legs in the moonlight, against the faded heather hue of the shirt…Damn if she could work a piece of cotton like it was straight out of Victoria’s Secret.

“Got enough for two? Or does Mr. Wilde prefer it over tea?”

Michael snorted rising up and away from the visual feast of Liz’s bare legs, before he could lick his lips in appreciation, “Dude’s sorta on the dead side, Parker. Pretty sure not even coffee will wake him up.”

“So, that’s a ‘Yes Liz, I’d be delighted if you’d join me for coffee.’” She said standing up and making her way into the kitchen.

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I never ‘delight’ in anything. You want to load up on the caffeine, be my guest.”

“I don’t go into the diner until the afternoon tomorrow,” she shrugged glancing up at him and then the cupboard housing the coffee mugs, indicating he should retrieve them.

He did so without comment, coughing as he watched the t-shirt she was wearing rise up her legs reveal the curve of her thigh into her backside as she opened the refrigerator and bent over to retrieve the half and half.

“You okay?” she asked raising an eyebrow and patting his back, “Or do we need to send you to a remedial breathing class?”

Michael merely grunted snagging the carton out of her hand and setting it on the counter as he poured coffee into their mugs. He poured the cream into Liz’s and handed it to her before dumping ten spoonfuls of sugar into his.

The sat next to one another on the stools, taking in their first tentative sips of the hot brew, before deciding it wasn’t too hot.

“Um… So how was work?” Liz finally asked, unable to take the silence that had fallen between him. He watched her tuck her left hand beneath the counter and realized he’d been staring at it.

“Fine. The usual. Nothing special.”

“No fights?”

He shook his head, “Usually aren’t on Mondays.”

She nodded, racing the rim of her mug, “That’s good. It seems like a nicer place than the others.”

“It is,” He nodded, taking another sip.

He stole another glance down at the hand she’d hidden under the counter. Hello, White Elephant.

She fidgeted in her chair and cleared her throat, “Um… So… Why did you wake me up?”

“Didn’t mean to. Just checking…um… Make sure you weren’t hurt or anything.” He shrugged staring down at the curls of steam coming off his cup.

“Hurt?” she asked, confusion evident in her voice, the hand she’d been hiding came up automatically and rested on his forearm, “Michael? Why would you think I was hurt?”

He looked down at her hand pointedly, “Your wedding ring is gone. And I know Max would never let you take it off for any reason…So I thought maybe…”

She took her hand away from his arm settling it in her lap, away from his perusal, “You thought someone took it from me.”

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at the hand she seemed so desperate to hide, “And you’d be stubborn enough to die on the couch before letting Max know it happened.”

She let out an annoyed snort, but he caught the smirk on her face as she looked away, “Did I pass inspection?”

He couldn’t help the chuckle, and nodded again, “Physically, yeah. But I worry about the brain damage.”

She rolled her eyes, “Hilarious, Michael. Really.”

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re sporting the single girl look or am I going to have to listen to Max mope about it?” He asked, as usual, deciding to push away the bullshit and get to the bottom of things. Elephants sucked.

She sighed setting her mug down passing a finger over the pale strip of skin the sun had failed to touch for three years, “Nothing to tell really. Max and I just kinda… decided to not be married anymore.”

Michael swallowed his hot coffee too quickly, scalding his throat and coughing. He looked over at her with wide, watery eyes, “You what? You can’t just decide to not be married…I mean you can’t just take a ring off and be…divorced.”

She hushed him, begging him with her eyes to lower his voice. She clearly didn’t want Max involved in this conversation, no doubt having already gone a few rounds with his stubborn denial.

“We were never technically married, Michael.” She said quietly, as though that should have explained everything.

He looked over at her slack-jawed, “I was there. Best man, remember? Threw fucking rose petals at you two. Trust me, Parker. You’re married.”

She sat back eying him studiously, “Hmmm, and yet you call me, Parker to this day. Funny that.”

“Habit,” he glared.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, her fingers tapping on the mug in and uneven, almost nervous rhythm. She caught herself stopping, and straightening he back as she looked over at him, schooling her face to register no emotion, “Think about it logically, Michael. When Max and I got married, we used fake names. The marriage license isn’t valid. So, legally we’re not bound together. No messy paperwork or lawyers.”

Michael stared at her in shock. Was she serious?

“And Max is okay with this?” he asked, finally able to speak.

Her brow furrowed and she looked down at her coffee, “I’m sleeping on the couch. Kinda speaks for itself,” her hand tightened on the mug, and she spoke harshly through her teeth, “Whether Max is okay with it or not, is moot. It’s over.”

Michael’s head was spinning. He knew things had been bad between Max and Liz, and had been more than content to stay out their relationship woes, but he was admittedly stunned with the result. Divorced.

“So your soul still intact, or are you worried about what the Big Man will think about dissolving a union he witnessed?” he asked trying to make sense of it all.

Liz smiled, “I would be, if he didn’t have a fairly persistent angel who happens to be a genius with computers,” she laughed softly, “I can just hear him, ‘Ease up on Lizzie for this one, God, and I’ll hook you up with CABLE internet. Now, you know how impossible that is to get up here.’”

Michael couldn’t help but join her laughter. Alex was nothing if not a handy angel to have around. Their laughter trailed off and he scratched his eyebrow, absently, unsure of what to ask next, “So, what? You spin around in a circle and say, ‘I divorce you,’ three times and that’s it? Marriage dissolved?”

Liz chuckled shaking her head, “Yeah. And I danced naked while wearing elderberries in my hair and sacrificed a white rose to the gods.”

Michael shifted in his chair and his eyes widened slightly, at the image she’d conjured up. Damn his artist’s mind, “Seriously?” he asked his voice cracking uncharacteristically.

She merely rolled her eyes, bringing her cup up to her mouth and sipping her coffee.

Okay so she was kidding, but a guy could fantasize right? Maybe commit the image to a sketch… a painting if he could ever afford any of the tools.

A lingering thought was haunting him since Liz mentioned the divorce. It was a split. When he and Maria had called it quits for the final time, she left. When Isabel and Jesse divorced she and Kyle left. Now, Max and Liz were divorced. Who was going to leave? When?

And he selfishly wondered which would hurt him more, Max, his brother, or Liz his…Ah hell. He took a long slow sip of his coffee, savoring the dark bitterness of the brew with the sweetness of the sugar he’d dumped in. He swallowed looking over pinning her with a knowing stare.

“Which one of you is leaving?” he asked pointedly.

Her shoulders sagged as she returned his gaze. She looked tired. More than just for having woken up. Clearly it had been quite a battle.

She drew her teeth across her bottom lip, “We never really discussed it. There was lots of yelling…” she trailed off, dropping her gaze to her lap, “We can’t stay together… I don’t know…”

“What happened?” he semi-rescued her. He knew he next thought would involve a bus and her bags. He wasn’t so sure he was ready to hear that yet, “You and Max have fought before… I mean… Why now?”

“It’s been wrong for a while, Michael.” She sighed, “Don’t pretend you don’t know. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I haven’t been able to do it for a while. I’ve… I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve what?” Michael nearly yelled. He was fairly certain nothing could be more shocking than news of the divorce, but now Liz was trying to tell him she’d “moved on,” found someone else? What the hell?

Liz threw her hand over his mouth glaring at him, “Calm down, Michael!” she hissed.

Her swiped her hand away and rose off the stool to tower above her, “Who? When the hell did you find time to… cheat on Max? We’ve only been here two weeks!”

She hopped off her stool crossing her arms, determined not to back down, “I didn’t cheat on, Max! I just…”

“Great so you didn’t fuck the asshole.” He growled, “Small comfort. Now who is he?”

She threw her hands in the air in frustration, “Arg! You’re acting like Max! I don’t have to tell you who!”

Her eyes were wild with fury and an angry blush tinged her cheeks. She looked like she wanted to stomp her feet or run into her room and slam the door. But stomping was childish, and her ex-husband was in her room, so she held her ground, her body shaking.

“You’re kidding, right?” he scoffed, “I need to know who he is. Is he dangerous? Is he linked to anyone? Would he turn you in if he knew what and who you really were?”

Liz stared up at him, her nostrils flaring slightly. Her hands slipped down to her hips and a disconcerting smirk graced her face, “He likes to think he’s dangerous. He’s occasionally linked to a location somewhere up his own ass! And he’d sooner throw himself in front of a speeding train than see me hurt!”

“Sounds like a regular fucking Superman!” Michael spat, and unfamiliar ache settling in on his heart, “I can’t believe… You aren’t even settled. We don’t know about anyone here, Liz! Do you know how stupid this is?”

He watched tears fill her eyes, and the hands at her on her hips fell limply to her sides, her voice quiet and weak as she spoke, “I’m beginning to wonder the same thing myself.”

She turned away from him heading back for the couch, but Michael reached a hand out, lightly grabbing her shoulder, “Liz…”

She turned around, the tears that had been swimming in her eyes spilling over onto her cheeks, “You know working in diners and coffee shops, you learn a lot of things. About people. Places. Coffee.”

“Coffee?” Michael asked clearly confused. He still wanted to know what jerk Liz trusted her heart to, and she wanted to talk about coffee.

“Yeah coffee.” She repeated, wiping her eyes, “A coffee bean when it starts out, is smooth, green and virtually unblemished. But wickedly bitter. That’s why they have to roast it. The thing is that there is this one moment where it’s at its absolute peak of perfection, taste and smell. And that’s when it when it cracks.”

She lifted her hand up to his on her shoulder and he swallowed at her touch as she cradled it within both of hers, “Being with Max, in the beginning, it was good. Unblemished. Unrefined. Untouched, but over time, we were thrown into the fire. And I finally cracked, Michael. Only I when I did, I found something and someone I knew would touch my life more than Max ever did. Knows me inside out, without even trying. Let’s me be… me. Do you know how intoxicating that is?”

Michael nearly let out whimper at the husky tone of her voice. He didn’t even know who the son of a bitch was and he was already feeling the seduction he’d put on Liz. He could hardly blame her for wanting that, when it was all he’d ever wanted from someone. The problem was the closest thing to that someone he’d ever met, was about to walk out of his life forever.

“You sound…happy.” He finally said, letting his hand slide away from hers, “Are you?”

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, “Not completely. He still doesn’t know how I feel about him.”

Michael’s eyebrows rose, “You haven’t told him?”

“I’ve tried,” she almost laughed, “But he’s kinda stupid sometimes. Ton of bricks type.”

He couldn’t help but smirk, “You do like being the brains of the whole operation. I should warn the idiot.”

“Yeah. You really should.” She took a step closer, and he felt her breath fanning against his black shirt as she looked up at him through her lashes, “Idiot.”

Michael stared down at her with wide eyes, the pieces coming together bombarding his mind, drowning in the espresso of her eyes. Feeling himself crack.

“He likes to think he’s dangerous. He’s occasionally linked to a location somewhere up his own ass! And he’d sooner throw himself in front of a speeding train than see me hurt!”

“I found something and someone I knew would touch my life more than Max ever did. Knows me inside out, without even trying. Let’s me be… me.”

“He still doesn’t know how I feel about him.”

“Ton of bricks type.”

“Idiot.”

How much did bricks weigh again? Because they felt a hell of a lot heavier than a ton.

“Michael?” he heard her soft voice call to him. He blinked once again taking in her unsure and nervous face, “Could you, I don’t know, say something? Kinda making a fool out of myself here.”

“Me?” he was all he could say, his voice unable to reach beyond a whisper. But the simple utterance asked so much. Why would she risk her feelings on him? Risk a rift she knew might tear the rest of their group apart?

She nodded, biting her lip. She brought shaking hands to his waist, settling her hands on either side, “You probably want to know why?”

Michael nodded, feeling like a moron at how paralyzed he felt. He should kiss her, hold her, or push her away. Something. But no, he was frozen, only able to blink whisper and move his head an inch or two.

Instead of the explanation he was expecting Liz took her hands away from his waist and walked away from him. His Adam’s apple worked up and down as he watched her walk away towards the couch. Had his silence completely screwed the whole thing up? Should it have?

“Liz…” He finally called out, fusing synaptic function from his brain to his feet as he took slow strides toward her. She’s tossed aside her blanket and reached under her pillows.

He hadn’t realized how close he was to her when she turned around and gasped, throwing her arms behind her back quickly, gripping onto something he couldn’t quite make out in the darkness, “Sorry.”

She gave him a shaky smile an cleared her throat, looking up at him and fidgeting on her feet, her nerves painfully obvious, “I came home tonight and saw your bedroom light on. Now, I knew you were at work, so there was no way it could have been you. So, I headed straight for your room and found Max there, sitting on the end of the bed.”

“Max went snooping around in my room?” he hissed, interrupting, “Jesus, has he not heard of a little thing called privacy?”

Liz shook her head up at him, “No… And believe me I was mad on your behalf, until I saw what he was looking at.”

Michael’s brow furrowed, “What the hell was he…” he trailed off his eyes widening.

No way. No way in hell he could have…would have found…that. Shit.

Liz brought up the object she’d been hiding behind her back. A worn sketchbook. The one thing in his life he treasured. He never left a town or hiding place without. It held his soul. His passion. His desire. It was his sanctuary.

Page after page was filled with sketches of Liz. Moments in time. Fantasies. All of it there to see. Where he could admit, she stirred something inside him. That even if he wasn’t sure he loved her, on those pages, he could. It wasn’t enough. But it had to be. And it was his.

“He had no right!” Michael growled shooting a glare over at the door Max lay just behind, sleeping. Unawares of the betrayal unearthed.

“No. He didn’t,” Liz nodded, her voice bringing his attention back to her. She clutched the sketchbook to her chest, as if her heart were the only thing that would protect it now, “But, Michael, I’m not sorry he did. What you drew… I didn’t know that anyone could see me that way.”

He looked away, a blush he tried to fight creeping into his cheeks, “You weren’t supposed to see it… No one was. I’m surprised Max didn’t destroy it.”

Liz shook her head adamantly, “He wanted to. I wouldn’t let him.”

Michael’s head snapped up. Something she’d said earlier in their conversation about the “divorce” suddenly taking on a new meaning.

“There was lots of yelling…”

“Liz…Max doesn’t think we…” he said, finding himself short of breath, cursing himself if Max had taken out any of his anger on her about the pictures.

Liz nodded, “At first, yeah, he accused us of having an affair. I mean, I guess I can’t blame him, some of those nudes are pretty…”

Michael allowed himself a smirk at the aroused rouge Liz was wearing, the pink nearly glowing in the moonlight, “Yeah well, I have a pretty active imagination.”

“And a generous one too,” she chuckled, staring down at her chest.

So he’d gifted her a little more in that department in the drawings. What hormonal male wouldn’t have? It wasn’t cartoonish of comic book heroine like. Half a cup increase, maybe… Wait, no, that wasn’t the point… Max had found his sketchbook and had accused Liz of fucking his brother…. That was the point…. Yeah.

“How did you…. Convince him?” he asked, scratching his eyebrow.

Liz sighed, clearly frustrated that she was struggling with the words to explain what had happened between she and Max. She took a hand away from the sketchbook and held it out for Michael. He immediately reached for it knowing exactly what she was giving him.

~*~

Max threw the sketchbook at Liz, and she caught it before it smacked her in the face. She opened it scanning the pages. Tears coming to her eyes, as each of her charcoal incarnations was revealed to her. Confirmation she wasn’t alone in her feelings for Michael.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Max growled form his place on the end of Michael’s bed, “Michael. He’s the one you…”

Liz looked up from the book, staring down at Max’s shaking form. She saw he jaw tense and the hands in his lap, which seemed to hold his attention, balled up into fists.

“Yes.” She said simply, feeling the weight of the world lifted from her chest, despite the tension between she and her ex.

“How long have you two been…?” he bit out, unable to choke out the last word.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, “No, Max. We haven’t! Michael doesn’t even know I…”

He rose of the bed advancing on her, eyes blazing with raw undiluted rage. She held her ground clutching the book to her and straightening her shoulders, “How can you deny it? Those drawings! Don’t lie, Liz!”

She narrowed her eyes up at him. No way in hell was he going to intimidate her, “I’m not! Michael has no idea how I feel about him! This…” she held out the book, “I never knew! But don’t expect me, for one damn minute, to be sorry about this!”

Max turned away from her with a frustrated growl and began pacing the room, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering, “This doesn’t make sense.”

The stood there for what seemed like hours, Liz holding Michael’s drawings to her, trying to process what they meant. A small thrill going through her that she might be able to tell him how she felt.

Sadness consumed her when she looked up at Max; frantically trying to find a rhyme or reason as to how or why his wife and his brother could feel the way they did about each other. She knew the sense of betrayal must have overwhelmed him, despite her assurances that she and Michael hadn’t been having an affair. She felt the betrayal too. Had wrestled with it for so long, felt the guilt that came from falling out of love with one man, and falling into… something else with another.

“It’s not going to happen. Ever,” Max said, breaking her of her thoughts. She looked up seeing a slow, uneasy grin distort his features and she cringed.

“It’s not up to you, Max.” She countered narrowing her eyes at him.

“No. It’s not,” he shrugged, walking towards her with a lazy stride, “Don't you get it Liz? This book is the only place where Michael will allow himself to betray me. You tell him how you feel and you'll be disappointed. We're brothers. That means more.”

She tried to hold off the shudder that ran up her spine at the iciness…and accuracy of Max’s words. It was the very reason she’d kept her feelings to herself. She knew that when push came to shove, Michael would likely choose his brother over her, despite the yearning she saw in his drawings.”

“I know,” She said, desperately trying to stave off the tears and disappointment in her voice at the cruelty of Max’s words, but his low chuckle as he brushed past her told her she’d been unsuccessful.

“Don’t worry.” He said softly, “When you leave, I won’t tell him anything. He’ll get over it. He’s used to it.” He opened the door, the creaking hinges, suddenly far too loud, “I found it under the mattress. I suggest that’s where you leave it.”

Her tears splashed onto the dark over of the book as Max closed the door behind her and she sat on the edge of Michael’s bed, utterly broken.

The images blurred and Michael found himself staring down at Liz, her face streaked with new tears at the memories the previous hours had brought her.

Max had been so hurt and angry, like he expected, but his cruelty shook him. Yes, he was reeling, he couldn’t be blamed for that, but the callousness of his words, knowing they’d pierce Liz’s very heart, made his blood boil.

It occurred to him that given what he’d seen; Liz, in that moment, had decided to keep her feelings a secret. Heeding Max’s twisted words to leave and never let Michael know why she left. But here she was. Telling him.

As if seeing the question on in his eyes, Liz smiled through her tears, “I could have put the book back. You never would have known. I would have left in the morning and Max would have fed you some story about me missing my parents…”

“But you didn’t. Why?” he asked taking a step closer, strands of her hair blowing about with the fanning of his breath on her face. Suddenly he just couldn’t be close enough.

She looked up at him, a sparkle dancing through her watery eyes, “I had to know the risk. I had to know if you would confine your feelings to these drawings.”

Michael couldn’t help the smile that came over him at the familiarity of her words. Her journal, all those years ago. Now it was full circle. She’d seen his most intimate thoughts and fantasies…And they were all about her.

He felt the soft cardboard press into his chest and he looked down, finding her small hand pressing it into his body, returning it, “I didn’t want you to think it was all one-sided, Michael. I didn’t want you to think you were alone. I know you won’t…betray…Max… I just needed you to know…I guess.”

When she moved to drop her hands and turn away, Michael brought his hand up trapping her hands and the book against his chest. She met his eyes, and he saw her brace herself, uncertain what he could possibly say. She believed Max was right. Hell, even he’d believed it, until that moment.

She’d kept the book. Left herself vulnerable to rejection. Possibly becoming a lightening rod for his anger at his privacy being invaded. But she risked it all, just so he would know how she felt.

Blood was supposed to be thicker than water. He was supposed to walk away, back to his room, let Liz go. But he couldn’t. She was a risk he wanted to take.

He took the book tossing it aside on the couch, watching her gaze follow it. He tipped her head back up to his, wrapping an arm around her waist pulling her against his body. If he expected to feel resistance, he got none. She merely took in an excited breath, here eyes dancing over his face in anticipation.

He lowered his lips to hers, brushing them teasingly, feeling her shaky breath of relief, as he trailed his tongue over the soft swell of her bottom lip. He felt her body tense against the need to throw her arms around him, knowing this was his moment. His decision. She couldn’t crowd it or take it over.

Unable to stand his own teasing he pressed his mouth fully against hers. Her restraint was lost and she opened her mouth immediately against his, her soft tongue darting out to dance with his.

He’d drawn her mouth a thousand times, imagining what it would feel like, but it paled to the real thing. Soft warm, wet, hints of cream and coffee flavoring it, mixing with the sweetness of his own brew.

Earlier she’d pointed out, although he was unaware of it at the time, how intoxicating he was. Jesus, did she even know what the taste of her did to him? She wasn’t forbidden. She wasn’t wrong to desire…to covet. She tasted right and he was sure he could drink from her for the rest of his life. Now that was intoxication.

He reluctantly pulled away from her to breath, but never let his grip on her loosen. He watched her hooded eyes flutter open and the seductive pass of her tongue over her bottom lips. Clearly the taste of him was equally as addicting.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she finally whispered, her breath labored form the intensity of their first kiss.

“Neither was I,” he told her honestly, “I shouldn’t…”

“But you do. It’s enough.” She finished, leaning up on her toes to place soft kiss on his lips.

Had it been anyone else, he might not have believed her. So many people wanted and took so many things from him. But for Liz, the kiss, the moment was enough. He could see, she could be content with having that one kiss to hold onto, and leave them… him… if she had to.

Was it that easy for her? He’d seen her heartache in the flash, the guilt she felt, over hurting Max not with the feelings she held for another man, but the man she held her feelings for.

Doubt warred against the elation Michael felt. Had proximity, Liz’s limited choice in men, himself or Max, simply caused her to transfer her feelings for Max to him? Had she given herself time alone? Taken a pause between heartbeats to differentiate between him and Max?

He knew he’d remained quiet too long, when he felt Liz’s fingers trace his chin, her voice low and soft, “You don’t know how much I want to read your mind right now.”

For the first time since he’d taken her in his arms he looked away from her, “I can’t be a rebound, Liz. I won’t be,” he sighed, feeling the hand she’d lay on his bicep grip against his words and he looked back down at her, “I need to know what this is. What I’m risking.”
“I don’t know what it is, Michael,” she said, tipping her forehead against his chest, “I don’t know that it’s love…”

His body stiffened in response and he tried to pull away, but she held onto him with a strength he didn’t know someone as small as she was, could possess. He hand rose up gripping his chin, “But I want it to be. Someday.”

His jaw flexed against her fingers, he so desperately wanted to rip his face away, but he wasn’t kidding himself. He wasn’t even sure if he loved the girl in his arms, or even the one on the pages, but like her, he desperately wanted to find out if it could be.

She cocked an eyebrow up at him and that dangerous smirk she had made another appearance, “Okay Mr. Ton O’ Bricks… Its somewhere between wanting to use you exclusively for sexual purposes and spending the rest of my life loving you. That clear enough?”

He smiled down at her and she let go of his face, letting the smile reach his eyes. Yeah that would do just fine. He leaned down kissing her softly before pulling back, wearing his own wicked smirk, “Sorry, heard, ‘sexual purposes,’ and, ‘rest of my life,” and I got lost.”

Liz smacked his arm, trying not to laugh, “Jerk.”

He shrugged his shoulders, finally releasing her from his arms, “You knew that in advance. Too late now.”

He bent down picking up her pillows and blanket from the couch, and taking her hand, walking towards his bedroom. When she didn’t fall in step with him, right away he looked back seeing a look of indignance on her face.

“Little presumptive aren’t you?” she asked, playfully resisting his tugging on her hand.

“Says the woman who just offered me sex on a regular basis,” he countered, using his considerable strength to pull him to her, fusing his mouth over hers in a consuming and highly suggestive kiss. He felt her smile against his mouth before giving into the kiss, letting him devour her.

He let her go abruptly, leaving her panting and from the darkness of her eyes, seriously wanting, “Relax Parker. I may be a jerk…and believe me it’s going to be incredibly…” He paused letting his eyes roam over her body for the first time without the guilt of doing so looming, “…difficult. Having your ex-husband in the next room, is a seriously mood killer.”

He watched her face fall for an instant, unable to hide her disappointment, before she wriggled out of his grasp and strode forward swinging the door to his bedroom open, “Not to mention, I’m not that easy. How do you know I’d give it up so quickly?”

Michael advanced letting his proximity push her back into the bedroom, tossing her pillows on the bed next to his and the blanket fell to the floor as she crawled onto the bed holding her hands up to ward him off, albeit half-heartedly, barely able to contain her smile

“You know you would have,” he teased, “So rest up. Come morning, you’re mine.”

“I’m definitely going to hell. Not even Alex, can get me out of this one,” she moaned as Michael kicked the door shut.

~*~

Dawn crept in through the curtains and Max opened his bedroom door quietly. He ran a weary hand over his face, having been kept up all night by Michael and Liz’s voices…words.

Words he was sure he’d never hear. Liz admitting she had feelings for Michael. And Michael… forsaking his brother for her.

How could he have been so wrong? Why had things changed so much?

His eye caught the two abandoned coffee mugs on the counter and Liz’s soft laughter from behind Michael’s bedroom door, filled his ears.

It didn’t matter anymore. What did matter was that things had changed. And he wasn’t in the plan anymore.

Shifting his bag onto his shoulder he gripped the Liz's wedding ring in his palm, the one she’d left on his nightstand before she’d gone to bed the night before and made his way to the front door.

The ring had once symbolized a new beginning. The promise of so much more to come. A future with limitless possibilities. And it still meant all of those things, just not the way he wanted it to.

Now it meant a bus ticket to a place anywhere, but there. Any heart but hers.

He was still in the fire, looking for his moment to crack.

With one look back, Michael’s low rumbling chuckle coming through the door, followed by his name on Liz’s lips in a happy lilt, Max shut the door quietly, whispering a soft goodbye to his companions.


~*~
The End.

[alienmom]

hey peachy (eek, another stacie....i'll never keep you all straight)!!

i read FU ages ago (when i just lurked everywhere!) and loved it!! pooh keeps telling me i should read more of your stories. so i was looking for something quick to read and the title sucked me in. mind you i have read lots of polar stories before, but just haven't been in the "mood" for polar lately....if that makes any sense i gotta say, i love your michael! you really capture him well, i think. his sarcastic, dry humor is dead on! you write beautifully, it flows so well.