Glass Houses (CC ALL, TEEN) Chapter 1, 04/23

[Applebylicious]

Title: Glass Houses
Author(s): Angel & Lindsay
Category: CC, with heavy emphasis on Max
Rating: TEEN
Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell belong to The WB, Melinda Metz, and UPN. No infringement intended. {Or just sue Angel. – Lindsay}
Summary: The drama of Roswell unfolds through a surprising POV.
Author(s) Note(s):

Angel: I know, I know…let’s just pretend for a moment that there isn’t a ginormous fic out there that starts with H that needs to be finished, shall we? Instead, let’s sink into this new, pleasant world where Lindsay and I jabbered on for months about doing this together and I kept saying, “No, no, no…I couldn’t possibly! I have to finish H!” And Lindsay would reply, “Pffft…just kill them all off and let’s start on this new fic!” Let’s also gaze upon the masterful fic banner she created. *claps* Kudos to you, my Luvah. And just a reminder: there shall be no mention of the H word by anyone. Make it so.

Lindsay: Hi, guys! I know, I know…She of the "Dudes, I'm totally NOT writing Rosfic anymore, biatches!" is back in full force. And I don't have an excuse either, except that my luvah Angel came up with this kick-ass idea for a five-parter fic and asked me to co-write it with her frelling forever ago, and I couldn't say no. Mostly because she's brainwashed me to do her bidding (I think she was just trying to NOT finish Happenstance, and I fell into her evil trap). Sooo…here be Lindsay. Writing Rosfic, and begging you all not to bombard me with questions as to when or if I might be updating anything else anytime soon. Because, I'm probably not.






Prologue

The Evans house is a strange one. In particular, Max Evans’ bedroom. Bizarre things happen in there. Unnatural things. But I’ll get to that later.

Right now, I’m contorting myself into a comfortable hiding position as Max runs through the door into his bedroom. I have to be careful because it’s daytime and the sun’s rays are beating steadily down through the windows, easily revealing my location.

To be caught spying…I would be horrified. Beyond embarrassed. I know it’s not the polite thing to do, but I can’t help it. It’s as if otherworldly forces have drawn me to this place and are making me watch the decidedly not normal things that go on here. It’s my addiction.

I wonder if there’s a twelve step program.

But enough about me. I crane my head to see Michael rush in behind Max and slam the door behind him.

I can almost see steam coming out of Michael’s ears, he’s so mad. And Max, he seems jittery and nervous. The color on his face reaches a nice shade of red before he just sits on his bed, unmoving. He gets like that. When something big has happened, he freezes as if his body is rejecting the circumstances around him.

The best part about that is when Michael or Isabel start yelling at him, and they just keep going and going while Max just stares into space…or toward home…or whatever the hell he’s looking at.

This time is no exception. I’m not disappointed when I see Michael take a deep breath.

“You wanna tell me what that was?!” He performs the amazing skill of both yelling and whispering at the same time. “You…you…you’ve killed us! We might as well walk up to them now and demand to be taken to their leader!”

I have to admit; that’s something I would enjoy seeing very much. Very, very much.

Max has switched from his catatonic state to lying flat on the bed with his face buried in a pillow, but I can still hear his muffled, “Shut up, Michael.”

“We’re so screwed,” Michael announces in bitter defeat, running his hands through his unruly hair. He punctuates this eloquent statement with a glare toward the bed, which goes unnoticed by Max. As predicted.

After a few moments of tense silence and several laps around the room by a pacing Michael, Max sits up again and adds, “She won’t know. She won’t know what I did. I’m sure she was in shock…she won’t remember.” Off of Michael’s disbelieving look, Max continues almost too eagerly, “She was hardly even conscious, Michael. There’s no way she’ll remember.”

I almost give away my hiding position when I have to stifle a snort. Because I know that Michael Guerin, he of the spiky hair and paranoid nature, will never believe so simple – so logical – an explanation.

Sure enough, not buying it, Michael snaps, “We have to leave. We always knew we’d have to eventually.”

“We’re not going anywhere. We just need to act normal and not draw attention to ourselves,” Max reasoned.

“That’s always your answer. Why can’t you just realize that we’ve stayed here too long? It’s time to go before they realize anything.” He closes in on Max and demands in the same thunderously soft voice, “What were you thinking?”

This is what I want to know, what I’ve been trying to discern since the mismatched pair stormed into the bedroom like the hounds of hell were on their heels. I try to crane my head closer without being noticed. My ears perk up and I try to block out any outside noise so I can hear Max’s answer.

He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with a weary resignation that is so typically Max. “I couldn’t let her die, Michael.” He looks up at Michael and clarifies, “I couldn’t let Liz die.”

Michael sighs and turns away. “So you traded our lives for hers? That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange to me.” Heading toward the door, it seems as if he’s going to leave without saying anything else.

I hold my breath, knowing Michael’s penchant for dramatic and, quite frankly, ignorant retaliation. Waves of antagonism vibrate from his body as I wonder what his next move will be.

“Michael,” Max says, quickly stopping him at the door. He, too, knows the foolish things Michael’s capable of, although Max is obviously not in the position to point this out at the moment. He nervously adds, “Don’t…don’t tell Isabel yet.”

Michael doesn’t reply, just tosses Max another dark look before shoving him aside and leaving the room. Max stares after him, appearing as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

I try to remain silent, but it’s a difficult task when there’s a bush poking me in the ass. As Max buries his head in his hands, I puzzle over these latest events. I can only assume that Liz is the one and only Liz Parker, the object of Max’s unfaltering affection. I have no clue as to what happened, but I can guess it has something to do with their alien status.

It always does.

I don’t know Liz and I’ve never seen her, but she must be someone special because the amount of time that boy spends in his room pining over her is crazy. It’s like he’s obsessed.

Of course, I suppose I can’t cast stones.


TBC...

[Island Breeze]

Hmmm... Very interesting start! A mystery rears its head here! Who are we dealing with? Another Future Max? A distant future descendant maybe? A fellow Antarian? Interesting possibilities. And the bush sticking him in the rear! So he's looking in the window, I presume... invisibly? But he/she is trying to be quiet, so he/she can be heard. Oh well, it means only one thing: A MULTI-PARTER ROSWELL FIC FROM LINDSAY "Never say Never" AND ANGEL! :D Great start!

[Angel]

Chapter 1

He’s at it again. Pining over Liz Parker.

Max’s tells are easy; the vacant expression, the faraway look in his eyes as he sprawls across the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the radio. It’s been the same all afternoon, with sporadic grunts and moans from the bedsprings when he shifts to another supine position.

I have to wonder what’s happened now. Damn my curiosity.

No one knows how to make things complicated quite like Max Evans and Liz Parker. Over the course of their “relationship” thus far, it’s taken quite a bit of personal strength on my part not to smack their heads together.

First, things were awkward. I admit I enjoyed watching the look on his face whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. I always was. But after awhile, they both finally seemed to catch a clue. At least, Max wasn’t languishing around the room wearing his “I’m an alien, and I’m pathetic” expression quite as often as usual.

But that only lasted a day or two, and then it was back to Mopeville. And this time? It’s worse than before. From the snatches of conversation I’ve overheard between Max and the others, I can only guess that Isabel and Michael didn’t approve of the fact that he’d kissed Liz.

I can’t imagine why. It’s not like he’s three feet tall, green, and slimy. I figure, if she wants to kiss him, let her. The worst that could possibly happen is they’ll bore each other to death. Or me.

Er, as I was saying…

It’s pretty much business as usual. I stifle a sigh as Max flings an arm out over the mattress, grimacing at whatever the obnoxious radio announcer is saying. I strain to hear, wondering what could have finally gotten a reaction out of him for the first time in hours.

The door flings wide open, and Isabel Evans stalks inside. She plants both hands on her hips while staring down at her brother’s face, then remarks dryly, “Well. This is slightly familiar.”

“Go away,” he grumbles, giving us his back as Isabel rolls her eyes and taps her foot impatiently. But I can see a small hint of sympathy lingering in her expression. Her hand hovers over his back, then she snatches it back, biting her lip.

“It’s for the best,” she says in a tone that hints that this isn’t the first time she’s had to say such a thing to Max. “You know we—”

“Isabel? Not. Now.”

Oh, ho! The King of Passive Agressiva finally grows a pair? What next; will Michael learn to use a comb, or actually sit still long enough for Max and Isabel to explain to him that his plans suck more than a Hoover vac? I’m almost afraid to ponder the possibilities, and besides, they’re distracting me from what might happen.

Isabel hesitates, obviously at war between her feelings for Max and her opinions on his relationship with Liz. Finally she sighs and says, “Alex got us tickets to the concert, wanna go?”

Max slowly rolls over, gifting Isabel with an ‘are you completely insane?’ look. He mumbles in an ironic tone, “I have to wash my hair.”

Heh.

As Isabel makes a face, Max flips back onto his stomach and buries his head in the pillow. “Bye, Iz.”

Isabel throws her hands up and turns on her heel to leave, grumbling unidentifiable words beneath her breath. The door slams, nearly sending me off the ledge, but Max barely flinches.

“…and don’t forget, folks, tonight’s our big Valentine’s Day Blind Date with our hometown dream girl, Liz Parker. Stay tuned to KROZ throughout the evening for upfront and personal details on Miss Parker’s night of romance and fantasy…”

Max’s hand shoots out and sparks send the radio flying through the air. His lips are pressed tight, eyes heavy-lidded with frustration. And suddenly, everything’s clear. Max’s sulking throughout the past weeks, his newly acquired – obsessive - taste for the romantic space opera Farscape…

He and Liz broke up. And apparently, she’s dating some other guy. Talk about salt in a festering wound. You have to feel sorry for the poor guy, even if he does bring most of it upon himself.

I mean, an alien and a human? It’d never work. Has the Sci-Fi Network taught Max nothing? Yeesh.

Max sits up suddenly, rubbing his face wearily as the clock radio smokes on the floor at his feet. I scramble to hide as his eyes pass over my hiding place, but luckily he seems too distracted to notice my presence.

When I look again, he’s gone.



***



“I told you, Isabel, I’m not going.”

“Max…”

“Just…stop it, okay?” Max’s frustrated voice drags me out of decadent dreams filled with…well, that’s private, actually.

Ahem.

I poke my head around a bush and catch sight of the two siblings arguing in low tones that are hard to make out from my position. Typical. Only Michael ever yells about the juicy stuff, but then you can count on him to yell about pretty much anything.

Max makes a sour face that pulls his lips back and further emphasizes the span of his ears, while Isabel just looks exasperated.

“You have to let this go, Max,” she hisses, steepling her fingers together, probably out of effort to keep from smacking her brother upside the head. “You have to let her go.”

She has a point.

Max’s throat works for a long moment, and then I read from his lips, “I’m trying. Okay?”

And just like that, the sympathy returns to color Isabel’s expression. Well, who could blame her? Max can be pretty pitiful, even when he’s not waxing poetic over Liz Parker. Anyone who’s seen the guy angsting over what shade of green shirt he should wear to school would know that.

“Go,” Max continues, catching his sister’s uncertain eyes and giving her an out. “Have fun, Iz. I’ll be fine.”

That’s obviously debatable, but Isabel gladly retreats, probably having already met her star-crossed-lovers-doomed-to-be-parted-for-eternity quotient for the day. And it’s only five-thirty!

Max assumes his favorite position as of late; prostrate on the bed, pillow over head. The reconfigured radio comes to life beside him, the obnoxious voice of the DJ from earlier filling the airwaves.

“Go ahead, Liz. Come on, I know you want to! Just run your fingers through it, just once! Come on, he won't bite ya…”

The air begins to vibrate with tension – both literally and figuratively as the nightstand trembles on its legs. Max’s expression is hidden by the pillow, but his hands are clenched into tight fists at his side.

“Oh, yeah, that's the stuff. And now it's off for a romantic dinner for two at Chez Pierre where we leave off and l'amour does the rest.”

Rut-roh…

Sure enough, the radio begins to smoke again, and I brace myself for any sudden explosions when a rock flies past my head, nearly knocking me unconscious and really pissing me off.

“Evans!” a voice slurs from outside. “Maaaax Evans…you in there?”

I crane my neck and glimpse a teenage male of average stature and questionable morals, teetering on Max’s front lawn. A shiny red automobile filled with other teenagers is behind him, and they erupt into a cacophonous bout of laughter as the one who called out trips over his own feet.

Oh, who could this brainiac be?

Max lumbers over to the window, blinking in disbelief before venturing hesitantly, “Kyle?”

I search my brain for any previous mentions of this ‘Kyle’ in my Max Databank, but come up empty. He doesn’t seem like the type of human Max would associate with, but then again, that’s a pretty shallow pool to begin with.

“Evans, we’re a little drunk,” Kyle leers, mimicking a small distance with his index finger and thumb as Max approaches.

Max appears disgusted, rightfully so, and answers meaningfully, “Then you better be quiet before the neighbors call the police.”

Heh.

Taking no offense, Kyle turns to address his cohorts with a pointed finger. “Boys! You listen to my friend, Max. He knows how to evade the law.”

Unfortunately, the only thing Max knows how to evade is bright colors, but then I’m not here to dispense fashion advice. I perk my ears to listen for more.

Max makes a quiet sound, then grumbles, “What do you want?”

Kyle eyes him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek before producing two tickets from his pocket with flourish. “I figured it was time to bury the hatchet. You know…put the past behind us?” His lips spread into a wide, significant grin, but luckily I don’t have to wait long to understand his meaning. “Maybe catch a concert.”

Almost automatically Max answers, “I’m not interested.”

Well, Kyle, I could have saved you the trouble. Saint Max is only interested in three things; thinking about Liz Parker, pining over Liz Parker, and dreaming about Liz Parker. And he can do all of these things from the comfort of his own bedroom.

Not to be outdone, Kyle responds with a smug, “Oh, come on! You know you want to see this guy as much as I do.”

Hmm…point for the idiot.

Max looks torn, but valiantly fights not to give in. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

Kyle proceeds to give a long speech, basically threatening to spend the night on Max’s front lawn in order to gain Max’s acceptance. Max finally snatches the car keys dangling from Kyle’s fingers, but I’m not sure if it’s to save himself the embarrassment of the implications that could arise from this guy sleeping in front of his house, or if he just wants a chance to drive the fancy red car.

Kyle whoops his success, jumping into the back of the car as Max slips behind the wheel and thrust the gears into drive.


***


It’s dark now, the stars my only illumination as Max’s door slams against the wall and he comes barreling into the room like a bat out of Hades. His face is stark white and tight with emotion, but his every movement is carefully controlled.

It’s been hours since he disappeared with Kyle, and I’d given up hope of the possibility of discovering what he was up to long ago. It appears Fate might have given me a second chance.

“What have you done, what have you done, what have you done,” he whispers over and over, hands on his head as he circles the floor in slow but frenetic paces. He then pauses, wipes his hand across his face, and utters an oath beneath his breath.

I have to admit to some concern, although I can’t imagine what might have happened to cause this near-breakdown in a creature as controlled as Max Evans.

He sits numbly on the bed, staring at the wall with unusual interest. I have to stifle a gasp as the wall shimmers, revealing a hazy image of…a glowing heart? With the initials of M.E. and L.P.

“Idiot,” Max hisses, breaking his concentration and causing me to jump. “You had to go with him, you had to see her. You had to ruin everything. She’ll…never believe you don’t remember. Or worse, she’ll never believe you do.”

He drops his head in his hands, shoulders shaking, as one burning question fills my mind.

Remember what?

TBC…

[Island Breeze]

Uh, yeah... that's my burning question, too! Remember what? You sure have a propensity for the mystery! And he searches his brain and doesn't find Kyle in his Max databank? Okay, sounds like someone from the future. And I had to laugh at this line:

I can’t imagine why. It’s not like he’s three feet tall, green, and slimy. I figure, if she wants to kiss him, let her. The worst that could possibly happen is they’ll bore each other to death. Or me.

Great part! :D