Mnemosyne's Daughter | (Roswell Fanfiction) | √

THREE

There's a few seconds of silence before his soft low voice asks, "Are you okay?"

"Max...?" she whispers, barely audible.

"Uhm..." he says and almost instinctively she knows that he wants to look away to avoid her gaze, but that he is failing.

"Max Evans?" Liz repeats. Is she really staring at the boy who has prevented her from having a good night sleep the last couple of nights?

He clears his throat, realizes that he is still grasping her arms, lets her go, and obviously finds his tongue. "Liz Parker?"

Liz looks at him, having the strangest feeling that his surprise is not genuine. He recognized her from the beginning. Maybe even before he decided to prevent her from falling.

"I..." she licks her dry lips. "I haven't seen you since high school? How are you?"

His gaze is intense and under normal circumstances she would have looked away under its heavy scrutiny. But she doesn't. Something tells her this is not normal circumstances.

"I'm good, I'm good," Max says, his voice flowing freely now. "And you? You look..." He smiles softly, his eyes roaming her face appreciatively, without inhibitions. "You look great."

She knows that she is blushing, but still has the wits to protest, "Please, I look horrible." She was just looking at herself in the mirror and she knows that she looks like death warmed over.

He shakes his head slowly, obviously not believing her words. "No, Liz. You look really great." Something unreadable enters his eyes and he mumbles, so softly that she almost misses it, "Happy."

"Ahum...," she nervously bites her lip, "How have you been?"

"Alright," Max answers lightly, but a slight nuance to his voice makes her suspect that is not the whole truth. There's something ageless about his eyes, as if he has been through more in his life than a person five times his age.

"We should grab a cup of coffee, catch up," Liz suggests.

He seems to hesitate and she watches with a combination of fascination and worry the thoughts fly through his head. At least that's what she's imagining, because his face is expressionless, a blank slate. It's strange, how she is certain that she can see inside his head at that moment, see his every thought. Still, his reply surprises her.

"I can't. I'm sorry, Liz."

"Oh," she pushes out, not for a second thinking that he would say no. "Okay then... Well, maybe some other day. When are you free?"

"No, I can't, Liz. I have to go."

She might be mistaken, but Liz is sure she can see regret in his eyes before he diverts them to the ground. She wants to fight his refusal, because even though he's already turning away from her, she has the feeling that he is waiting for her to stop him. But she must be wrong, because as she opens her mouth to say something, anything to stop him, he beats her to it.

His eyes fixate on the ground as he speaks, "It's better this way."

He has the chance to take a couple of steps, before she finds any words, "What do you mean by that?"

He stops, his back towards her, and a memory flashes through her mind. A memory of her running after someone looking exactly like that the day before. Same broad shoulders, same weary tilt of the head. Did Max somehow cause all those confusing feelings she experienced yesterday? But how is that even possible?

"I never believed you, never dared to hope," he mumbles finally.

Liz shakes her head, frowning. This man is talking in riddles. She reaches out and grabs his arm and her body sways as something akin to electricity rushes up her arm. She gasps and he looks down at where her hand is connected with his arm. He looks up at her, sadness in his eyes.