Winter Solstice (Roswell Fanfiction)

Winter Solstice, Part Two

CHAPTER TWO

The sun has almost set now in our apartment living room, and images flash through my mind…Liz’s mind, as time ceases to exist. She still cups my face loosely within her palms, as I bury my cheek against her pillow, nuzzling close as she opens herself like this, sharing her memories with me. One final, precious gift.

Our interchange in the Crashdown gives way to her date with the blonde-haired boy, the one who brought her back to the restaurant much later that same evening. And I see it all through her vision, even though her mind is shadowing my own thoughts.

Quicksilver memories, senseless and imagistic, they layer one upon another.

And then the seamless rhythm stills, and Liz is simply standing outside the Crashdown, fumbling with her key, because it’s late and the restaurant is closed for the night. She’s wearing that gorgeous flowered sundress, and one of the spaghetti straps has slipped off her shoulder. 

She looks up and presses her face close to the glass, because surely her eyes are playing tricks. Surely that can’t be Michael Guerin sitting there at the counter; he can’t possibly be waiting up for her, well onto midnight. Her heartbeat quickens, and her hands shake so badly, she can’t even get the key in the lock for a long moment.

But it is Michael Guerin. I know, because it was the longest damn night of my life, sitting on that barstool and wondering if the date would mean anything to her--or if I’d missed my chance with Liz Parker, once and for all.

And as she turns the key in the lock, I’m in Liz’s mind once again, her thoughts perfectly melded with my own; no differentiation or boundaries--just the two of us, like this in the near-darkness, as she cups my face firmly within her palms again.

****

Slowly, I enter the café, my strappy pink sandals dangling from my fingers, as I walk barefoot over the smooth, cool floor of the Crashdown. The tiles feel clean beneath the soles of my feet, chilled by the air conditioning that’s still running full-blast, even this late at night. My dad would kill Michael for setting the thermostat this low after hours, I think, as I pad quietly toward him. 

I know Michael hears me, yet he just stares down at his open newspaper, pencil poised between his fingers. “Crossword?” I finally ask, as I drop my sandals onto the counter beside him. He glances at them strangely, as if they’re something foreign and unanticipated. 

“Yeah, guess.”

“Well, I think that might be a general yes or no question, Michael,” I tease, leaning my elbows onto the counter. For some reason he seems like a mountain sitting up on that stool beside me, especially since I’m only barefoot. It reminds me of seventh grade, how I’d feel after taking my skates off at the end of the night at the roller rink. I’d always felt instantly tiny, dwarfed as I did now.

“I was just kinda looking at it,” he explains, folding the paper shut. He steals a sideways glance at me, and I smile encouragingly, even though my heartbeat quickens insanely.

“The date was a bust,” I offer gingerly, and I see his features visibly relax. “He’s way uptight,” I laugh a moment. “Of course, human boys are pretty boring at this point. I think I prefer the alien ones.”

Michael turns on the stool toward me, and for a moment it seems he’ll say something. Then he just closes his mouth again, running a weary hand over his eyes.

“What?” I press him, touching him lightly on the arm. Like earlier, I feel a little shimmer of energy beneath my fingertips. 

He stares at me a long moment, silent, assessing and I force myself not to flinch, despite the way something strange seems to coil tightly within my abdomen. Something I’ve never felt before, not even with Max.