Anna begins [3]

Author: Anne M.
e-mail: annemccartney@juno.com
category: M/L
rating: PG13
disclaimer: I don't own Roswell or any of the characters. I have no
affiliation with the WB television network or the author, Melinda Metz.
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Author's Note: Lyrics, Vanessa Williams, "Best for Last."
************************************

Sometimes the Sun goes round the Moon.
Sometimes the snow comes down in June.

Liz stood, nervously bouncing Anna from one hip to the other, as she
waited for admittance to the small office just off this hallway. She'd
only been inside that room one other time before today. It had been
four
months ago. Four very long months. Anna started to squirm as her
mother's anxiousness began to filter through to her tiny nervous
system.
As Liz noticed the change in Anna, she quickly forced herself to calm
down. Losing control would not accomplish anything. Instinctively,
she
knew she would get no where that way. She had to be strong. She had
to
do this . . . for his sake.

The door opened and a disembodied voice extended an invitation for her
to
enter. Standing on legs that slightly shook, Liz straightened her
spine, shifted Anna one more time, and forged ahead.

The room was so bright it hurt her eyes until they adjusted. After a
few
moment's discomfort, she was able to see the two people responsible for
deciding her future . . . and Anna's.
Liz sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Anna hadn't started to wail
when the light hit her eyes, but then again . . . maybe her eyes didn't
hurt . . .

Two voices in unison addressed her, causing her to start just a bit.
Try as she might, she would never get used to that. Two different
people
speaking the same words at exactly the same time, all the time. It was
.
. . disconcerting, even after four months . . .

"What is it that brings you here today?"

Liz: (closing her eyes and taking hold of more than just courage with
both hands) "I've seen him."

"Of course, you have. That's what you wanted. We tried to tell you
that
it wasn't good. You insisted."

Liz: (eyes darkening with the approaching storm of anger) "What else
did you expect me to do?"

"No different, but we had hoped you would eventually change your mind .
.
."

Liz: (feeling very small and very alone here) "I won't ever change my
mind."

"We understand."

Liz: "Do you?" "Do you understand anything?" "Do you understand that
he's miserable?" "Do you understand that he's barely living?" "Do you
understand that he hasn't moved on like you promised he would?"

"It will take more time."

Liz: "That's ridiculous!"

Time passed audibly as she waited for a response . . . her heartbeat
marked off the moments sounding loudly in her ears . . .

"What is it you want from us?"

Liz looked at Anna and knew she was going to risk whatever it took to
get
her back to her dad. He needed her . . .

Liz: (quietly) "Send us back."

"Impossible."

Liz: "Why?" . . . "You brought me here. You can send me back."

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment before turning
back
to her with matching sympathetic expressions.

"We are sorry for your suffering, but you would have died had we left
you
there, and your presence here is invaluable to us. We need more time
to
study Anna and monitor your condition. You must understand. You are
the
first human to have a baby by our race. We must know everything."

Liz: (exasperated) "How long do you plan to *study* us? It's been
four
months!"

"Four months is nothing. We need to study Anna for a lifetime in order
to learn all that we need. Your planet, your race, may be the key to
our
survival. Without you, we face imminent extinction."

Liz: (mind focusing and sharpening as their words penetrated) "So, I
am
no longer here because I have to be in order to survive, but because
you
*need* to study us." "Is that right?"

A moment of silence passed . . .

"Not entirely."

Liz: "Meaning?"

"We are not certain of your ability to survive were you to return. It
is
possible, but we have no way of knowing what would happen to you
without
the care you have received here."

Liz: (distracted for a moment by Anna who had fallen asleep, began
rocking her gently) "Please don't misunderstand me. I'm grateful for
all that you did for me. For us. I am. I just know that I have to go
back. I am needed there . . . "

"Are you so unhappy here?"

Liz: (searching for the words to explain) "No. It's just that I
can't
ever be a whole person without him. I'll never move beyond this point
in
my life and neither will he."

Liz searched their faces with pleading eyes that begged them to
understand what she couldn't explain herself.

"Please go back outside for a few minutes. We'll call you in when
we've
reached a decision."

Liz wanted to argue and scream and try harder to make them understand,
but she knew there was no point. Turning, she fled the room, tears
pouring down her face as she went. She'd held them back as long as
she
could. Control be damned. This was her life. Anna's life. Max's
life.
Why couldn't they understand?

The hallway was cold and empty as she stood outside the door. If
they
wouldn't let her go they surely wouldn't let Anna. Liz tried to think
about leaving Anna behind and going back alone, but that would be like
cutting out her own heart and trying to live as if it were still there.
The only solution was for them to both return together.

Her arms began to ache from holding Anna in a comfortable position so
she
could sleep. Just when she thought she might slide down the wall and
sit
on the floor, the door opened once more.

No invitation was issued this time, but she stepped through the opening
and across the threshold into the chamber that held the key to her
survival.

Walking steadily forward, she noticed that the light in the room was
significantly dimmer than it had been before. How long had she been
standing outside?

She began to wonder if she should say something as the silence
stretched
out . . .

"You may return tonight."

Liz: (letting out the breath she didn't even know she'd been holding)
"And Anna?"

"Unfortunately, she must remain with you, and we cannot keep you here
against your will."

Liz: (confused) "So, what? It's just like 'beam me up, Scotty,' and
poof, I'm back?"

"Who is Scotty?" The two looked at each other in intense confusion
before turning their displeased faces back in her direction.

Liz: (mumbling) "Never mind."

"You will return the same way that you came to us. You must pass Anna
through to her father before you can go yourself. We cannot guarantee
your health once you leave here. Do you understand?"

Liz: (quietly) "Yes. I understand."

"We would be very pleased if you would agree to return at a prescribed
interval, so that we may monitor your progress and Anna's."

Liz: "How long would we have to be here?"

They even sighed in unison.

"Not long. We will keep the visits to the minimum time required to
gather the information we need."

Liz: "All right, on one condition."

"What is it?"

Liz: "You must let Max come with us."

"Done." . . . "Thank you."

Liz: (hardly able to believe that she'd won her case) "No. Thank
you."

-----------------------------------------------

Max wandered around the empty apartment for the seventh night in a row.
At first, he had been grateful for the solitude, but now he just wished
the others would return from their hiatus in Florida. He didn't even
know it was possible to feel this alone.

Dinner was so eerily quiet that he wasn't really sure why he had
bothered
with it. He didn't care if he ever ate again. Hunger was a sensation
he
was no longer capable of. He washed the single plate and dried and put
it away, before turning out the lights and heading for the bedroom.

Pausing in the doorway as he did every night, he felt the familiar rise
of panic coupled with anticipation as his eyes fell on "the wall."

What in the world would he ever do if the visions stopped coming?
Shoving the thought as far away from his conscious as possible, he
glanced at the bed and didn't feel tired. The bathroom was the next
stop
for his weary gaze, but he didn't want to take a shower. He felt so
strange tonight. Nervous. Adrenaline flooded his system with no
apparent cause. Instantly alert, he made his way throughout the entire
apartment finding nothing out of the ordinary. Standing by the front
door, he made up his mind to get out for a while. Maybe a walk would
help . . .

-----------------------------------------

Walking turned into running. Five miles later, Max returned home, and
had managed to work off the worst of the anxiety that had driven him
out
the door in the first place. His skin still felt much too tight, but
his
breathing no longer resembled panting. Locking the front door, he let
his forehead drop against it and closed his eyes. No matter how often
or
under what circumstances, every time he walked through this door, pain
rolled over him in waves. Moving through the crippling force and away
from the door, he approached the bedroom for the second time that
evening. Standing in the doorway, he felt nothing. No anxiety, no
panic, nothing . . . except the ever-present sense of loss . . .

The bathroom held no mysteries, either. The same toothbrush hung in
the
same holder, beside the other one that hadn't been used in four months.
The water still ran, the mirror still mocked. The hamper still held
the
dirty clothes. Her soap and lotion and shampoo still filled up every
available space in the tiny bit allotted. The shower had felt
marginally
warmer than the luke warm he'd gotten used to in the past few months.
Other than that, nothing seemed different, but yet . . .

As he stepped into the bedroom, the numbers on the clock seeked to
remind
him of the time drawing closer . . . not that he needed the clock to
know. He could feel it with or without the device.

Slipping in between cool sheets, he was acutely aware of the smallest
elements that made up his physical being. His nerves felt as if the
skin
that normally covered them had gone on vacation without the rest of the
body. Vaguely, he thought about worrying over his condition, but
decided
it was a waste of time. Who could tell all the different ways that
grief
could affect a person? Especially a person who wasn't even human.

Midnight came and went, leaving Max in a torrent of confusion. He
could
feel the same sensation he'd felt every night as the vision approached,
but yet, it hadn't come. Sitting up in the bed, he fought panic
ruthlessly, refusing to give in. Something strange had been happening
all night. If he gave in to despair he might miss something important.

Taking deep breaths, Max forced himself to lie back on the bed once
more,
and concentrated on not going quietly insane. The minutes dragged by
with a measure of cruelty that only a clock could deliver.

At 26 minutes and 39 seconds past midnight, Max was delivered from the
private hell of wondering whether or not he would be given one more
night
. . . to see them, to fill a heart so terribly empty with just enough
to
make it through one more day . . .

The light glowed, but this time, he felt the warmth of that glow on his
skin . . . just like that very first night. Like no night since then .
.
.

He sat up again and watched carefully, but there was nothing there this
time . . . nothing but light . . .

He waited in a vacuum of agony . . . and waited . . . and waited . . .

He watched that light so long that he began to imagine that he saw Liz
and Anna only to find a moment later that they weren't really there at
all . . . .

And, then, suddenly, she was there. The reality this time. Or, at
least, as real as an image could be . . .

She stood just at the edges, just like before. Anna's eyes mirrored
her
mother's. So similar . . . almost identical . . .

Max got up and walked toward them having no idea what was happening . .
.

As he moved up close to the surface of the projection, Liz smiled as if
he'd just come into her field of vision . . .

As they stared at each other across light years, and impossibilities,
Liz
kissed Anna and held her out towards Max. He could just barely make
his
arms move to reach for her, not believing this could be happening.

As Anna, crossed without incident from one dimension to another, the
light years became mere inches and the impossibilities became a world
of
opportunity . . .

Max held Anna close to him, aware on every level of her warmth, her
heartbeat, her scent . . .

But, what did this mean? Focusing on Liz's face again, his must've
been
full of questions, because her eyes filled with tears. Even over this
distance, she could still feel his emotions . . .

She drew herself up and took a deep breath, quickly swiping away the
tears, knowing there was no way to explain to him what was about to
happen. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner they might have
a
chance . . .

Liz retreated and eventually disappeared altogether.

Stepping back from the periphery, the light began to fade, and Max
wondered how his shattered heart could break anymore than it already
had
. . .

Stepping backward on leaden feet, he felt the edge of the bed behind
his
knees and sank down on it. His chest heaved as the struggle to breathe
continued.

Anna started to cry, pulling Max together faster than anything else
could
have. He automatically responded to her distress, comforting them both
in the process. As he stared at her, he felt recognition of him trip
across her awareness. They were connected to each other . . . just
like
he was with Liz. He was so profoundly grateful for her presence in his
life again that his attention was completely absorbed by her.

A warm hand slid atop his shoulder from directly behind him, and Max
closed his eyes, afraid that he was making up the sensation of that
hand,
and that if he looked, no one would be there . . . but, he could feel
her presence in the room with or without her touch.

Frozen between fear of the limitations of the known world and the
possibilities that only existed in the unknown, Max sat motionless . .
.

Liz: "Max . . . "

Hearing her voice released him from the boundaries that supported his
beliefs about life . . . and death. Turning slowly, he saw Liz. Not
the
projected image, but the flesh and blood, very much alive, woman.

Sometimes the Sun goes round the Moon.
Sometimes the snow comes down in June.
Just when I thought our chance had passed,
You went and saved the best for last . . .

Taking Anna gently from him, she laid her down in her bed that was
still
right where it had been the night she'd left. Once in her bed, she
promptly fell asleep.

Liz turned back towards Max who had yet to say a single word . . .

Knowing there was much too much to try to explain in words, she stood
in
front of him, raising her hands to his face, and flooding his mind with
her memories of the time they'd been apart.

Max's arms automatically wrapped around her hips, without even one
conscious thought. His mind was completely centered on the details of
Liz's life for the past four months. He could barely believe what he
was
seeing, . . . understanding.

His home. A planet so far away his mind could not even begin to grasp
how she could possibly be here, when she had just been there not even a
1/2 hour ago. His home. No. Not his home. Not anymore. Home was
wherever Liz and Anna were.

Finally, able to speak, Max pulled her close, burying his face in her
now
flat stomach.

Max: "You'll have to go back?"

Liz: "Yes, but they assured me that they would bring all of us
together
next time."

Max: (looking up into her face) "You mean . . . .?"

Liz: "Yes. You will be going home, Max."

Max: (quietly) "No. That's not right. I'm grateful for what they
did
for you, but this is my home now. . . . God, I missed you, Liz."

Helpless tears consumed them both as they struggled to accept all that
challenged the very foundation of the reality they'd always believed
in.
Assurance came through touch, and hearts that had been broken beyond
repair were knitted back together and restored but not the same. Never
the same again. Now they understood both sides. The love . . . and
the
loss . . .

---------------------------------------

Anna awoke at 5 the next morning in her usual fashion, fully alert and
quite hungry. Max padded around the bed to the crib and greeted his
daughter with a smile for the first time since her birth. As he
climbed
back in the bed with her, he felt close to tears again and wondered if
it
would ever stop. She was so beautiful, and he loved her more than he
thought was possible . . .

Liz held out her arms and Max handed Anna to her, reminiscent of
another
time, but that memory would soon fade, taking the pain with it. It
would
be replaced by new memories . . . just like today . . .

Two hours later, the Evan's household was invaded by four weary
travellers and their luggage without so much as a knock on the front
door. Isabel called out for Max in an almost frantic tone of voice,
having left Florida in an almighty rush because she just knew something
was horribly wrong with him. Running to the bedroom door, she halted
dead in her tracks at the scene that met her eyes. Alex, Michael, and
Maria all bumped into one another at Isabel's sudden stop and wondered
what was happening.

Isabel stepped inside and to the right so the other's could enter and
the
four of them stood staring at the sleeping family where there had been
none.

Isabel turned to Alex and held him as if her life depended on his
presence, . . . and maybe it did. Sanity wasn't something that should
ever be taken for granted because she definitely felt it slipping away
.
. .

Maria looked at Michael and picked up his hand, staring at it in wonder
as the implications of Liz's return filled her mind, bringing the
differences between them into sharp focus. Not that she cared, but she
felt a little in awe of him at the moment. Wandering to the side of
the
bed, Maria brushed the hair away from Liz's face and kissed Anna
quietly
before moving back out of the room.

All four of them made their way to the living room quietly. Sitting
together in shock, they alternately cried and were silent. They drew
strength and comfort from one another, but also from the knowledge that
the circle had been restored. The bond between the six of them flowed
so
powerfully in the small apartment that it was almost visible. They
held
each other and settled in to wait . . . for the answers that were sure
to
come . . . and the reunion that was sure to heal.

The End