Back To Me

Author: purplemud
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimers: I don't own Roswell. Gah! What a depressing thought that is!
Summary: Tag to Who Died and Made you King
Author's note: Wrote the fic based on a spoiler, without having seen the episode, so there are some changes/scenes that didn't actually happened on the show.

He was right. The realization hit her so hard; she was surprised that it didn't knock her down. When he said those words to her she had felt as though he had struck her physically. He had every reason to be mad at her, to hate her.

She walked the dark deserted street of Roswell, New Mexico. She didn't know where to go. She was tired and her feet hurt but she couldn't just stay in one place. She had to do something. She had to think. She needed to stop thinking. She needed to stop feeling altogether. Maybe that would make things easier for her.

Max had gotten his birth-right back. Jesse was safe, Michael was back to his old-self, the glowing "V" thing now gone in his chest. She should at least feel happy for that fact. It meant that whatever alien take-over that had gotten into Michael was now over.

But still she couldn't help but feel defeated, like every event that happened had been a physical blow to her. There were still bruises on her wrists, on the palm of her hands. She had put ice over them for the whole night, but they never faded as if it would stay on her skin for a long time to remind her of that night.

The way he had roughly pushed her out of the car stayed with her, she relieved it over and over again - making it seem less real, but she could remember every little detail. The way the red Jetta gleamed in the night, with the street light throwing the color red haphazardly unto the street. How quiet that night was, she mused, like it was just waiting for that anger - Michael's anger to just explode. She remembered the way Michael's eyes had been. So hard and cold and angry. But still, there was the pain in there too. In his voice, in the way he had held her stare, everything about him reeked of pain.

And she knew that she caused that pain. That she had wounded him worst than anyone had ever had. Probably worst than Hank and she had to bite down the sudden urge to stop and sob right here, on the exact spot she was standing on.

She hadn't meant to hurt him. Hadn't meant to make him feel that way. But she suddenly realized that being with Michael limited her. She barely lived, there were so many things that she wanted to do and she couldn't. Giving up on her dreams without a fight was something that she didn't want to do. It just wasn't her.

She just needed some time to be herself again, to be away from all the alien crap. It had begun to smother her and she needed to breathe. It was the situation that they seem to be perpetually stuck in that was limiting her. Not Michael. Not their relationship and certainly not the way she felt about him. Because what they have together was the one thing better than her dreams. It was her reality. Michael was her reality.

She wished she had told him that when she had said goodbye.

She didn't know that he felt that way, that he had thought that it was him who was smothering her. She thought - she had hoped that he understood.

Maybe she was just selfish.

He stayed for her. It was the first time he had ever told her this, his voice accusing, anguished as if she had betrayed her and maybe, in a way she did. Maybe she deserved to be thrown out of the car, maybe she deserved more and worse. She hugged herself and still felt so cold. He was right. He was so fucking right and he had only told her that night. Or most probably, she just wasn't listening the first time he had told her.

You never listen! I stayed in this planet for you!

No! I loved you!

Loved you. Ha, what a great big fat lie that was. She still loves him. Would probably continue to love him for the rest of her life. Up until the very last moment that she could remember his name, his eyes, his lips, his hands. There was no way she could ever bring herself to forget anything about Michael Guerin. He was tattooed in her skin and flesh and bones. She shook her head, no deeper than that... Michael Guerin was tattooed on her very soul. Permanently. And she had lied to him again. Told him that she loved him - past tense. Liar! She was such a liar! She wondered how Michael felt after hearing that. He probably hated her even more.

She bit back an angry sob and started walking briskly, she had to get away. She had to get away from all of these

She took a step and staggered, almost willing to let herself fall into the hard pavement. Her hand clawed the air, but there was nothing to hold on to, nothing to break her fall and just when she had closed her eyes all but ready to crumple down on the ground someone grabbed her and pulled her upright.

She knew immediately who it was. Michael. God, she knew him so well. She didn't know how to explain, she just knew his touch, his smell, his breath. It scared her, it excited her. It made her feel so alive and confused at the same time. All of her senses burned from his smell, his touch, his strength.

He steadied her. She didn't look at him; instead she bowed her head, letting her hair cover her face. What was there to see? Guilt? Pain? Shame? A little of each of those emotions? Worse, maybe there was nothing to see in her eyes anymore. Blank and empty.

He didn't say anything. That surprised her. She was half waiting for him to say something... anything at all to her. Some cruel comment on how weak she, was that she was such a cliché, blond, dumb and clumsy. But all she could hear was their mingled breaths. Had they finally ran out of words to say, after all, he had told her what he really felt that night hadn't he?

His arms were around her waist. She stared blankly at his chest and noticed the prints on his shirt. Thin endless dark blue lines. Her arms hung limp and lose by her side. He had her trapped, but she wasn't going anywhere at all. She was tired of running. Of trying to hide from him and her feelings.

She felt him loosen his grip on her and just when she thought that she would be free to bolt from his hold, his hand found her wrist and brought it up. She still hadn't looked at him. She heard his sharp intake of breath and realized that he was probably seeing the little cuts and the bruises on her palm.

She tried to wrench her hands from his grasp, but he held on firmly. She used her arms to push him away from her, still not looking at him. Her resistance was useless. He had her and he wasn't going to let her go. And for the first time, Maria felt that she could be honest with her self. She didn't want him to let go either.

"Look at me." It was a command and Maria knew Michael well enough to know that when he used that tone of voice there was no way that she can ignore it. She looked at him straight in the eyes.

Oh God. Such sad eyes. She had never seen him like this before. "I-I'm..." She stammered for a while. "I'm sorry Michael." She whispered softly, this time admitting defeat and letting her tears fall. Her chest heaved with the silent sobs she was trying to contain within her. What was there to cry about? She wasn't the one who had been betrayed. She swallowed hard and tried to get back at staring at Michael's shirt when she felt his arms going around her waist again. Trapping her again. And he was so very warm. She shivered.

"Did it hurt?" He asked his voice low.

She shook her head. "I thought - I...You hate me...I'm sorry." She apologized again. This time, she was successful in wriggling her way out of Michael's embrace. She immediately felt so small standing next to him. And yet, she has his heart on her palm.

"You hurt me a lot, Maria." There was no hint of accusation in his voice. Only sadness. So infinite, so poignant...

"I'm..." She started to apologize again. She'd apologize all her life and she would still be ready to face the coldness of his un-acceptance, after all, he has every right to feel hurt and betrayed and angry. In fact, she wondered when he would start shouting at her again.

"Don't." He said it with a quiet force that made her look up at him again. "Stop. I don't want to hear it."

"I know." She managed to say nodding her head sadly.

"What I want to hear is..." He paused for breath, as if afraid of what he would say. And then, "Come back to me."

She frowned. At first too afraid to let the word sink in. But when it did, it felt as though he was pushing her off the car again and she was falling and she was so sure that she would hit the pavement this time. Blood rushed to her face. She looked at him again. There was no trace of pleading in his voice, in his tone. It was so plain and simple to him. Come back to me. Period. No ifs, no buts.

Come back to me. To us. Like the way we were before. Let me love you. I need you.

He said all these with just those words and suddenly it was like her heart breaking all over again, too small to hold the happiness and joy. She couldn't breathe.

She swallowed hard and then leaned her forehead on his chest. She could feel and hear the pounding of his heart. It was so fast and loud. She took deep lungful of air. Her breathing grew noisy and Michael began to worry.

He let his chin graze her head, the smell of her...Maria, assaulting his senses. He was near her again, near enough to feel the erratic beating of her heart. He felt the hot wet tears that were beginning to soak his shirt. "Maria..." He winced at the sound of her name. It was like another name for pain, for suffering and she must have heard the way he said it because suddenly his shirt was now crumpled in her balled up fist and she clung to him. He held her tightly.

"Take me back, please."

He heard her say these words. There was a pause and he suddenly roared with laughter, hugging her tighter, crushing her to him, if he could will it so, he would absorb her into him that way she would never escape him again. But she pulled away from him and he let her. Her confused face was marred with pain and yet, there, back on her green eyes, was the mischievous glint.

"Stupid human girl." He berated her. And he bent down, caught her by surprise, her mouth slightly opened and he kissed her. Hungrily. A man deprived of his life source for such a long time. He pulled her up to him, almost lifting her off the ground and she was kissing him back and blood rushed into every vein in his body, making him throb and ache at the same time.

Maria. Maria. Maria.

She pulled back, but he followed her eagerly, capturing her lips again, wanting to be soft and wanting to bruise her at the same time. Kiss her as hard as he could.

"Oxygen" he heard her mumbled and he grinned, the sudden joy filling him up. He let her back on the ground and watched quietly as she took in large gulps of air, her cheeks flushed.

"Is that a yes?" She asked after a moment. She looked up at him, there was still that sad smile on her face and he kissed her lips sweetly.

"What do you think?" He asked raising an eyebrow.

She sighed and then looked at the ground and then back to him. "Why?"

"Because I stayed in this planet for you. Because you're my home. Because I love you. There are a lot more reasons, but these are the ones that I think would clinch it." He said seriously.

Maria sighed and then surprising him, she grabbed him and kissed her, a woman deprived of her life source for so long. She pulled away again, "I'd like to hear the whole list Spaceboy." She said.

Michael smiled. "You would. Later. But for now..." And he leaned down to capture her lips again.

"You should've thrown me out of the car a week after we broke up..." Maria said kissing Michael on his chin, and then on his neck, trailing wet wonderful sweet kisses upwards to the corner of his mouth and back to his cheeks again.

"I should've." Michael agreed, doing the same thing. He kissed her deeply, finally carrying her off the ground swallowing the giggles that escaped her lips.


Notes: Ah, the last of my old fics. And erm, that's it. I hope that you enjoyed reading this. Anyway, as always, I would appreciate any feedbacks, positive or negative. Thanks!