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A pounding headache and racing thoughts push Michael out the door and to the edge of the desert, where it’s just him, a sliver of moon and the sound of his own rapid breathing.
Inside; drugged and shackled, is a man – no, another alien, one of his own kind – that he’d trusted to care for his sister. He’s failed again – spectacularly this time. Failed to recognize the enemy in their midst. Failed to protect his family.
Yep, that’s him: Micheal Guerin; genius fuck-up. Too busy being a wanna-be astronaut playing at building a spaceship to see the threat right in front of him. Too stupid wasting time pining over a lost love. Out of nowhere he’s hit by a craving for whisky and acetone so fierce it doubles him over. With his hands on his knees he spits out bile and fights the urge to just lie down right here and be done with it all. Apparently, he won’t get that chance. Familiar footsteps approach from behind. Exhausted, he reaches deep to gather the few remaining shreds of his battered pride. By the time Max is beside him, holding out a cold beer, a reasonable facsimile of the jaded cowboy persona is back in place. It’s worse for wear, but it’s all he’s got right now.
“Thought you could use this,” Max says as he hands the bottle over.
Michael takes it and drinks deeply. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glances sideways to meet Max’s shell-shocked gaze and the two of them stare at each other in the dim moonlight for a long time before both speak at once.
“I can’t believe--”
“How the hell didn’t we know—"
The words get stuck in Michael’s throat and he shrugs. Equally at a loss, Max shakes his head and turns back to look out into the desert.
Michael squeezes his eyes shut tightly, hoping that when he opens them again he’ll wake up from this nightmare. But he knows better. When has he ever been that lucky? Like all the other crap he’s gone through, the current shit show is all too real and there’s no end in sight. So fucking sue him if right now if he Just. Can’t. Deal. He takes a huge breath, puts on his trademark smirk and aims a beer-bottle toast in Max’s direction, drawling, “That’s some girlfriend you’ve got there.”
Confused, Max whips his head around, eyes narrowed and scowling. Michael raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Hey, I’m just saying, whatever I might have thought in the past about Liz Ortecho, I take it back. That was one badass rescue she pulled off tonight,” Michael says with a wink.
After a second, Max visibly relaxes. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a grin as he pictures a grease-smudged Liz in her formal dress and heels looking down at them in the bunker. His grin ramps up into a full-fledged smile and Michael grins back at him, feeling the heaviness in his heart easing the tiniest bit, knowing he’s momentarily distracted his brother.
“Yeah, she’s something,” Max says with feeling.
“You’re a lucky man,” Michael agrees, with a faraway look in his eyes.
“After everything she’s been through tonight, she was most pissed about ruining her manicure,” Max marvels, shaking his head in awe of his girl. He’s expecting the usual sarcastic reply from Michael, but his brother has gone quiet.
Michael feels his body go cold. No. Now is not the time to think of Alex. But against his will he’s drowning in a wave of anguished longing. He can see the chipped black nails of the boy who touched him so tenderly. Can almost feel the grown man’s hands buried in the curls at the back of his neck in a moment of passion. But Alex is gone again, taking any hope he had of a future and a home along with him. And Michael, Isobel and Max will likely have to flee this place and never look back.
From somewhere outside the chaos in his brain he hears Max calling to him softly, “Michael? You okay?”
Words are beyond him. He’s never been less OK, but he manages a barely perceptible nod.
“We should get back,” Max says in a weary voice. “They’re waiting for us. Gotta figure out our next move.”
There’s a long pause as Michael scans the constellations overhead, blinking back tears as he searches for answers he knows he won’t find there.
“We need you, Michael.”
Tears spill over and run down his face. He turns to follow Max, the bitter taste of salt on his lips.
~ end ~