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we’re all lonely together

A/N: for the Crashfest exchange at @roswellprompts, I got @queersirius‘s prompt of ‘anything revolving around the liz/maria/alex friendship. I ... may have gone a bit overboard in my excitement. this fic has been a true labor of love (emphasis on the labor because good gracious, the timeline for this show is NOT EASY TO FOLLOW) but I’m excited to share it. Millie, I hope it’s at least a little like what you wanted, & that you enjoy! You deserve all sorts of wonderful things for the fabulous contributions you make to this fandom -- your rec list & your fics are things that we all look forward to.

as usual, thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for being a second pair of eyes, putting up with my whining when i got lost in the timeline & my own head. additional thanks to @hannah-writes for letting me talk out some of my frustration & reminding me that i have, actually, finished a fic before, haha.

September, 1997:

Alex’s family moves to Roswell, New Mexico -- or back to Roswell, as his father is so fond of repeating, because that’s where the Manes men belong -- when he’s seven and going into the third grade. He’s lived here before, even in the same house, but nothing feels the same without his mom. There’s no home without her, and despite the boys all being packed in, two to a room, the place feels empty. And it is, at least of all the things that matter. There’s no affection anymore, except maybe when Harlan gets leave and comes home to see his brothers. Jesse Manes spends most of his time away from the house, usually with Jim Valenti or another man who whispers with him in corners and stops talking quickly when Alex walks into the room. It’s weird, but Alex is seven, and all he cares about is that his mom is gone, and he misses her.

School has already been in session for three weeks, and he hates being the new kid. He hates the way the other students all stare at him, especially in these small towns, and even avoids Kyle Valenti’s hopeful smile when he walks in. They were friends, once, before the Manes’ left Roswell for Jesse’s last station, and Sheriff Valenti’s made it clear that his son is happy to have Alex back. But Alex isn’t the same kid anymore, even at seven. In the short three years he’s been getting a public education, he has been to no less than five different schools. He’s given up trying to make friends, because what good is it when he’s just going to be somewhere else in a few months -- and even if he doesn’t, what’s to stop the other person from leaving? If his own mom could take off without telling anyone, anyone can, and Alex isn’t going to give them the chance. So he doesn’t smile, doesn’t answer any of the questions from the other kids about what it’s like to have a dad in the military, and does the work that’s put in front of him when the teacher insists.

The first two weeks are the worst. Alex ignores his classmates and his teacher, when he can get away with it, and glares at anyone who tries to penetrate the personal space boundaries he’s careful to cultivate. He mumbles answers to his brother Flint when he asks how school is going, and stands, spine rigid, while his father screams at him about responsibility, maturity, and his legacy when Alex kicks a boy on the playground for calling him a name and the principal calls home. Some part of him knows he should be ashamed of himself, but at least his father is looking at him while he’s yelling -- and any attention is the good kind, when his mom’s not around and he’s so lonely he wants to cry with the weight of it. He’s tired of being the easy-going youngest brother, he’s tired of moving and losing his friends, and he wants his mom back. How’s he supposed to just pretend everything’s fine when she’s not there?

Jesse Manes doesn’t see the sadness Alex is hiding, and if his brothers do, they don’t make any effort to help. Alex knows they’re all missing their mother in their own ways, but even so, he wishes just one of them would actually say something -- even just her name. He’s the only one who does, probably because he’s the only one who hasn’t yet seen what his father is capable of. That’s how he learns, though. He calls for her at night, in tears, and his father’s only response is to backhand him.

It’s two days later, when Alex is sitting alone on the playground under the jungle gym, that he meets Maria DeLuca for the first time. He’s expecting yet another question about living overseas, or what it’s like to have a dad who’s a war hero, but Maria isn’t anything like what he’d come to expect from the kids in his class. Instead, she plops down next to him, her bright pink pants getting covered in dirt and woodchips from the playground, and points up at the sky. “Did you know that those fluffy clouds are called cumulus clouds?” she asks, squinting against the sunlight. “I think that’s stupid, because they look like marshmallows, but Mr. Fintz keeps taking points off of my science tests when I write that they’re marshmallow clouds.”

Alex stares at the girl for a long moment, but his arms unfold from across his chest, and he tips his head back to look up at the clouds in question. She’s right -- they do sort of look like marshmallows, now that he’s thinking about it. “I don’t think science is supposed to make sense,” he says finally, because the girl doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere, and being mean to her when she’s only being nice would make him feel bad. “Otherwise, why would Ms. Simmons do that stupid dance to teach the water cycle?”

The girl laughs at that, and nods her agreement. It makes the braids on top of her head rattle, the tiny, multi-colored barrettes at the end of each one striking each other. “I’m Maria DeLuca,” she tells him proudly, her chin raised a little, like she’s expecting a smart comment about her name. Something deep inside of Alex recognizes a kindred spirit -- Maria is used to being the outsider, used to people teasing her or instantly recognizing her family name, just like him.

So Alex just nods, and even smiles a little. “I’m Alex,” he tells her, and it feels strange, to be nice to someone after so long of acting belligerently at school, but the grin on Maria’s face makes it easier.

“I already know who you are, Alex Manes,” she says, though he hasn’t said a word about his last name, and her knowledge takes him a little by surprise. “And no, no one told me. I’m a psychic. I just know things, sometimes.” Again, there’s that slight lift of her chin, a hint of challenge gleaming in her dark eyes, and Alex swallows the laugh that had been threatening at her proclamation.

“You just … know things,” he repeats slowly, trying not to sound too skeptical. Alex likes to read about people with psychic powers, like Professor X in his favorite Marvel comics, but he also knows that real people can’t read minds, and Maria is as real as he is. “Like my name?”

Maria nods seriously. “Yeah. And that you’re sad, and you need a friend who you can’t scare off.”

Alex isn’t sure if this girl is making fun of him or not. It’s hard to tell, when she’s so smiley and nice, but the things she’s saying don’t make any sense. “I’m not sad,” he insists too quickly, his gaze darting to the other students playing just a few feet away who might overhear. “I’m not!”

“Sitting by you makes me sad,” Maria tells him quietly, and takes his hand before Alex can even think of pulling away. It’s the first time someone’s touched him with good intentions in a long time, and he can’t help but stare down at that hand in his, trying to figure out why this girl is so determined to talk to him. She’s not even in his class, she doesn’t really know him -- but she’s right, about the way he feels and that he’s lonely, and could use a friend. He’s been thinking that way for a couple of days now, but he’s done enough damage with his classmates that none of them are options. Alex doesn’t believe her psychic story; maybe she heard someone talk about his mom leaving? Or maybe she knows that he’s sad because she feels the same way? But either way, Alex is pretty sure he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings enough for her to give up on him.

“My mom left,” he tells her in a hushed voice, still looking at their entangled hands. “And I miss her.”

The rest, about his brothers and his father, and all of the new schools, will come out later -- it’s impossible to hide for the sort of friend that Maria becomes, the friend that’s never content until she knows of his hurts and does her best to help heal them. Alex isn’t psychic. He doesn’t know, yet, that Maria will become the first person after his mother who feels like home, and he doesn’t realize that letting Maria DeLuca into his life means that he will never face another day of school without an unwavering ally at his side.

Right then, all Alex knows is that holding Maria’s hand makes him feel a lot less alone.

November, 2006:

Liz Ortecho explodes into Alex’s life like an earthquake, shaking the foundations of his rapidly shrinking world in the best way possible. Also like an earthquake, it’s almost inevitable; they’ve circled each other for years, sharing friends and classes but never quite connecting — until one day, after the news that Alex isn’t into girls has spread around the school like wildfire, Maria DeLuca grabs Alex’s wrist and drags him to a table in the cafeteria where the Ortecho sisters are waiting. She’s the only friend that hadn’t turned into a tormentor that year, aside from a few who are more acquaintances than anything, and Alex is ashamed to admit that he’s been clinging to her as his world shifts around him.

There’s no difference in the way Maria treats him, though. They bitch about classes and teachers together and spend their study halls outside in the grass, listening to music on their MP3 players and taking turns introducing each other to new songs. Maria is his staunchest defender until Alex gets his feet under him and starts fighting back against the jocks who seem determined to make his life hell, and Maria’s also the one who buys him his first eyeliner pencil. Sometimes, she drags him to her house after school and they blast My Chemical Romance at top volume and eat junk food until her mom comes home, and then they eat at the table like Alex imagines a real family does. So really, the least Alex can do is eat lunch with Maria’s other friends, who she’s definitely been neglecting in his favor, lately. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know how to take Rosa and her narrow-eyed glares, or Liz and her blunt honesty and wide smiles.

As they approach, Rosa glances up from her lunch tray wearing her usual dark eyeliner and sneer, all but daring anyone else to sit down at the table, and Alex feels his own rebellious spirit rise at the challenge. But as soon as the older girl spots Maria, her face is totally transformed, a genuine, wide smile replacing the scowl in such a way that she’s barely recognizable. Alex blinks in surprise as Maria tugs at a lock of the older girl’s hair and slides onto the bench next to her.

“Where you been, DeLuca?” Rosa asks, sliding something wrapped in a tortilla toward Maria on a napkin. “I should refuse to share my lunch with you until you ‘fess up to ditching me for a guy.” She looks pointedly at Alex, though he’s pretty sure there’s no actual malice in the expression. Still, his grip shifts awkwardly on the strap of his backpack, and he has to force himself not to snap something back defensively. It’s habit, at this point, to step on the people who are trying to do the same to him — but Maria wouldn’t have insisted they come over here if she thought they’d have a problem with him, and Alex isn’t so caught up in his own head that he can’t realize he’s not exactly giving anyone a fair chance, lately.

Liz snorts, and elbows her sister. “Yeah, you’re so nice — I can’t imagine why she’d want to find different friends,” she quips, smiling sunnily up at Alex. “Ignore Rosa,” she tells him, nodding to the empty spot on the bench beside her. “She’s just jealous because you got Mama DeLuca’s ribs the other night while we had to fend for ourselves at home.” He’s never noticed how sunny Liz’s smile is, or how easy it is to return, but he does this time.

“Fair,” Alex replies, lifting his chin. “Missing out on Mimi’s cooking is a pretty good reason to be pissed.” He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have a witty retort or a sarcastic quip at the ready, but Liz just nods emphatically, like she hadn’t expected anything else.

“Right? Papa’s a great cook, but we end up eating at the diner more often than anything else.” She shakes her head in distaste, and gestures at the seat next to her again, this time more firmly. “Maria says you’re into music, and I’m like, desperately in need of some new recommendations. Everything Rosa gives me is depressing.”

“Ai! Ungrateful brat,” Rosa growls at her sister, and tosses a wadded up napkin at her face. “It’s not my fault you’ve got shit taste in music. I’ve tried to educate you.” Liz makes a face and pitches the napkin back across the table, and Alex blinks at the affectionate teasing. He and his brothers certainly never interact like that -- but then again, he’s pretty sure his brothers share their father’s beliefs that Alex is shaming them all by existing.

“Alex, come on,” Maria prompts impatiently, even as she grabs the napkin out of midair before it strikes Liz’s forehead a second time. Rosa complains, but Maria is unaffected as she looks up at Alex and orders him to, “Sit down.” She’s already pulling her paper-bag lunch from her backpack and laughing at Rosa’s muttered comments about the jackass in her Spanish class, clearly expecting Alex to join in. Maria’s been his closest friend for years, and maybe his only one since Kyle Valenti realized that being a bully gained him more popularity than being friends with ‘the gay kid,’ and he loves her — but Maria’s never felt awkward or uncomfortable in a social situation in her life. In her world, there’s no such thing as self-consciousness. She says what’s on her mind, plows into every situation with confidence and that little tilt of her head, and somehow comes out on top of everything.

Alex has never been that lucky, but that day, when Liz Ortecho hands him one of Arturo Ortecho’s famous tamales and begins quizzing him on his knowledge of her favorite bands while Rosa interjects with disparaging comments about his choices and insists he try some of her recommendations, the shifting earth beneath his feet seems just a little steadier. He doesn’t understand it, and doesn’t try to, but Alex leaves the cafeteria that day certain that the tiny family he’s been building for himself has expanded by two.

June, 2008:

Alex climbs the stairs to the roof above the Crashdown slowly, unsure of the situation he’s about to enter. The text he got from Maria had been brief, ordering him to get there with no real explanation, but he can read between the lines pretty well, considering the circumstances. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since Maria called him, her voice breathy with suppressed sobs, and told him about the car accident and the fact that their tiny, patchwork family was down a founding member. He’s been to the Ortecho apartment twice, but Liz hadn’t wanted to see anyone -- in her usual fashion, she’d ignored her own feelings in favor of focusing on her father, on helping in the diner, in making funeral arrangements, and when asked, she’d insisted she was fine. Alex knows better, and so does Maria, but they’d let her get away with it.

Tonight, though, feels different.

The humid summer air breaks over his face as soon as Alex opens the door to the roof, and he has to stop for a moment as memories hit him at the sight of their familiar hang-out. Over there, under the sign, is where Rosa’d given him his first joint and laughed as he inhaled and promptly choked on the smoke. To his left, near the brick barrier at the edge of the rooftop, is where Maria had insisted he close his eyes and let her do his eyeliner, just to see what it would look like. They’d spent nights on the roof in sleeping bags when Alex didn’t want to go home, looking up at the stars and talking about anything and everything, from boys to disappointments to absent parents, and there’s a moment in which Alex isn’t sure that he can do this. He wants to be there for Liz, and for Maria, who’d loved Rosa like her own sister, but his own grief is heavy in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he can figure out how to hide it enough to support them

He was stupid to have worried. As soon as he’s out in the open, Maria catches sight of him and drags him over to the cement blocks that hold the sign up where they’ve most often congregated. Liz is lying out on the top of the roof, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old Third Eye Blind t-shirt that he knows belonged to Rosa. She’s staring straight up at the sky, and doesn’t so much as look in Alex’s direction, even when he stops at her side to look down at her. She’s pale, and her eyes are red-rimmed, but overall she looks much the same as she ever has -- which seems wrong, somehow. The world is completely different without Rosa in it, they’re all different without her, and it seems like their appearances should reflect the monumental internal shift. But Liz, like Alex and Maria, looks the same as always.

“Hi,” Liz says quietly, and pushes herself up into a sitting position. Alex flops down beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders without saying anything, pulling her into his chest for a proper hug before she can speak again. For a startled minute, she says nothing -- just freezes under the affection, and Alex nearly pulls back. Maria catches his eye over Liz’s shoulder, grief making her look older than the eighteen years she’d so recently celebrated, and shakes her head, encouraging him to hold on. She’s right, as usual -- it only takes another second for Liz to turn into him and hide her face, her fingers knotting in the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

“Sorry for ignoring you when you came over, earlier,” she says to his chest. “I just -- I don’t --” Liz’s voice breaks, and she stops trying to explain in favor of swallowing down the sob Alex can hear rising in her throat.

His heart aches, and his own eyes burn as she finally gives into the inevitable. Tears soak through the fabric of Alex’s shirt, and small, quiet sobs shake Liz’s slender frame. Alex glances helplessly at Maria before bending and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of Liz’s head, hugging her tightly all the while. “I understood,” he promises, and holds out an arm for Maria to join the hug on Liz’s other side. The other young woman comes easily, moisture glistening on her cheeks, and they keep Liz safely engulfed in the warmth of two people who love her, who miss Rosa nearly as much as she does. Alex knows that he wished for something like this, when his mom left, and he hopes that he can offer the kind of comfort to Liz that no one was there to give him back then.

“No,” Maria says, long moments and an indeterminable amount of tears later. She sniffs and wipes away the thin lines of melted mascara on her cheeks before pulling away from the cocoon they’d formed around Liz. “This is not what Rosa would want from us, guys. This isn’t how she did things. When she was sad, she didn’t sit around and cry, and if she could see us now, she’d be telling us exactly how pathetic we are.”

Alex readjusts his grip on Liz so they can both watch as Maria moves gracefully across the roof to the short, brick wall that frames the space. Before a question even forms in Alex’s mind, Maria bends down and pulls one of the bricks out of place with the growl of stone on stone. Liz huffs, and when Alex glances down, he sees that she’s smiling sadly as the hiding place is revealed. “You know what we did, the last time your mom took off, Liz? While you were with Kyle, pretending you were fine?” Maria pulls a baggy from the gap the loose brick left, and smirks as she waves it at them to show the two, poorly-rolled joints inside.

“Of course you know where she kept the good stuff,” Liz says with a roll of overbright eyes, and pats Alex’s chest gently before pulling away to join Maria by the wall. “She never let me touch that, not unless it was a really special occasion. She said she didn’t want me to make her mistakes. That I was supposed to be better.”

Her shoulders slump, a bit, and Alex takes that as his cue to join them and insinuate himself in the middle. He drops an arm over each of their shoulders as Maria fishes the joints from the baggy and lights them with a matchbook that had apparently also been stowed behind the loose brick. “Rosa and her hiding places,” Liz finishes with a bemused shake of her head, sadness creeping back into her voice. This time, it’s the sort of grief that’s almost fond, with the promise of one day being able to think of her sister without dissolving into tears or anger with her poor choices, and Alex is proud of Liz for moving forward, for taking that step even though he knows it hurts.

“But if we’re trying to channel our inner Rosa, we need music, too,” Liz says, surprising both of her friends. She’s been silent for most of the last few days, aside from the sobs she’d fought so hard to stifle, but Alex is selfishly relieved she’s coming back to herself. There’s nothing more awful than a still and silent Liz Ortecho, not when she’s meant to be one of the most dynamic people in whatever room she enters. He wouldn’t recognize her without that inner fire that makes her so special, and seeing a bit of it sparkle in her eyes -- a little subdued, but definitely there -- makes it easier to believe that they’re all going to be okay.

A half an hour later finds them all high, with the joint between Maria’s fingers burning low, potent smoke curling from the ends and rising up into the night. At some point, someone had crawled through Liz’s bedroom window and grabbed her boombox, and the Black Crowes were crooning Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby for the fourth or fifth time in a row, because, according to Liz, “I can’t cry during this song. I can’t. Rosa’d never forgive me if I ruined it like that.”

So instead of crying, the three of them dance, hands thrown carelessly in the air and bodies twisting around, Liz’s hair flying around and smacking Alex in the face when he gets too close with his purposefully spastic movements. They’re all graceless with the influence of pot and the sudden lightness of spirit that comes with good music and good friends after escaping, if only temporarily, from beneath a cloud of grief. Alex knows that tomorrow, when they’re all dressed up in their funeral black, standing in front of Rosa’s closed casket, this will all be just a fond memory -- there will be more tears, more fighting, more horrible accusations tossed at the Ortechos by members of the town. They’ll be back to drowning in their grief, and Liz will return to raging against her sister for doing something as stupid as driving under the influence and leaving her alone in the world.

And of course, Alex doesn’t realize yet that this will be the last time he gets to spend any real time with Liz, that he’s lost her almost as completely as he’s lost Rosa, thanks to alien interference and his own bad decisions -- but for that night, Alex allows himself to inhale from the joint in Maria’s hand and lets the music and his friends’ hysterically-tinged laughter carry him away from reality.

March, 2017:

It’s Maria who shows up in Germany after Alex is injured.

He’s been better at keeping in touch with her than others from Roswell, but it’s still been at least four months since they’ve even exchanged a text. He saw her on his last, disastrous trip home to Roswell, but only for an hour before he couldn’t resist Michael Guerin’s unintentional siren’s call and wound up spending the next three days sweaty and sated in the single-bed of his trailer. In retrospect, there’s a good chance Alex wouldn’t have fucked everything up between them quite so spectacularly if he’d just stayed with Maria -- and maybe, he wouldn’t feel guilty now for neglecting their friendship, when she’d clearly dropped everything to fly halfway across the world to be with him when he needed a friend. Alex doubts he could be that forgiving in her position.

But he should know better, Alex thinks. Maria DeLuca is a one-woman army and always has been, and she’s never given him a reason to doubt her before. She and her mother have been Alex’s family since his own began to realize he was never going to fall in line with them -- and no matter what previous experiences have taught Alex, no matter how many people abandon him or walk away, Maria always shows up when he needs her.

Despite knowing all of this, it still catches Alex by surprise when he wakes up in the hospital bed to find dark fingers entwined with his own eerily pale digits. The nurses have told him at least once a day that his emergency contacts have been notified of both his condition and his location, but Alex’s drug-fogged brain hadn’t yet managed to connect that information with Maria. He remembers writing her name on the enlistment form all those years ago, since the only thing he can imagine worse than being injured in the line of duty is waking up to find Jesse Manes standing over him while he’s weak and vulnerable, but it had never even occurred to him that Maria would actually come when she got that call. Not when he knows damn well that she’s never set foot on a plane in her life, and that she’s got her own life to live thousands of miles away. It’s more than he would ever expected of her -- and yet.

For a moment, Alex wonders if the doctor messed up the dosage of his meds. Maybe that soft, familiar presence and the comforting grip on his hand is a hallucination? He blinks slowly, once, twice, and lifts his gaze from the sparkling rings at her knuckles to find her face, and inhales sharply around the nasal cannula when he realizes that this is real, that Maria really is sitting in a hospital room in Zurich with him, and Alex is utterly overwhelmed with relief as the feeling of warmth and support that suffuses him from just that one look.

There are tear-tracks on Maria’s cheeks, glistening under the fluorescent hospital lighting, and her usual curls are matted down in places, a sure sign that she’s just stepped off a plane, but Alex thinks she’s never looked better. It’s not the first time he’s woken up; he’d heard about his condition from the doctor two days prior, and he’s been trying to deal with it all on his own. There’s a long road ahead of him -- even after he’s permitted to leave this hospital, he’ll just be going to another Stateside for healing and therapy, and he’s heard from at least three medical professionals that everything will be a little bit easier with a support system. Until now, he’s just laughed scornfully, thinking of the way his so-called family has treated him, and the fact that the only person he’s ever felt genuinely, completely safe with is likely long-gone, wanting nothing to do with Alex after the way he left things during his last trip to Roswell.

But having Maria on his side has always been more than enough, and this is no exception. Already, his new reality is feels just a little less oppressive, and he can breathe without wondering if the next inhalation would be what sent him into another round of panic. He grips her fingers tightly and gives his best attempt at a smile, though it’s ruined when he winces at the tug of the IV in the back of his hand.

“Hi,” he manages, frustrated by the ache in his throat that stops him from speaking above a whisper. The doctors assure him it’s just a temporary effect of intubation, but Alex is getting pretty damn tired of it. It’s bad enough that he can’t even get out of bed to piss -- it’d be nice to have full control of at least one of his faculties.

Maria’s laugh is a short, nearly soundless thing. “Hi,” she returns, and the fingers around his hand tighten briefly. “You know, this isn’t how I imagined the next time I saw you.” The exhaustion in her voice is obvious, and Alex has to ignore the niggle of guilt at being the reason for it. “I was going to read you the riot act for that disappearing act you pulled, last time you were home, and I was going to make you feel so bad about not calling me for months that you felt like you had to pay for the pizza and beer while we caught up.”

“Can’t say it’s how I wanted it to go, either,” he tells her frankly, rolling his head to search for a clock along the wall. It’s 0300, and even with the time difference between Zurich and Roswell, Maria’s had a long damn day. “And you can still yell at me, if you want.” Alex knows that he deserves it -- and as long as it keeps Maria there, talking to him, he doesn’t care. The last couple of days have been hard, not just because of his physical condition, but because he’s been alone. He’s gotten used to having the guys in his squad around him twenty-four/seven, and has never liked the feeling of isolation. Laid up in the hospital alone with overly professional doctors and nurses with only his spiralling thoughts to keep him company is a recipe for disaster, one that’s been staved off by Maria’s appearance. So, yeah. If she wants to rip him a new one, he’ll sit there and take it.

Her answering chuckle is humorless. “If I’m going to yell at you now, it’s going to be because you scared me to death, this time.” There’s a crack in the words, and Alex wants to close his eyes as he catches sight of the tears sliding down Maria’s cheeks. “You could have died, Alex. The doctor I talked to told me at least twice how lucky you were to be found so quickly, and that all you lost was --”

“Please don’t,” Alex says frantically, cutting her off. He’s squeezing her fingers and looking up, over her head, both to avoid watching as she cries and to hide his own reaction to her words. He’s still not ready to address the elephant in the room; everything he’s been feeling has been firmly shoved down and bottled up in his chest to be dealt with when he’s somewhere safe to fall apart -- but Maria’s been his safe place for long years of his life, and her presence is enough to make the wall between himself and his emotions feels pretty damn flimsy. He’s too used to trusting her with everything, too used to the comfort and calm she brings to his life, even after months with no contact.

Part of him wants to tell her, to let his fears and horror pour out onto her sturdy shoulder -- but first, he knows he’d have to say the words. He’d have to admit that he hasn’t yet been able to muster the courage to lift the sterile, white blanket to look at the space where one of his feet should be. He’d have to say aloud that he can still feel something that’s no longer attached to his body. Fuck, Alex would have to tell his best friend, one of the few people left that Alex loves, that he’d crawled to safety after the explosion knocked out his humvee, and left three others behind to die. The very idea of it is enough to make him tremble, and Alex has to swallow down a wave of nausea that would likely bring a nurse and all manner of distraction. That might have been a good thing, if he didn’t think Maria would be forced to leave the room.

“Hey,” Maria says softly, drawing his attention back to her. “It’s okay, Alex. I’m not going to make you talk about anything you’re not ready for.”

There’s a moment of silence, save the steady beeping of the medical equipment. Maria’s watching him, her eyes glassy and unfocused in a way that means she’s trying to get a read on him. He’s called it her ‘psychic face’ before, and followed it up with a teasing laugh, but it’s true that such an expression usually leads to Maria attempting to convince him to talk about something. But tonight, she only smiles again and stands up from her chair. Alex can’t help the instinctive rush of panic; the monitors on his heart beep faster and louder, showcasing his fear in an embarrassingly obvious fashion, but he can’t help it. There’s no reason to think Maria’s come all this way just to leave after a few minutes, but Alex’s desperation to avoid being alone overrides his common sense.

Gentle fingers push hair back from his forehead, and Alex takes a long, slow breath. “Just let me move my chair a little closer,” Maria tells him, and does exactly that. Fingers resume stroking through his hair soothingly, and the relief that floods his chest is downright shameful. “Hm,” Maria muses, after a few peaceful moments in which Alex manages to relax a bit. “I should tell you how lucky you are that I love you, because airplanes? So not my style, Manes. I don’t know how you do it -- screaming kids, couples hooking up in the tiny bathroom, people dumping drinks in your lap -- I’m pretty sure that if there really is a hell, we’re all going to be strapped in to tiny airplane seats surrounded by idiots for all eternity.”

She shudders in mock horror, and Alex manages a tired smile. The morphine pump activated at some point in the last few minutes, and while the pain he’s feeling has decreased, he also feels a little floaty and detached from reality. It’s not entirely a good feeling; reality is grounding. It’s Maria’s smile and her teasing voice, the warmth of her hand on his. It’s the solid feeling of the bed beneath him and the knowledge that he’s no longer in a war zone, that he’s as safe as anyone can be in a hospital. But in his mind, in that hazy place the drugs drag him to, he’s still trapped in a humvee about to explode, with the stricken faces of fallen friends staring him down.

“You get used to it,” Alex says aloud, shifting a little under the blankets to make himself more comfortable -- and to remind himself exactly where he is. “Tell me about Roswell. How’s Mimi?” It’s a blatant subject change, but a safe one. Maria launches into tales from home easily, growing more animated as she talks about the latest idiocies of Racist Hank and his cohorts, and the people who come into the bar. There’s a strange quality to her voice when she tells a story about Mimi and a psychic reading gone wrong, something almost melancholy, but it’s gone before Alex can ask. Through all of it, Maria holds Alex’s hand, and never once looks like she’d consider letting go. It’s an additional, all-important anchor, one Alex appreciates more than he’ll ever be able to explain, just like her embellished stories from home.

“But then, Michael Guerin -- you remember him from high school, right? He grew up kind’ve hot, but the attitude is a total turn-off. But anyway, he comes in swinging, and takes Hank down before Long can even blink. It was actually awesome, but if you tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it.”

Until that point, Alex has been half listening, half letting Maria’s familiar voice lull him to sleep, but the mention of Michael has him wide awake and on edge again in a moment. He blames it on the pain meds, but Alex has been thinking of him since he woke up in the hospital. Maria means safety to Alex; she’s a sanctuary in a world full of people who seem to hate him for no reason. But Michael is the one person who has ever physically protected Alex -- the only one who he’s been able to be wholly vulnerable with and could trust to watch his back. And in this hospital with all of his weaknesses put on display for anyone who cares to look through the window, Alex can’t help but wish Guerin was here to offer that refuge again. It’s undeniably selfish, considering how he’d left things between them, but Alex can’t help himself.

“Should I be leaving to let you get some sleep?” Maria asks, thankfully interrupting Alex’s thoughts. “It’s almost five in the morning, and I’m talking your ear off about bar brawls while you’re supposed to be healing.”

Alex shakes his head quickly, and regrets it when the room spins. “No,” he answers, as firmly as he can manage. “I might fall asleep on you, but -- if you can stay, I’d really appreciate it.” Maria’s always been too good at figuring him out. He imagines he can see her reading his mind, flipping through the anxiety and loneliness there like she would the pages of a magazine. “It helps,” he admits a moment later, because there’s no point in trying to act tough, now. “To have you here. I’ve been going crazy all day, and I just --”

“You don’t need to explain, Alex. What else are friends for?” Maria interrupts, and slings her legs over one arm of her chair to recline back against the other in a show of exaggerated comfort. “I’ve slept in worse places than this, believe me. Would you believe Chad made me go camping? I spend the whole damn night with a giant rock digging into my kidney. This is practically the Taj Mahal in comparison.” From her new position, Maria reaches out to recapture Alex’s hand in silent assurance, and once again, he finds himself wondering what he did to deserve a friend like Maria DeLuca.

“Love you,” she yawns, as a passing nurse pops her head in to turn off the lights. Her eyes are already closing, her voice quiet as she begins to sink into sleep.

The simple declaration makes Alex’s eyes sting, and he’s grateful Maria isn’t looking at him while he pulls himself together. It takes a moment, fighting against the lump in his throat and the incessant pull of medication-induced exhaustion, but finally he answers: “Love you, too.”

February, 2019:

Liz is the first one to catch sight of him when he walks into the Crashdown, and Alex grins at her gobsmacked look as she takes in the leather jacket tossed casually over the discounted band t-shirt he picked up from the local department store on a whim. He’s still wearing well-tailored jeans and his standard-issue boots, but Alex knows that this one little wardrobe change makes a big difference in his overall appearance. The obvious, and then the more subtle -- the way he feels just a little more at home in his own skin, and the confidence it gives him to stand just a little bit taller when he’s comfortable. There’s still a lot of work to do on that front; Alex isn’t sure he’s ever going to be utterly content in his own body now that he’s missing a piece of it, but reclaiming his identity from the military is, in his mind, a damn good place to start.

“I miss the eyeliner,” Liz tells him, head cocked thoughtfully to one side, as he weaves his way through the crowd around the counter. If her smile is thinner than it used to be, Alex understands. She’s mourning Max Evans even as she celebrates Rosa’s resurrection, and all anyone else can do is be there to support her -- and maybe offer a little assistance in creating a fake identity for an eighteen year old girl who’s been legally declared deceased for the last decade. “Otherwise, I totally approve of this 2000s flashback, as long as it’s sticking around.” Liz stretches up on her toes to hug him across the counter, and Alex returns the affection.

“I’m not officially at the end of my enlistment, so I’m stuck with regulation-issue for at least the next month, most of the time,” Alex replies with a one-shouldered shrug. In all honesty, he’s still not entirely sure that he’s ready to lose the uniform and the anonymity that comes from blending in with the crowd completely. It’s nice to step out of the Air Force Captain role once in a while and remind himself that he’s still human, but the thought of losing that fall-back permanently, especially considering everything else he’s lost lately, is overwhelming. And, quite frankly, terrifying. “But I’m off duty today, so I thought I’d --”

“See if you could remember how to dress yourself without Uncle Sam’s help?” Liz supplies with a wink, and slides a milkshake across the counter in front of an empty barstool. It’s obviously an invitation to sit and stay a while. They’re supposed to be spending some time together -- it’s one of the several ways Alex has begun insinuating himself in Liz’s life and attempting to stop her from working herself to death while she tries to hide from her grief and confusion. It’s harder than it sounds; already, Alex is forty-five minutes late to meet Liz, and he knows she was supposed to be off the clock at least an hour ago. It’s not unexpected, of course. When Liz can’t run from her problems, she hides from them in work instead, whether it be creating serum after serum to bring Max back in her makeshift lab, or working shifts in the diner like she’d always claimed to hate in high school.

Alex claims the empty barstool in front of the counter and sips at the milkshake, warming a little when he realizes it’s the same flavor he’s always ordered and enjoyed. “Hey, it’s harder than it sounds,” he argues half-heartedly. He and Liz are good friends, and they understand each others’ hurts more than other people can, but he knows she doesn’t get why playing with his fashion choices is so important to him, or why it’s so hard to face the upcoming end of his contract with the Air Force when he’s never really loved it, anyway. “And since I haven’t seen you without a lab coat or the antennae --” Alex looks pointedly at the headband in question, one eyebrow quirked. “-- in at least a week and a half, I don’t think you get to judge me.”

Liz makes a face at him and sweeps the antenna off her head with one hand, exasperation obvious in the short, jerky movement. “I’d argue, but considering I don’t remember the last time I put on a pair of jeans, I think you’re probably right.” She leans forward over the counter, propping her elbows on the surface and looks up at Alex, giving him an excellent view of the dark circles beneath her eyes, visible even through the meticulously-applied layers of concealer. To make matters worse, there’s a strain in the lines of her mouth and forehead that speak of long nights full of science and data collection rather than rest, and Alex finds himself wishing, once again, that any of the aliens in Roswell were capable of thinking before they act. Max Evans has a lot to answer for if they ever manage to resurrect him, and Alex will be waiting to make sure he knows it. Liz deserves better than this halflife of cautious hope and grief. She deserves more than frantic research and the stress of looking after her newly-resurrected sister. Liz should have the happiness that Max Evans promised by loving her, and Alex could punch the guy for thinking that sacrificing himself for Rosa would do anything but hurt.

“Kyle and Rosa went to Albuquerque for the weekend,” Liz tells him, and Alex may not be a psychic like Maria, or an alien like Isobel, but he knows her well enough to see the signs of guilty relief in her expression. “She hasn’t been sleeping well, and he thought getting her out of town and away from everything for a couple of days might help.” At first, Rosa had clung to Liz like a child to its mother. She wouldn’t even look at Kyle, who’d wanted nothing more than a chance at a relationship with the sister he never thought he’d get to have. But Rosa Ortecho is as resilient as her sister -- maybe more, if Alex is honest with himself -- and she’s taken the new world she’s been brought into mostly in stride. Nightmares from the trauma of her death aren’t surprising, nor is the fact that she’s been clinging to people she knew and trusted before her death. But it’s taken an obvious toll on Liz, both emotional and physical, and Alex is relieved that Kyle’s managed to convince Rosa that he can be trusted. For all their sakes.

“That’s great,” Alex enthuses. “What are you going to do with your weekend, then?” It’s not likely that Liz has plans outside of working or going to sit with Max’s body in that damned cave, but he can’t help but hope. The two of them are supposed to get dinner together tonight; maybe he can convince her to come stay at the cabin where he can keep an eye on her. Or knock her out until she gets a decent night’s rest -- Alex won’t pretend he hasn’t considered asking Kyle for a sedative in the past few months.

Three months has never seemed like a long period of time, except maybe during basic training, but it feels like years have passed since Liz lost Max -- since Alex lost Michael and Maria in one fell swoop. The two of them have drawn closer than ever in that time, both hurting from losses, but Alex has gotten better. He’s not mad at Maria or Michael any more, not really, and he’s starting to piece together a life. One that will remain after Alex can’t call himself an airman anymore, whether he’s got Guerin or Maria in his life or not.

Liz isn’t moving forward, and Alex doesn’t know how to help. It’s like an integral piece of her soul is locked in the pod with Max, and another piece of her is tightly bound to Rosa and her new life -- and the remaining parts just aren’t enough to keep her sane or happy.

“Nothing special. I haven’t gotten to visit the cave in a few days, and I need new samples, so I’ll probably spend most of my time in the lab.” Liz takes off her apron and drapes it over a hook and signals something to her father, who’s poking his head through the order window and speaking rapidly in Spanish that Alex can’t keep up with. He catches the equivalent of, ‘get some rest!’ and ‘no more shifts for you this weekend, mija,’ which tells him that he’s not the only one noticing that Liz has been spending entirely too much time punched in lately. That, at least, is gratifying.

“Come on, we can talk upstairs while I get dressed -- in real clothes,” she tells Alex with an ironic chuckle, and leads the way to the staircase that takes them to the small apartment the Ortechos have lived in since their arrival in Roswell. While they walk, Alex reminds himself that he’s not here to get frustrated with Liz’s coping mechanisms, or to scold her for being so careless with herself. He’s here to be a friend -- and no matter how much he wants to shake her, he needs to be patient.

The apartment above the Crashdown hasn’t changed at all since they were in high school. Arturo has clearly kept everything exactly the same for his daughter -- and now daughters -- and Alex can’t decide if that’s a positive thing or not. It explains a lot about Liz’s refusal to move forward after a tragedy, though; evidently, it’s genetic. The furniture is in the same configuration in the living room, the same Mexican-inspired decor on the walls, and walking into Liz and Rosa’s room is like taking a trip in the TARDIS to the late 90s. Rosa’s clothes are still lying all around the room, her band posters taped up on the wall in nearly the same spots, and Liz still has the same books on the bookshelf in the corner.

“I think I’m actually going to call Michael into work with me this weekend, if I can convince him,” Liz says from her position in front of the closet, wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of leggings as she studies her options. “He got arrested again last night, so he clearly needs to put his brain to work before he gets into trouble that Isobel can’t bail him out of.”

The words are matter-of-fact, and Alex appreciates that Liz has stopped trying to avoid mentioning Michael or Maria to him at all. Dancing around people so integral to her life, and once so involved in his own, is awkward and uncomfortable, and though it still causes a little pang of hurt in his chest to hear either of their names, Alex would much rather hear about how they’re doing. They may all be avoiding each other for now, but he’s never going to stop seeing either of them as family -- what kind of man would that make him? Do one thing to hurt him, make one mistake, and he’s done caring? He’s not his father, damn it. He’s just needed some time to heal, to let go of the hurt and anger that came with what felt like betrayal, and he’s had it. The fact that Liz recognizes that makes him love her all the more.

“He’s missing Max, too,” Alex guesses quietly, leaning heavily on one side of the doorway to Liz’s room. “I know they’re not as close as they used to be, but they’re still family. And Guerin’s never quite figured out how to hurt without hurting anyone who gets too close.” It’s a habit Alex has, too -- which is why he and Michael always managed to leave each other cut and bleeding when things went bad. Their sharp edges didn’t match up; they sliced into each other instead.

Liz’s bottom lip catches between her teeth, and she worries at it for a beat too long. Alex frowns at her, waiting for an explanation. He knows that Guerin’s reverted to old habits in the last three months; it’s impossible to go outside without hearing rumors of his latest brawls and assault charges. Alex assumes he hasn’t been sleeping around, since Maria would likely castrate him if he cheated on her, but Michael in a self-destructive spiral isn’t new, as much as it makes Alex ache to witness. “Liz, Max was his brother in every way that mattered. Of course he’s going to act out. Isobel’s doing exactly the same thing - she’s just being quieter about it.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Liz shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s just that,” she admits. “He’s been worse, lately. He’s been avoiding Isobel, and ignoring my phone calls, even when he knows they’re about the serum. Isolating himself.” They’re quiet again as Liz finally chooses a red shirt and pulls it over her head, then turns to sit down at the edge of the bed to look back at Alex with indecision written all over her face. She’s trying to decide whether or not to tell him something, clearly, and he’s not pleased.

“Just tell me, Liz,” he orders, a shadow of his command voice lingering in the tone he uses. “I thought we were done pretending that I’m not in love with Michael Guerin -- you knew when you started that I’d want to hear the rest of it, so just tell me.”

Liz sighs, her shoulders slumping obviously. “I was worried about him when he didn’t answer his phone this afternoon,” she begins, picking at the hem of her shirt. “So I went to see Maria, since they were together. I thought she’d be able to help, or at least tell me where to find him.” Were together? Alex’s heartbeat picks up, and he hates himself a little for it. Even if Michael and Maria are done, it doesn’t mean that Guerin wants to be with Alex -- or even that Alex wants to be with him. There’s so much shit between them now that he doesn’t know that they could ever work it all out, and he’s loathe to give up all of the forward momentum he’s built on a whim.

“When I got there, Maria was three-quarters of the way into a bottle of tequila and all I could get out of her was that she and Michael are over,” Liz continues, and glances up at him, the inside of her cheek caught between her teeth. “Between that and the fact that it looks like Mama DeLuca’s going to have to go into an assisted living facility --”

“What?” Alex demands sharply, cutting Liz off. “What do you mean, Mimi’s going to a facility? Since when? Why?” He doesn’t know how to feel about the end of Michael’s latest relationship, and it doesn’t matter, anyway. Not unless Guerin comes around and actually wants to talk to him, and Alex doesn’t see that happening any time soon. But the idea of the only woman who’d ever shown any real motherly affection for Alex being put in a facility is far more pressing. He can’t stand the idea, not after everything Mimi’s done for him. What the hell is Maria thinking?

Liz presses her lips together, and pats the space beside her on the mattress. Alex doesn’t move immediately, but when it’s clear she doesn’t plan on explaining further until he sits, he obeys the unspoken order and joins her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Without any care to personal space, Liz reaches over and grabs his hand, their palms cupped together like kindergartners entering a classroom for the first time, and she sighs.

“Mimi wandered off a couple of days ago. Sheriff Valenti had to send people out to find her, and she made it pretty clear she didn’t think Maria could handle looking after her alone, anymore.” Weary sadness rippled in Liz’s dark eyes, and Alex knows she can see the same emotion echoed back in his own. Mimi DeLuca had been a surrogate mother to both of them as they navigated the treacheries of high school, and neither of them had done much to help Maria support her, especially lately. Instead, Alex had closed Maria out of his life, gone out of his way to avoid her in town and ignore her messages under the guise of moving on -- and now, with this slap of reality, he’s overwhelmed with guilt for his actions. Maria deserves better from him, just as he deserves better from her, and hiding from each other isn’t going to solve anything.

“Put on your shoes,” he says finally, sucking in a breath and bracing himself for what he knows they’ve got to do. “I know what we’re doing tonight.”

They go to Maria’s, of course. Liz is the one to pick her up of the Pony’s floor and get her into a set of pajamas, but Alex doesn’t hide in the background, either. It’s awkward, at first; Maria is clearly stunned to see him, and more than a little uncomfortable, and Alex is still upset and uncertain. Liz doesn’t let the awkwardness get far, though -- she just grabs a bottle of whiskey from Maria’s stash in the kitchen and uncorks it, then hands it off to Alex. It’s a time-honored tradition of drinking away their sorrows, and he doesn’t hesitate to imbibe.

They don’t talk about Michael much, that night. They drink instead, and squeeze together in Maria’s queen-sized bed, shoulder-to-shoulder, all three of them, like they did the night they danced to forget their grief after Rosa’s death. Liz drinks enough to admit she’s not sure they can bring Max back, and she hates him a little for sacrificing himself for Rosa, for Liz, without even talking to her first. Maria sobs her way through the story of Mimi’s sudden decline, leaning heavily against Liz’s side as she speaks of a mother who no longer recognizes her, of frantic searches and angry neighbors who’ve found the woman ranting about science fiction movies in their yards at three in the morning. She talks about the financial strain, about the second mortgage she’s taken out on the bar, and Alex manages to ignore the haze of bitterness in his mind when he looks at her enough to kiss her cheek and promise that it’s going to be okay, somehow, and that she’s not alone.

Even under the influence of half a bottle of whiskey and a couple of tequila shots, Alex keeps his own hurts to himself. This isn’t the time to bring up Michael or the tangled mess his father has created for all of them, and he doesn’t think either he or Maria is ready to discuss the betrayal lingering between them. But the night proves to Alex that he will, eventually, be able to forgive Maria -- that she’s still one of the most important people in his world, even when she makes mistakes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into the darkness after Liz has fallen asleep on the other side of the bed. Maria’s laying on the other woman’s chest, one arm across her waist, while her back is pressed into Alex’s side. “I know it doesn’t change anything. I know how much I hurt you, and how angry you are --”

“I’m not angry,” Alex insists, just a little too fast. For a moment, he’s reminded of that day on the playground the first time they met, when Maria knew how he felt even better than Alex himself -- one would think that after all of this time and a thousand other examples of her psychic talents, he’d believe her, but it still comes as a shock, every time.

Maria sighs, a quiet hiccup escaping her lips before she rolls on her side to face him. They’re sharing the same pillow; there’s not a lot of room on the bed, and even if there was, Alex knows they would’ve all gravitated together. Comfort is tradition in their friendship, and even if it’s a bit unorthodox, he hopes it’ll never change.

“I’m too drunk to do this right,” Maria says clearly. “But I don’t know if I can do it sober, so.” Her nose wrinkles, and she makes a face as she pushes herself into a sitting position. Alex follows suit, careful not to put too much pressure on the place where his leg joins with the prosthetic. It’s a habit, these days, carefully cultivated in the years since he lost part of himself -- just as avoiding this subject has become habit. There’s still a huge part of him that still wants to run, to mumble an apology and scramble out the door before he loses his mind, but this is Maria, and he needs to stay.

“Michael is in love with you,” she says, speaking slowly and over-annunciating the words like she always does when she’s had too much to drink. “He was the whole time. I knew it, but I didn’t want to admit it, because he’s --” Maria’s eyes close, and she swallows heavily. Alex wants to tell her to stop, wants to shove his fingers in his ears and hum until he can’t hear her anymore, but he’s not five years old, and he knows they need to do this if they ever want to move on. But fuck, it sucks. “He showed up for me, you know? Every time I needed him. And I thought that maybe, if he was the real thing, it would make up for how much I hurt you.”

Alex looks up sharply at that, and has to swallow the angry response that bubbles up at the selfishness in Maria’s explanation. He bites his lower lip to keep silent, and Maria looks away, down at the bedspread her restless fingers are plucking at.

“No one ever wants to believe that I can actually feel what they’re feeling,” she continues, and there’s virtually no slur to her words as she pushes forward. “Even you and Liz, and you’ve known me for most of my life. But I can. I do. And Michael never loved me, Alex. Not for a minute, even when I was so desperate to believe he did. I tried to ignore it. And I did -- but it’s pretty hard to forget that I heard him calling your name while we were in bed together.” Her smile is weak, full of self-deprecation and bitterness. “I guess it’s only fair, because in the end, he hurt me just as much as I hurt you. Karma’s a bitch, huh?”

And what the hell is he supposed to say to that? Alex hates the small voice in the back of his head that’s whispering yes, it is fair, because he knows it’s not. This isn’t the Biblical era, and an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. He wouldn’t wish heartbreak on his worst enemy, let alone his best friend, no matter what she’s done -- especially not when he knows that her world is collapsing around her shoulders as Mimi’s health continues to decline.

“I’m in love with Michael,” he says finally, when the silence in the room has gone on a moment too long, and he can see Maria beginning to fidget under his scrutiny. “I’ve been in love with him for ten years, and I don’t see that changing, but God, Maria -- I love you too, you know. And yeah, maybe I’m still pissed, and hurt, and everything else you’re seeing in my aura or … however you always know, but you’re my best friend. I want you in my life. I’m always going to want you in my life.” He reaches across the distance between them and takes her hand, just as she’d done for him so many years ago when Alex didn’t know what it was to have someone solidly in his corner.

“This isn’t going to destroy us,” he promises earnestly, and finds a smile for her, though he knows the expression is loaded with everything he’s not saying. It’s going to take time to mend the broken trust between them, and Alex knows that it’ll be nearly as hard for Maria to watch him with Michael as it was in the reverse if things go that way, but for once, he allows himself to be an optimist. It’s going to work out because he won’t settle for anything less.

Maria nods slowly, and squeezes his hand in return. “No,” she agrees, determination settling over her tired, pinched features. “It won’t.”

Alex has never been more grateful that Maria doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. If she says that this won’t break them, she’ll move heaven and earth to make it true. He’s seen her do it before, when she was determined to convince Rosa to go to rehab, or when she showed up in a German hospital after her very first plane ride despite her aviophobia. She’s gone to bat for Liz when the townspeople were after her to make her pay for Rosa’s apparently poor choices, and Alex has seen Maria go toe-to-toe with men twice her size to protect the women in her bar, armed with nothing but her sharp tongue and scathing commentary. Maria DeLuca doesn’t let anything stand in her way, not fear nor insecurity nor hurt, and Alex knows that he can at least trust her to stick around while he figures out how to forgive her.

It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.

October, 2021:

“Guerin, you have to stop,” Alex says with a reluctant sigh, though the insistent warmth spreading through his body tells him to give into Michael’s promises that they have plenty of time to waste. They’re in their cabin, Alex fully dressed aside for the buttons that Michael undid to get at his neck, and Michael wearing nothing but a towel and a pout at Alex’s gentle rejection. “We’ve got to be at Max’s in ten minutes, and I’d rather not spend the first half an hour we’re there getting mocked for the hickey you’re trying to leave on my neck.”

He tugs at one damp curl teasingly, then steps out of Michael’s reach to rebutton his flannel properly. When he glances in the mirror over the bathroom sink, his face is flushed and his hair tousled, but the happiness in his eyes and demeanor makes it hard to complain. Some days, it’s hard to believe that Alex can be this content in his life; he’s got Michael, a shared home in the cabin Jim Valenti left him. He’s got a job designing cyber security code that’s fulfilling and leaves him with time for his music and his family, and Jesse Manes and the rest of his sons are miles back in Alex’s rearview mirror. It’s a good life, and Alex is damned lucky to have it.

“Or . . . we could just skip this whole thing,” Michael drawls, and the heated stare he levels at Alex from his lounge against the doorframe is almost enough to make him consider it. But Liz had been adamant that everyone needed to be there tonight when she texted the invite, and Alex hasn’t seen her or the rest of his friends in a couple of days, anyway. In the last two years, since the worst of the alien drama was put behind them, he’s been careful to maintain all of his relationships, and worked to make them stronger. Ditching out on Liz without any notice isn’t the kind of thing a good friend would do, no matter how tempting the drops of water rolling down Michael’s chest might be.

“Get dressed, cowboy,” Alex says with a laugh, and shoves a pair of jeans from the top of the laundry hamper into Michael’s outstretched hands. “I want to know what Liz’s news is, and I want to make sure Isobel hasn’t gone totally overboard ordering stuff for the spare room -- I still can’t believe you told her to get whatever she wanted.”

Michael snorts, but unfolds the jeans and drags them up over his lean legs. “Have you met Isobel?” he asks, the question called over his shoulder as Alex moves around him and into the bedroom to finish making himself presentable. “She would’ve ordered whatever she wanted no matter what I told her. We’ll go through the stuff when it gets here, use what we like, and send the rest back -- believe me. Max’s been doing it for years; otherwise, his whole house would be full of shitty lace curtains and ‘tasteful corals.’”

The disgusted face he makes is impossible not to laugh at, so Alex does, and shakes his head ruefully. “I guess telling Isobel the truth never crossed your mind?”

It’s Michael’s turn to laugh at him, apparently. “No, never,” he snorts. “Why don’t you give it a shot and let me know how it works out?” He pauses, then adds, “But if she asks, I know nothing about it and love everything she orders, because she’s way scarier than you.” Alex catches the wink in the mirror and groans, but knows Michael’s right. Isobel doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer on anything, a fact that’s only gotten harder to ignore since she and Maria stopped pretending to hate each other a few months back and started making out, instead.

Michael joins Alex in the bedroom to get a shirt, one of his ridiculously patterned ones that he’ll leave unbuttoned halfway down, Alex is sure. Over the last six months of officially dating Michael Guerin, he’s found that fashion choices are one of the battles he’s going to have to let go.

“As for what Liz’s news -- come on. You really don’t know?”

“You mean you do?” It doesn’t seem likely, since Guerin had gotten the same text Alex had, but there’s a definite gleam of I know something you don’t in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“It’s pretty hard to keep secrets in a family full of aliens with psychic powers,” Michael points out, looking far too smug for Alex’s comfort. “But that’s all I’m gonna say -- Liz’ll kill me if I ruin it for her.”

Somehow, Alex finds himself being hustled out of the house and into the truck, like he hadn’t been the one trying to get Michael moving just a few minutes prior. He lets it happen, though, only stopping to grab the bag of store-bought rolls and chips he’d offered to bring to dinner. The others all take turns cooking for their weekly get-togethers, but it was decided early on, long before he and Michael managed to work things out between them, that Alex was a hazard in the kitchen and needed to be saved from himself. (Boil one pot of water long enough to set fire to the bottom of it and no one will ever let you forget it!) So instead of offering his limited culinary skills, Alex brings what he can, and tries to make up for the lack in other ways -- not that anyone ever really lets him try.

“It’s about damn time!” Maria’s on Max’s porch by herself when they pull up, grinning broadly in welcome, and Alex can’t help but smile back as he takes in the way her flowing skirt and jacket fly in the breeze. Time hasn’t softened Maria DeLuca, but it’s sanded down some of the sharper edges that developed in the months after Mimi’s hospitalization, especially after Max and Liz managed to combine science and superhuman abilities to stabilize her dementia.

Time, conversation, and sheer refusal to give up on each other have also mended the rift between Alex and Maria. It was as Alex guessed when they talked about Michael that first time; they both wanted to forgive each other enough that walking away was never an option. When Michael and Alex finally got back together after a year and a half of dancing around each other, Maria was the first one Alex called -- and the sliver of uncertainty that remained between them disappeared. Maria is family, just like Liz and Rosa and all the others, and he’s sure now that nothing will ever change that.

“Good to see you too, DeLuca,” Michael snarks, squeezing her shoulder as he passes to get in the door. He won’t admit it, but Alex knows he’s excited to see Max. After nearly two and a half years of grief, fear, and frantic research and experimentation, the three months that he’s been back in Roswell are negligible. Michael, Isobel, and Liz, especially, still look at the other man like he’s about to disappear sometimes, and it took a particularly stern intervention to get them to allow him to leave their sight.

Alex stays on the porch with Maria for another moment, and presses an innocent kiss to the top of her head. “We still on to go see your mom tomorrow afternoon?” he asks, referring to the plans they’d made several days ago, before Alex had been forced to go out of town on business. Liz, Rosa, and Alex all take turns visiting Mimi with Maria as often as possible; she’s been like a mother to all of them for all of these years, and no one has any intention of forgetting that because she’s ill.

Maria nods once, her smile growing a little more serious. “If you’re still up for it, yeah. I told her today, but --” she shrugs, and Alex gives her a quick side-hug when his mind fills in the blanks. Mimi’s condition may be stable now, but the damage couldn’t be reversed. No matter what she knows today, there’s a slim chance she’ll remember tomorrow.

Everyone gathers in the enormous living room of Max’s house, carrying plates heavily laden with barbecue and cook out fixings. Liz and Max have obviously spent the better part of the day slaving over a hot grill, because there’s enough food to feed a small army. Alex settles himself on one end of the couch and Michael joins him, squishing in close so that Isobel and Maria can fit, as well. Liz perches on the arm of Max’s chair across the room, her dancer’s legs tangling with his longer ones, and Alex stares at them, trying to figure out what they’re hiding. There’s a suspiciously large smile on Liz’s face, even as Michael and Kyle tease her about the amount of time she’s been spending at Max’s place, and there’s a happily astonished expression on Max’s face that doesn’t disappear, even as the party wears on.

“Figured it out yet?” Michael asks in a whisper, leaning close.

Alex shakes his head, even though he thinks he’s got a pretty good guess. He’ll let Liz tell them in her own time -- he wouldn’t want his moment ruined by anyone else, after all.

He doesn’t have to wait long for confirmation of his theory, though. After everyone’s finished eating and the plates are piled in the sink, Max clears his throat and stands, looking around at all of them like he can’t quite believe what he’s about to say. Michael and Isobel grin back at him, obviously in on whatever secret he’s about to divulge, and Alex raises an eyebrow at Liz, who just winks.

“I’m not one for speeches,” Max says, pointedly ignoring Michael’s teasing scoff. “But after what we’ve all been through, I think it’s important that I say how incredibly lucky I feel to have all of you in my life. I literally wouldn’t be here without each and every one of you, and --” Max glances at Liz, who sidles up to him and links their hands, happiness permeating every line of her body. “We all know that life is short.” Dark, serious eyes rest on Rosa for a moment, and Alex’s breath catches in his throat at the stark reminder. Guerin’s hand slides into his, and Alex squeezes back, forcing himself to turn his attention to Max again. “I’m not going to waste any of the extra time I’ve been given on fighting with the people I love, or keeping secrets. So, in the spirit of honesty --”

“And sharing good news!” Liz adds, elbowing Max.

“ -- Liz and I want you guys to be the first to know that we’re getting married.”

Alex gets lost for a moment in the ensuing flood of cheers and congratulations. Michael is gone, up and slapping his brother on the back and saying something about how he told Max that the ring he picked out was good enough. In the next instant, Maria is standing too, and hauling Alex up by the hands to drag him across the floor to Liz. She’s laughing, open-mouthed and incandescent with true happiness, and she lets the two of them enclose her in a hug without a single noise of complaint. Rosa throws herself at Liz’s back, her hair hanging down in her sister’s face, and it’s the perfect fucking moment. The future looms on the horizon, and none of them know what’s to come, but he’s holding Maria’s hand and hugging Liz, and watching Rosa celebrate with her sister after a decade spent mourning her.

The four of them found each other when they most needed it. They’d started this all together, grown closer through trauma and tragedy, and the tiny, make-shift family they started had grown by leaps and bounds. None of them are the scared, lonely children they once were, and Alex is overwhelmed by the realization that they’ve made it through the worst. All that’s left for them to do is be happy.

“I can’t believe you took Michael ring shopping with you, Max Evans!” Isobel’s disapproving voice floats over the din of the small crowd, making Liz and Maria dissolve into a sing-song chorus of, “Max is in tro-uble!” like they’re still eight years old on the playground. Michael ducks out of swatting range as his sister comes for him, but Maria jumps in front so that her girlfriend can smack the back of his head gently. Guerin, of course, makes a show out of being wounded, and looks to Alex for sympathy.

Alex throws his head back and laughs, and allows himself to be carried away in the joy of the moment.

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