FanFic - Michael/Maria
"Whisper Scream"
Part 9
by Mnemosyne
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would be the happiest person on earth. But, sadly, they are not mine. I shall have to toil in the mires of life just like everybody else, rejoicing in the good as it comes along.
Summary: Michael is captured, but someone witnesses the kidnapping....from afar. Not much of note happened in part 8, except that Michael and Maria, obviously, had sex. Michael got a little bit rough come the end-- not because he wanted to, but because he simply couldn't control himself, he wanted her so badly. So Maria has ended up with some pretty severe bruises on her inner thighs, which make it hard for her to walk, or even move the lower section of her body. Michael is still beating himself up over this, despite the fact that Maria has openly forgiven him. The segment ended with Michael kissing Maria's bruises in an effort to soothe her pain, while Maria just reveled in his touch. The last line went as such: "Which was why she took it so hard when, the next day, they were separated."
Category: Michael/Maria
Rating: R
Authors Note: This story has sorta been evolving in my head for over a month now, and I'm not QUITE sure how it's going to go. But hopefully it will satisfy! Dedication: To bec, whose wonderful tale, "Bird in a Gilded Cage," has had me so tied in knots and doubled over into a pained agony of anticipation, that I just HAD to try my own take on the incarceration motif. Thank you, bec! MUSE-ic: Sarah Brightman's "Time to Say Goodbye" CD. Especially "No One Like You." This section of "Whisper Scream" is dedicated to Rania, who wrote me in a frenzy last night to tell me I MUST write the next part soon, or she would die. So, to keep this catastrophe from happening, I happily provide "the crash cart." :)
Chapter 9

"Isabelle, would you PLEASE slow down? I can't figure out what you're saying!" Max Evans gritted his teeth and tried to remain patient with his sister, even though the clock on his bedside table told him it was only seven in the morning.

"Max, would you pay attention," Isabelle groaned in frustration. "This is important! I to...get into...Maria's dream!"

She said it slowly and deliberately, and watched as Max soaked it in. His eyes widened as the full import of what she said hit him. "You can?"

Isabelle nodded, eyes alight.


The blonde girl just smiled.



Maria floated in that hazy world between dreams and wakefulness. She could feel Michael's warm body pressed against her, but her fuzzy mind couldn't decide if he was a dream or a waking fantasy.

Her bleary eyes slowly opened, to discover that he was neither-- he was restful reality. He lay on his back, his bare chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing, and Maria stayed motionless, unwilling to disturb him. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, her hands pulled up loosely under her chin, as though she had been praying in her sleep. His arms were wrapped protectively around her-- so that she was stretched out against his side-- his fingers laced clumsily together.

Maria couldn't resist a foolish grin. She'd been dreaming very naughty dreams last night-- very, VERY naughty dreams. //I wonder if he noticed,// she thought, watching Michael's peaceful profile. He always looked so...angelic when he slept. Angelic. A fallen angel. A fallen star.

He mumbled something in his sleep, and turned so that he was now lying chest-to-chest with her, his arms still looped around her midsection. Maria shifted as he did, to allow him freer movement-- less chance he'd wake up then. Less chance he'd see her crying.

She sniffled silently, afraid to move and wipe away the tears. Michael had given her so much of himself the previous night-- he'd made something cold and cruel into warmth. But today, as Maria gazed at him, the spectre of Topolsky seemed to loom over her shoulder, cackling as she had in the warped dreamland of Oz. 'I'll get you, my pretty! And your little hybrid, too!'

Without thinking, Maria slipped a hand down the thin space between their bodies and touched her stomach. //I wonder if it worked,// she pondered. //I wonder if I'm...if we're...//

"You all right?" Her eyes snapped into focus-- from where she lay immersed in her own thoughts-- to discover Michael looking at her.

She didn't know when he had woken up-- her mind was too filled with frightened ramblings. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him. "Just...thinking."

He ran a hand up her side, making her skin tingle, and gently cupped her cheek. "Then why are you crying?" he asked softly.

"I-I'm not," she lied lamely, still feeling the hot droplets slipping down her cheeks. She cursed her weakness.

Michael moved closer to her, so that their bodies pressed together, and ducked his head so that he looked her dead in the eye, their foreheads and noses touching. "You're lying, Maria," he said plainly.

His eyes weren't reproachful-- they were curious, concerned. Maria broke before them.

"I was just...thinking know, why we did this and...and what's going to happen next...and I'm just sorta...kinda....really scared and...." She trailed off, unable to continue the flood of words.

Michael didn't say a word. He closed his eyes, and found her lips by memory. Warmth flowed over her-- warmth and comfort, as Maria let her eyes drift shut. She felt safe, and happy.

When they pulled apart, Michael smiled. "Did you feel that?" he asked.

She looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"My feelings, blondie."

Her eyes widened. "Those were yours?" she murmured.

Michael nodded. "All of them," he whispered, "and they're because of you. So trust me," he continued, pulling her head down to rest against his chest as he stroked her golden hair, "anything that happens from here on out, I am not going to let go of that. You are ALWAYS going to be those feelings to me-- no matter what. So you don't have to be afraid, Maria-- how could I let my happiness get hurt?"

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying herself in his heat. "I'm going to hold you to that, Spaceboy," she said huskily, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder and fighting back another wave of tears.

His chuckle eased her tension. "So are we okay now?" he asked, and Maria nodded against him.

"Yeah," she replied. "Yeah we are."

The clock beside the door read seven twenty-- presumably in the morning-- as Maria gazed at it over Michael's shoulder.

It was exactly ten minutes later that Topolsky took the happiness away.



"It's simple really," Isabelle was explaining later that morning at the Crashdown, to her eager audience of two-- Max and Liz. She silently thanked whatever God was listening that it was Sunday-- she couldn't have kept this to herself all day at school. "When Maria was teletransplanted to wherever the hell she went, I was still in her dream. That dream broke off when Maria fell out of it, but it NEVER STOPPED HAPPENING!"

Liz and Max both looked confused. "What? Izzy, what the hell are you talking about?" Max asked, thoroughly lost. "Maria woke up. The dream is over."

Isabelle shook her head excitedly. "No. No, Max, that's where you're wrong." She grabbed one of the paper placemats off the table and flipped it over. Pulling a slim pencil from her purse, she drew two interconnected circles on the back of the thin paper. "It's like a Venn diagram," she explained.

Pointing to one circle, she said, "Michael's dream." Then, pointing to the other, "Maria's dream." She shaded in the interconnected middle. "The dream they shared." Her eyes flew up to meet theirs. "Do you see what I mean?"

Liz looked on the verge of saying something, as if she knew the words, but couldn't form them. Max still looked confused.

Isabelle rolled her eyes, and pointed with her pencil to the shaded-in portion again. "THIS is what she woke out of, Max!" she explained in a fervent whisper. "This shared dream! But in the dreamworld, the two separate spheres were never whole! They were never one! That's why I didn't just pop into Maria's dream and find myself in Michael's dream, too! Because they only overlapped-- they weren't the same! So when Maria woke up, she woke up from this OVERLAPPED dream. The part of the dream that was still hers is still going on-- that's why the Emerald City just disappeared, and didn't explode or something. If THAT had happened, it would have been the unconcious mind's way of signaling the end of the dream. But it DIDN'T-- which means the dream is STILL GOING ON!"

Liz understood, Isabelle could see that. And Max looked like he grasped it, too. "So what you're saying is...." He trailed off, letting her finish for him.

"If I can find the rest of this dream, I can follow it to Maria's NEW dream," Isabelle said enthusiastically. "And from there, we can find them!"

"But Izzy," Max protested. "You said everytime you try to get into Maria's dream, you get blocked. Why would this be any different?"

Isabelle sat back, looking pleased with herself. "That's when I try to get in DIRECTLY. Normally, there are no back entrances in the dreamworld. It's just a whole bunch of front doors." She raised an eyebrow. "But if I go through THIS back door-- the dream I shared with Maria-- then I should be able to pull it off."

Liz shook her head, unsure. "But, it's just a dream! Even if you DO get in, if Michael and Maria don't know where they are themselves-- how are we supposed to?"

Isabelle grinned, and held out her hand. She kept it low, so that no one else could see, and a bright flare of light flashed in her palm. "Michael's not the only one who can mess with people's heads," she told them. "When I was in Maria's dream, waiting, I examined the structure of their little mental hook-up." She chuckled. "For someone who doesn't know diddly about control, Michael sure knows how to weave an intricate mind meld when he wants to." She smiled, and leaned forward conspiratorily. "But I had plenty of time to see how he did it," she continued, her voice lowering to a whisper, so Max and Liz had to strain to hear her, "and I think I've figured out a way to put a psychic locator on one of them."

Max's eyes widened. "You mean, put a telepathic tracking device in Maria's head?"

Isabelle nodded.

Liz and Max looked at each other, then back to the tall blonde. "Then I think we've got a plan," Max said, the first grin he'd worn in a long time spreading across his face.



"Rise and shine, lovebirds!" Topolsky chimed as she blew through the cell door. "Time to get back to business."

Michael turned and pushed himself into a sitting position so that he was facing the door. Maria sat up behind him, the thin sheet pulled around her to hide her nakedness. "What do you want, Topolsky?" Michael growled.

The agent smiled, and threw a clean pair of scrubs at him, and another at Maria. "Put those on," she told them, ignoring Michael's question. "We have a busy day."

Neither of the captives moved. "I said, what do you want?" Michael demanded again, his voice cold. Ice cold. It made Maria shiver.

Topolsky didn't scowl, or smirk. She simply sighed. "If you must know, Mr. Guerin," she replied, "I have come to collect my investment."

"What the hell does THAT mean?"

"It means I'm here for Ms. Deluca."

Maria's eyes widened, and she pulled the sheets tighter around herself as Michael roared, "WHAT?"

Topolsky remained unshaken by his anger. "We must take Ms. Deluca to isolation," she explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Her progress must be recorded, checked, and examined for the entire duration of the pregnancy. That is, of course, if she was successfully inseminated. But, judging by the antics you two got up to last night, I think it's a safe assumption." Now she smirked.

Maria didn't know what possessed him, but she tried in vain to keep Michael from climbing out of the small bed to stand toe to toe with Topolsky. "You're not taking her anywhere," he hissed, glaring at the woman.

The blonde agent twitched an eyebrow, but didn't break eye contact. "Don't you think you should put some clothes on, Mr. Guerin?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Why? Nothing here you haven't seen, right?"

She bobbed a nod. "True."

"Then let's get back to the point," he growled. "That being, you're not taking her."

"Mr. Guerin," Topolsky argued, and Maria was shaken by the animosity in the older woman's voice, "you are walking on unsteady footing right now. Do you remember what I told you that first day? About doing as you're told?"

Michael scoffed. "I'm not your lab rat, Topolsky," he muttered. "And I'm not going to let you hurt Maria."

"Who said anything about hurting her?" the agent asked. "We're just going to observe her."

"Observing for you probably involves diodes, needles, and high voltage electricity."

Topolsky chuckled, and it made Maria's blood run cold. "You know me too well."

"You're not taking her."

"You're not going to stop us."

"Watch me."

Topolsky and Michael stared into one another's eyes, and Maria was afraid to breathe-- petrified that such a simple act could tilt the scales in some cosmic way.

"Fine," Topolsky said suddenly, and Maria released a breath. "Ms. Deluca can stay. But," she added at Michael's victorious smile, "you're coming with us."

"No!" The sound tore from Maria's throat before she could stop herself, but Topolsky ignored her anyway.

"You broke the rules, Mr. Guerin," the agent told him. "You broke the rules, and I intend to make you pay for that." She grinned. "You have no idea how long I've wanted something like this to happen. You lasted a lot longer than I'd expected. But," she reached up and gripped Michael's chin in her hand, "beggars can't be choosers, right?"

Michael hadn't moved through the entire explication. Now he wrenched his head away from Topolsky and scowled at the woman. "Bring it on," he growled.

"Happy to," she replied, and snapped her fingers. The same two lumbering guards from before-- Maria was beginning to wonder if there were any others-- came through the door.

Michael saw them and chuckled. "Ah, gee," he said, "look who's back. Huey and Dewey. Where's Louie, fellas? Off getting jacked while you two play wind-up soldier to General Topolsky?"

"Bring him to the testing room," Topolsky ordered them, ignoring Michael's comment. "But be gentle." She looked back at him, and Maria felt her throat close. "I want him to put up a fight."

Michael made no reply.

"Put your clothes on," Topolsky said. "I'll see you there." Turning on her heel, she whisked out the door and disappeared.

Michael just stood there for a long moment, staring after her. His back was tense, the tendons in his shoulders standing out in sharp relief. "Michael?" Maria murmured shakily.

He turned then, and she saw his jaw was hard as he tried to keep his emotions under control. "Maria, it's going to be all right," he told her, crossing to her side and sitting on the edge of the bed.

She reached out to him with one hand, touching his cheek. The tears were back again, and she blinked to clear his image in her eyes. "How can you be so sure?" she choked.

"Because I am," he replied simply, before leaning in to kiss her more passionately than she would have imagined possible in a hopeless situation.

Finally they drew apart, and Michael stood again. He began to pull on the requisite white boxers and green scrubs while Maria watched, tormented. Once he was dressed, he leaned over again to touch his lips lightly to hers. "I'll see you soon," he whispered.

"You'd better," she whispered back.

Her heart froze as he spun around and held out his arms to the two guards. "Let's go, boys!" he said, almost jauntily. "We have an appointment to keep!"

The two guards sprang into action, each taking hold of one of Michael's arms, and leading him from the room. Michael glanced back over his shoulder as they left, and flashed Maria an encouraging smile that never reached his eyes. Then the door was swinging closed, and he was gone.

Maria sat still, watching the door, as if she could mentally force it to open. But it remained steadfast, and she eventually collapsed back to the mattress, burying her face in the thin pillow. Her lower body was hurting, the bruises from the previous night making their presence known again. Her core throbbed, too, from his wanton pounding into her. But she didn't mind-- she absorbed it, enjoyed it. Thanked heaven above for it. Because it reminded her of his touch. And she was suddenly very scared that she might never feel that touch again.

It was with shock some minutes later that she realized she couldn't sense him anymore.


Michael stared straight ahead at the blank white wall as Topolsky circled him, like a tigress around her prey. She was toying with him, baiting him. She wanted him to snap. Well, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

"Do you know why I dislike you so much?" Topolsky asked suddenly, taking Michael by surprise. But he didn't let himself jump-- he kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Can't say as I do," he said, not looking at her. "Though I was meaning to mention that to you," he added, "because there are some very nice men in white coats who I'm sure would LOVE to talk to you about these psychopathic tendencies you--"

"It's because you're kids," she cut him off, ignoring his spiel. She'd been ignoring him a lot, and it was pissing him off. "Snivelly, whiny, barely post-pubescent kids. You don't know the first thing about life in the real world. About responsibility. Anything." She moved in close, so that her breath blew across his neck. "Yet you managed to trip us up everytime we were close to exposing you. Teenagers fucking with the FBI." She chuckled, and somehow, her breath now felt cold against his skin. "How did that happen?"

Michael shrugged, but she pulled back before his shoulder could get her in the chin. He cursed silently. "Don't ask me," he told her. "The others are the brains of the whole thing." He smirked. "I'm just pretty."

She smiled then-- he could see it out of the corner of his eye. It made him shiver. "Well, we'll just have to change that," she said.

And she snapped her fingers.

//They're like trained poodles,// Michael thought absently, as two different guards from the ones who had brought him here entered the room. Like before, each one grabbed one of his arms, and held him fast.

Topolsky moved to stand in front of them. "Make him look at me," she ordered, and Michael felt a frighteningly powerful hand grip his chin and force his eyes down from their arbitrary focus on the wall.

Topolsky's blue eyes stood out in sharp relief from her pale blonde hair and close-fitting black jumpsuit. She smiled sunnily at him, but there was no warmth in it. "Let's dirty up that pretty face," she said, and struck.

Michael didn't know where the blow came from, but it snapped his head to the left, and made his cheek throb. He worked his jaw as he looked back to the woman in front of him. But he didn't speak.

She raised her eyebrows. "So, you're going to play hero?" she scoffed.

"Well, that just makes it more interesting."

Michael saw the blow coming this time, as she spun on her heel and lashed out with her opposite foot. He tried to dodge, but the two monoliths on either side of him held his body grounded, and her booted foot made contact with his abdomen.

He tried to double over and wheeze for air, but the guards forced him to stand upright. Topolsky grinned at him. "Having a little trouble breathing?" she asked.

"" he gasped.

"Oh, that's going to cost you," she told him, and kicked again, this time catching him under the chin and snapping his head back. Michael saw stars as a flare of pain tore through him, and he gagged.

"This is fun," Topolsky was saying as he tried to stay upright of his own power between the guards. "I should have made up an excuse to do this ages ago."

"I...thought you...wanted me to...fight...back..." he choked out, trying to buy time before her next blow hit.

"I lied," she snarled, and backhanded him, this time snapping his head to the right. "I just wanted to make sure you were at your peak efficiency," she continued, "so that you wouldn't collapse too soon." Her fist plowed into his stomach, and he wheezed out a cough.

"Betcha wish you'd never met her," Topolsky hissed into his ear, leaning in close. "Betcha wish you'd just let us take her. Don't you?"

Michael forced himself to stand straight. "Not a chance in hell, Topolsky," he growled through gritted teeth.

She sighed and shrugged, standing back. "Oh well," she said. "I've been wrong before." Her eyes hardened again. "And I HATE being wrong." Her footlashed out and caught him in the midsection again. Then the left knee. Then the right...

Michael closed his eyes against the pain as she rained blow after blow down upon him. //Mariaskin,// he thought, as Topolsky's fist made contact with his jaw. //Mariaeyes.// Bone grinding against bone as something in his ribcage snapped. //Mariamaria.//

Topolsky kneed him in the groin, and his body crumpled. He sagged between the two guards. "Let him go," he heard the woman say from far away, and he felt the hands that held him let go.

Michael fell bonelessly to the floor. Trying to drag himself to his knees, he felt Topolsky make contact again with his ribcage, and he collapsed, groaning.

Opening his eyes, he gazed absently at the blood that spattered the floor. Distantly, he realized it was his. If he thought very hard, he could form the smears and droplets into pretty pictures in his head-- but he couldn't really think just then.

He saw the foot coming, but he made no move to dodge it. Instead, he felt it make contact with his skull, and let the momentum of it roll him onto his other side. How long had this been going on? It felt like it had been forever.

It was a long time after forever that Topolsky finally stopped. Michael barely noticed as she walked away, leaving him to bleed on the normally spotless white tile. Everything still throbbed, as though her steel-toed boots were still assaulting him. What did it matter that she was no longer there?

He wanted to see Maria again.. If only to know she was all right, and this hadn't all been for nothing. He needed to see her.

And he did.


Maria searched frantically through the recesses of her suddenly quiet mind, hoping, praying, that she would find some trace of her link with Michael. Some clue that they were still joined. But there was nothing.

She didn't know why he would suddenly have blocked his emotions off from her-- perhaps he didn't want his own fear to compound hers. //That would be just like him.// Still, she couldn't really blame him. It wasn't his fault that some abstract part of his psyche felt it was necessary to block off the one thing that made her feel everything was still all right. That thought didn't help her feel any better.

It didn't take long, however, for her to discover that the link hadn't disappeared. It had merely changed again.

The picture hit her like a cannonball, and she fell back to the hard mattress, twitching as the image pressed down upon her. She squinted and held up her hands, trying to block out the sight, but it didn't work. It was overpowering her, and there was nothing to do but accept.

So she opened herself to it, and fell in.


They were hurting him, she could see that. Topolsky was beating him red and senseless, and it made Maria want to scream. But there was no sound in this strange in-between state of conciousness. Only sight.

She was floating. No, not floating-- existing. The corporeal had been left behind, twitching on the hard mattress. But SHE was here-- and she watched, and prayed that it would stop.

Michael fell to the tile, and Maria could see the dark blood that spattered the floor in a wide radius around him. //MICHAEL!// she tried to scream, but nothing came out. Nothing but empty air. She wanted to touch him-- to reach out and ease his pain, let him know that she was there for him. But she was afraid of what would happen if she did, and so she refrained, and watched. Shadowtears pricked at her phantomeyes, and she didn't try to brush them away.

Topolsky finally left, and Maria gave the woman's retreating form an acid glare. //You will NEVER turn your back on me again, Topolsky,// she hissed to herself. //NEVER.//

Michael moaned beneath her-- she saw him move though she couldn't hear the sound-- and suddenly she was beside him. Kneeling beside him on phantomknees that couldn't feel the tile. //Michael?// There was no reaction-- he couldn't hear her, just as she couldn't hear him.

Despite her fears, she wanted to touch him. To reach out to him and let him know she was there-- that she would protect him now as he had protected her. So she extended a hand, rested it on his shoulder, and jumped.

She could hear.


Michael opened his eyes at the featherlight touch, but he barely registered the translucent girl before him. "Maria?" he rasped.

She smiled at him. "Michael," she whispered. "You can see me!"

He squinted at her and nodded. "How come you're clear?"

She ran her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. "Because I'm not really here," she told him. "Or actually, I'm here, but not ALL of me is here. This part," she tapped her temple, "is here, and THIS part," she touched her chest, right above her heart, "is here. And that's what matters."

Michael couldn't begin to comprehend what she was talking about, but that wasn't important just now. All that counted was that he could see her, and she looked all right. "I hurt," he mumbled.

Maria's face clouded. "I know," she said softly. "I know, Michael. I'm sorry. I...should never have let you go through this for me!" She was trying desperately not to cry, and was failing miserably.

Michael's face went grim. "Please don't cry, Maria," he murmured, and tried to reach up to brush her tears away. For some reason, his arms wouldn't move. "I hate it when you cry."

Maria forced back the tears. "I'll try," she choked out. "But you don't make it easy on a girl."

He started to chuckle, but stopped quickly when sharp pain from every nerve ending lanced through him. He groaned.

Maria's face creased with worry. "Michael?" she said, cupping his face in her hands. "Michael, say something. Please. Please tell my you're okay. That this will all be okay. Please!"

She sounded frantic, and Michael forced his eyes to open so he could look at her. Her eyes were still emerald, despite their ghostly quality. "Lay down with me?" he mumbled. "Please?"

Maria didn't answer. She simply stretched out beside him-- ignoring the blood smears on the tile-- and trailed her butterfly touch down his body until her phantomfingers twined with his. "I won't leave you," she whispered, leaning in close to brush his lips with her own. "I promise. I'll never leave you."

Michael smiled, and squeezed her hand. Her opaque fingers felt like cotton candy-- as if they could melt away any moment, like so much spun sugar. But Maria had told him she wouldn't leave, and Maria would never lie.

So he held her tighter, and closed his eyes. And he slept.


In the quiet room where her body lay, Maria's fingers tightened into a loose fist, as though she held something very precious. And a single tear coursed down her cheek.

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