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| "Homework and Dance Lessons " |
| Part 7 by hitchhiker |
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Disclaimer: The usual. The characters and Roswell don’t belong to me, but to WB, etc. I’m only borrowing them for a while! Summary: After the brief truce they come to in Sexual Healing, our favorite couple reach a level of semi-comfort in their relationship. (Sigh, if M&M ever become completely comfortable with their lives and themselves, they wouldn’t be M&M!) Category: Michael/Maria Rating: R Authors Note: The narrative works in part through introspection, memory and flashback, but I haven’t put markers to indicate these moments because I think it spoils the effect. But any feedback is welcome. As for distribution, ask first! |
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| So, what was there to tell? Michael thought, dumbly facing his two oldest friends. They did their homework, they danced, they kissed, they made love. The words were simple enough, but they sounded strange, even in his head. They shared a communion of souls? Too corny, he decided. He wasn’t sure that any words would sound right anyhow. Last night had been wonderful, but he didn’t want to make an event of it. He and Maria had stopped trying to define their relationship long ago. It was confusing enough trying to negotiate their tentative relationship and cope with the changes in their daily lives without their friends barging in with well-meaning advice. Besides, he rather looked forward to their public bickering. They had a reputation to uphold. But he knew Isabel, she wasn’t going to let it rest. He just looked helplessly at Max. Max just shook his head. Michael had given him enough grief about Liz; he was on his own now. Behind the bedroom door, Maria somehow felt Michael’s helplessness. Since he abducted her on the way to Atherton’s house, she had come to know the boy/man/alien - he switched from one to another with such dizzying frequency and sometimes to all three at the same time, she had a hard time keeping up - and what she realized was that his bravado often masked a deep vulnerability brought on by a scarred past. During that time, she had come to know his other alien friends as well. Nothing made fast friends out of strangers like running from the police and the FBI. That Isabel, Maria thought, bossy as usual. Behind the ice queen facade, Maria knew Isabel had a kind heart and a loyal soul - she’d even agreed to wait tables once when Liz’s grandmother was ill - but she always had to preside. Maria decided then that the best tack was not to give either Max or Isabel a reason to react at all, that she would act like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be getting out of Michael’s bed in the morning. And in a way it was. She felt like they’d always lived together like this. That they belonged together somehow; even if it took them this long to realize it. So Maria got out of bed, brushed her hair, put on the tank top she’d gratefully found at a corner of the bedroom (had Michael thrown it that far?) and threw on a fresh pair of his boxers. On her way out, she checked in the mirror for any tell-tale hickeys before striding calmly into the living room. |
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