Michael deals with the ramifications of Pierce's death
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Roswell
Category: Michael
Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue. Okay? No infringement intended.
Notes: Please do not archive without permissions. Spoilers for Destiny. My #roswell chat buddies decided Michael and Pierce would make an interesting pair. This isn't that fic. Fire and Ice is.
Archive Date: 8/27/2000
“Nooooooooo!” he screams. A flash emanates from his hand, shooting towards his enemy. His enemy falls.
“He’s dead,” the sheriff tells him.
“He’s dead.” “He’s dead.” "He’s dead.” The statement echoes throughout his mind.
“No!” Michael jerks awake. The tangled sheets on his bed lay sopping wet, a testament to the nightmare that haunts him.
Slowly, he pads to the kitchen, opens the fridge and grabs a carton of milk. It tastes sour but he drinks it, the bitter liquid falling swiftly down his throat.
He shuts his eyes tightly, running twin fingers over them, trying to get the image of Pierce’s prone, lifeless body on the floor out of his head.
Restlessly, he prowls his one bedroom apartment, trying to work off the remnants of his dream. He eyes the couch. No way he was going to get back into bed and have that dream again.
He sits on the couch, trying to avoid replaying the scene at UFO Center over and over again. What the hell happened there?
One minute, he, Max and the sheriff were just walking through the room and the next minute he had reduced Pierce into a daisy-pusher.
Michael shakes his head. “Don’t think about it!” he orders himself. “Think about something else!”
“Maria,” He latches onto that thought. But as soon as an image of Maria forms into his mind, it is quickly replaced by Pierce’s dead form again.
“Shit!” Michael gets up from the couch. He contemplates taking another midnight trip to Max’s house. Then sighs in frustration.
A trip to Max’s house was out of the question. Max would never understand how he felt. Max who healed. Max who saved lives. Not ended them.
He stares blankly at the walls. Several hours pass and his eyes start to droop. He sags back on the couch.
Just before he hits sleep’s oblivion, a voice whispers, “Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
The windows to Max’s room open with a thud. Michael climbs through them. Max looks up and sees his friend’s haggard face.
“Hey,” Michael greets him.
“What’s wrong?” Max eyes him worriedly.
“Nothing,” Michael responds and starts to pace up and down the room.
“Nothing? You sure you’re okay?” he asks again.
“I’m fine! Just tired that’s all,” Michael responds brusquely. He seems distracted.
“Isabel around?” Michael asks.
“She went to Albuquerque with Mom and Dad. She’ll be back tomorrow,” Max relays to him.
“I wanted to talk to her,” Michael tells him.
Max raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“I wanted …” he tails off in frustration.
“Is this about what happened that day? At the museum?”
Michael responds with silence.
“Michael, that wasn’t your fault.” Max assures him. “I know how you must feel but you saved our lives. Pierce was trying to kill us,” Max adds.
“No, you don’t know how I feel! You have no idea what it’s like!” Michael rages. “There’s this thing in me, this … killer … and I can’t stop it!”
“It’s not who you are!” Max tells him.
“How do you know that? How do you know I’m no better than Nacedo?” Michael accuses.
“I just know, Michael.”
“You don’t understand. You’d never understand,” Michael continues to rage.
“Michael!” Max puts hand on his arm.
“No! You want to sweep everything under the rug, pretend that nothing happened. Well, it did, Maxwell! I killed someone!”
“Michael!” Max calls out as a frustrated, Michael climbs out the window.
Michael stalks back to his apartment and plops down on the couch. He throws at forgotten couch pillow at the wall. Hours pass again until sleep calls him.
“Nooooooooo!” Michael screams. A flash emanates from his hand, shooting towards his enemy. His enemy falls.
“He’s dead,” the sheriff tells him.
The prone figure on the floor gets up. “Hello, Michael,” a softly menacing voice whispers.
“Pierce!”
The ghost strolls lazily towards him, a smirk painted on his face.
“You! How?!?!” Michael blurts out the question.
“How did I survive? Good question. I didn’t!” Pierce smiles. “Guess I have you to thank you for that!”
Michael reels from the fact that a walking, talking Pierce was now in front of him. How the hell did that happen?
Pierce flashes him an evil grin. “Lots of thing can happen … in dreams.”
Suddenly, the room shifts.
Michael finds himself in the middle of the White Room, strapped to a gurney, with Pierce hovering above him. He struggles to free himself but to no avail.
“This time, we’ll do it my way.” Pierce wields a surgical scalpel, its silver gleam sparkling like demon eyes. “Nothing too quick and painless. I like taking it slow.”
Michael looks at Pierce with burning eyes.
“And who knows, you might enjoy it!” Pierce smirks. “Of course, there is something to be said for quick and painful.” With that, Pierce makes a searing incision on Michael’s upper body.
There is a hot, searing pain above his heart and he looks down to see a river of blood gushing forth.
“Aaaaaahhhh!” Michael shrieks in agony.
His eyes fly open. One glance at his surroundings confirms that he is still in his apartment. His shoulders sag in relief. He rubs the skin over his heart, subconsciously trying to make sure it is still intact. It is.
The predawn hours start to fade into morning. As he closes his eyes to shake off the last remnants of his nightmare, Michael swears he could hear Pierce’s voice. “It’s not over, Michael.”
“Michael” Isabel calls out as Michael hurriedly strides down Roswell’s main street. “What happened to you?” she says as soon as she sees dark circles under his eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says roughly.
“I’m worried about you, Michael,” Isabel says softly.
“Yeah, why?” he asks, almost flippantly.
“Max says you were upset yesterday,” she tells him.
“Did he tell you that he thought me being a killer was okay?” Michael asks her.
“He didn’t say that!” she responds in a frustrated-why-are-you-acting-this-way voice.
Michael harrumphs.
“Look, you were just looking out for us. And Pierce, he was trying to hurt us,” Isabel tries to reason with him.
“And that makes it okay?” Michael yells out.
“God, Michael! What do you want me to say? You’re an evil person because you happened to fry the person who wanted to cut us up in bits and pieces? Is that what you want?” Isabel loses her patience.
“I don’t know what I want,” Michael grates out and starts strolling rapidly down the street.
Isabel lets him go.
Michael finds himself in front of the Crashdown. Maria would be inside.
Then he remembers she’d gone out of town with her mother. A mother-and-daughter-bonding-and-bash-the-males-who-had-dumped-them trip. Just before he quit his job as short order cook at the café and replaced with one at the library. He debates on whether to go in.
“Hi!” a shy voice greets him as he slides over to sit at a table. He nods his head at Liz.
Liz looks over Michael to see if anyone else was joining him. “Don’t worry, Max isn’t coming,” he assures her.
“Oh,” Liz says in a small voice. She relaxes a little and concentrates on taking out her order pad. “What I can get for you?” she asks.
“Coffee.”
At that order, Liz raises her eyebrows.
“What, I don’t look like the type who drinks coffee?” Michael teases her.
Liz smiles. “No, I just never saw you drink it before. One order of coffee coming right up. And don’t worry, I’ll remember to bring the Tabasco.”
Michael fiddles around with the fork and spoon on the table as he waits for his order.
“Here you go. Coffee, black. I don’t suppose you’d want cream and sugar to go with the Tabasco?” she quips.
“No!”
“Some cedar oil, then?” she tries to subtly reference Maria.
“Not right now, no!” he responds to her.
“Okay.” She stops to stare at him. And sees the tiredness in his eyes. “Michael, do you … do you want to talk or something?” she says haltingly.
“What about?”
“Um, I know we’re not really that close or anything but if you need to talk to someone, I’m here,” Liz explains.
“Thanks!” Michael downs his coffee and Tabasco quickly, throws some bills on the table and starts to leave.
“Michael!”
He stops.
“It will be okay,” she tells him.
He gives her a little smile.
Quickly, before she changed her mind, Liz gives him a hug. “Sorry, I …” Liz is flustered.
“That was from um, Maria,” she finishes.
“Tell ‘Maria’ thanks,” he says in a warm voice.
He dreads the walk home but there was really no other place to go.
“Screw this!” he tells himself finally. “I’m not going to let some FBI mofo mess with me!” Almost in rebellion, he falls into bed and into sleep.
Michael dreams of the funhouse at the carnival. Mirrors distort his image and he wanders close to one mirror.
“Trying to see if yourself in there?” Pierce laughs. A thousand Pierces surround Michael. “Or do you just want to see the part that kills?”
“Get a life, would you?” he yells at Pierce.
“I had one. A pretty good one. But you took it away from me, remember?” the ghost tells him. “Perhaps I can have yours instead?”
Images in the mirrors shift. Pierce disappears, to be replaced by a thousand Michaels.
One Michael image, dressed in a blue suit, smirks as he exits through a vanishing door. The mirrors start to converge, closing in on Michael. They push in on him, boxing him in quickly.
He attempts to push the mirrors away but all he grasps is slippery glass. The mirrors convey his worried, almost-frantic expression almost a thousand-fold. The converging mirrors pin his body and push his face into the glass.
He struggles unsuccessfully to free himself. Air is getting harder to breathe as his lungs are caught in a vise-like grip. No air fills his lungs as he tries to take rapid breaths.
“How does it feel, having the life squeezed out of you?” a voice mocks him from overhead.
Dark blots form within Michael’s line of sight. Darkness overtakes him as he expels a last breath.
“Mwaaaaaaa,” Michael takes deep, gasping breaths as he jolts himself from another nightmare. Three nights in a row.
Michael decides to take a stroll at the park. The park looks peaceful. After three nights, he wants some peace.
Alex is there, playing dodgeball with some kids.
“Uh, hey, Michael,” Alex calls out as he sees Michael.
Michael turns around and walks the other way. He doesn’t want to deal with anyone.
Alex catches up to him. “So … uh, you up for some dodgeball?” Alex cheesily invites him.
“No thanks!” Michael responds.
“Listen, uh, Maria’s coming back tomorrow. Just thought you should know,” Alex informs him.
“Yeah,” Michael says off the cuff.
“Maybe you could go see her,” Alex suggests. “Maybe bring some aromatherapy candles? She loves that stuff,” he adds.
“What are you talking about?” Michael got out. Alex Whitman was giving him advice?
“Forget it!” Alex dismisses. After a pause, he tells Michael, “You don’t look too good. Cedar oil should do the trick.”
At Michael’s glance, Alex quips, “Just trying to help. I know things haven’t been that good lately.”
Michael huffs out a you-said-it breath.
“Okay, back to dodgeball! Gotta keep my cousin’s kids jumping! You’re welcome to join us anytime!” Even though Alex didn’t really Michael playing his favorite “sport” anytime soon.
“I know things haven’t been that good lately,” Alex’s remark plays in Michael’s head. That was the understatement of the year.
Michael sits a park bench at a secluded corner. Maria. She would be back. Michael closes his eyes. He would see her again. A part of him leaps at the thought. But his joy quickly dissipates as he realizes nothing has really changed.
His “gifts” are still a sore spot. No way in hell he would put her in harm’s way because of his lack of control over his newfound powers. No way in hell. He’d die first. Not that she understands that, Michael thinks to himself.
Night falls and Michael is still sitting on the bench, staring up at the stars.
Footsteps crunching the grass alert him to the presence of someone else nearby. He looks up and sees Sheriff Valenti striding towards him.
“Kinda late to be out, aren’t you?” the sheriff asks him.
“I was just leaving,” Michael tells him as he stands up. He happens to glance at the gun tucked in the Valenti’s holster. Flashes of that night assault him again.
Valenti notices a grimace crossing Michael’s face. Then he sees where Michael’s gaze lies. The sheriff shifts his holster.
“You know son, what you did back there was a brave thing.”
“Brave?” Michael thinks brave was the last thing the sheriff would say about his actions.
“You saved me. And Max. You put yourself on the line of fire.”
Michael shakes his head in disagreement.
“Look, bottom line is, if you hadn’t stopped Pierce, Max or I would be dead by now. Maybe even Isabel. And the rest of your friends. Think about it. The Evans, DeLucas and the Whitmans would have possibly lost their children. Their sixteen-year-old, innocent children. It wouldn’t have just been your friends that suffered, it would have been their families too. You didn’t mean to kill him. But he meant to kill us. He was serious about it.”
The sheriff sees Michael’s eyes start to lighten and then fade again. “Think about it,” Valenti pauses, then adds, “C’mon, I’ll give you a lift home.”
Michael walks into his house, lost in thought.
Valenti’s words worm into his head again. “It would have been their families too.”
That statement chips away at the guilt he'd been feeling ever since that day in the UFO Center.
His tired eyes stray to the bed. With grim determination, he looks upon it and decides to confront Pierce, whenever he showed in his dreams again.
Like clockwork, Pierce makes an appearance. This time, they’re both smack dab in the middle of the UFO Center.
“Look familiar?” Pierce points to figures standing at the other end of the room.
“It’s the scene of the crime!” Pierce taunts Michael.
Suddenly Pierce whips out a gun, the sheriff’s gun, and fires at Valenti.
Michael watches as Valenti falls to the floor in slow motion. Max goes over to help the sheriff but Pierce shoots him in the back. Blood splatters Max’s back and he collapses face down.
Liz screams and runs toward Max. Her steps falter then stop as Pierce takes her out with a shot.
Maria calls out, “Mic-“ but doesn’t finish as a bullet lodges in her. Pierce slowly fires at the rest. They all fall … dead.
“Nooooooooo!” Michael screams at Pierce.
“I’m not going to let this happen!” Michael yells. The scene shifts back to the beginning of the dream.
“You can’t stop me!” Pierce challenges him. “I’ll just have to do it all over again,” Pierce aims the gun at the seven figures.
Fear clutches Michael’s throat. “The hell you are!” he yells at his enemy.
Michael opens his hand, focusing slightly to bring his power under control. Concentrate, he tells himself as he aims a flash of light at Pierce.
A blinding light propels Pierce backwards. He collapses.
Valenti gets up from the floor where he had dragged the teenagers down to safety and checks on Pierce. “He’s dead.” The sheriff pauses.
He points to a large projector lying nearby. He hit his head hard on the projector. "It took him out.”
Michael blinks.
“You didn’t kill Michael. He killed himself,” the sheriff tells him.
Slowly, Michael‘s eyes open. It‘s still dark outside his bedroom window. He watches as rain trickles down on glass panes. He takes a deep, calm breath. And closes his eyes once more.
“You look pretty relaxed today,” Max comments on the complete lack of fatigue in Michael’s face.
“Finally got some sleep,” Michael replies, watching Max as he fixes a display of ‘alien’ artifacts in the UFO Center.
“Someone having a birthday?” Max asks, pointing to the gaily-wrapped present in Michael’s hand.
“This? No!” Michael responds abruptly, almost embarrassed.
“No?” Max teases him.
“What’s with the third degree?” Michael demands.
“I was just curious.” Max replies.
“I gotta meet someone,” Michael blurts out.
“Oh? Someone I know?” Max teases him.
“Yeah. I’ll tell Liz you said “Hello!” With that parting shot, Michael crosses the street towards the Crashdown … towards Maria.
Maria is there, babbling up a storm to a captive audience of Alex and Liz. Her back is turned so she does not see Michael coming in the cafe.
“So anyway, I told this guy, ‘Look, buddy, just because your nickname is Corndog doesn’t mean you have to be over us like white on rice,’” Maria huffs.
“Maria, are you sure it was Corndog?” Alex asks her.
“Of course it was, what else would it be?” Alex raises his eyebrows.
“Oh My God!” Maria gasps in shock.
“Hey, Michael!” Liz glances over Maria’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Michael stops in front of Maria and stares at her. Maria shoots him a haughty look, presses her lips together and strides into the kitchen.
Michael follows her.
“What do you want, Michael? Let me guess. You’ve decided to become a monk and join a monastery and you’re here to rub it in! Nice thing, monasteries. I hear they have really high stone walls!” Maria says bitterly.
Michael holds up the gaily-wrapped present. “This is for you.” He almost shoves it in her face.
“What, another bottle generic shampoo again?” Maria quips. “Oh, no, wait, shampoo AND conditioner!!??!”
“I just thought you’d like it. Welcome back.” With that, Michael places the present on the nearby counter and leaves. Or so Maria thinks.
He pauses outside the kitchen door and turns to observe Maria through the glass window on the door.
“Typical, just typical!” she huffs. “He waltzes in, says a few things, drops off a present and then just sails off again!”
Maria eyes the present on the counter. “What the hell,” she grabs and unwraps the present. Her hand falters over the group of daintily colored candles in the bed of old newspapers. “Candles … and newspaper,” she says.
She inhales the scent of cedar and lavender wafting through the air and grins. Then sighs contentedly.
“Thank you,” she says silently.
Michael sees her mouth the words. On his side of the door, he responds with an equally quiet, “You’re welcome.” A tiny smile crosses his face as he contemplates their next meeting.
Michael’s head fills with Maria images as he begins his journey home.
Maria babbling incessantly about Beatrice, her mom’s latest alien doll creation, Maria shooting killing glances at him as he poured Tabasco sauce on her last pint of Fudge Double Mint Chip ice cream, Maria smiling sweetly as she mocked his total lack of cleaning skills and Maria staring at him silently as he left her that day.
Strangely, the fear of his “powers” inadvertently hurting Maria dissipates.
“Maybe it was just a dream but I was able to control my powers in there. And no one innocent was hurt, Michael thinks to himself. Even Nacedo said that in time, I’ll learn to harness them even more.
Michael releases a deep breath. He wants, no, needs Maria back in his life again. He also knows Maria was not make it easy on him. When have things ever been easy with us? he thinks to himself.
Michael grins as he looks ahead to sarcastic zingers, killing looks and passionate kisses with Maria.
Hours later, he enters his apartment absentmindedly, flopping on the couch and turning on the TV. As the TV drones on, his eyes close.
His dreams take him to the pod chamber.
Pierce is there, as per usual. His back is turned. He glances at Michael as he enters the chamber then turns to look back whatever held his attention before.
Michael moves to stand closer to Pierce, still a little wary.
“You don’t have to worry,” Pierce tells him. “Look,” he motions with his head to a prone body lying on the floor of the pod chamber.
Michael sees another Pierce lying there. Startled, he looks up at the Pierce standing next to him. And finds Nacedo instead.
“He’s gone. He won’t hurt you or anyone anymore,” Nacedo tells Michael.
“I know that,” Michael confirms.
“You don’t have to worry either. You’re not like me. You’re human,” Nacedo adds.
“I know that too.” Relief fills Michael. The last remnants of grief and guilt over his actions in the UFO Center wash away.
“I’m not like you,” he reiterates.
Nacedo smirks. “You need to rest. You’re going to need your powers at full strength before long,” he instructs Michael.
Nacedo turns and picks up Pierce’s body. He carries it into the deep recesses of the chamber.
Michael follows closely and asks “What are you doing?”
Nacedo keeps walking and then answers, “You don’t want to know. Just go home and leave this up to me.”
A blinding light fills the chamber. Michael puts his hands up to shield his eyes.
Michael awakens to the morning. Light and silence filter through his room. No ghosts left behind.
The ghost of the past firmly exorcised, he pushes himself out of bed, dresses quickly and leaves for the Crashdown. The present is there, waiting for him, in the form of Maria. The future would take care of itself.
-End
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