The interior of the city looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Maria watched with horror as small children ran screaming through the streets, eyes wild. Gaunt Flying Monkeys chased them like Harpies, eager for flesh. The brilliant emeralds that had formerly encrusted the towering buildings and winding streets were torn up and cracked-- just so much irridescent dust. A young girl dressed in a red bustiere stood beneath a lop-sided road sign, the two arms of which read Sapphire Street and Quartz Court. Maria realized with creeping shivers that the young prostitute was a member of the Lullabye League, albeit older than she had been in the movie. She looked about Maria's own age.

The valet seemed to take no notice of the desolation around him. He walked briskly past the short whore, who cast him a lascivious smile, only to stick her tongue out at him as he brushed past her. Maria tried not to look. It made her sick.

"Hurry up, hurry up!" the small man called over his shoulder to her. "The Wizard does not like to be kept waiting!"

"I'm coming as fast as I can!" she yelled back, as she hurried down the pitted street behind him. "I don't want to break my neck!"

"No chance of that, no chance of that!" he told her, his green coat-tails flickering as he seemed to fly through the desecrated streets. "Not enough bones!"

Maria had NO idea what THAT was supposed to mean, so she just ignored the comment and followed on in silence, saving her breath.

When the emerald palace finally came into view, Maria felt her stomach turn to jelly.

Because the dusty walls were bleeding.

"God," she thought, her stomach roiling, "what have I gotten myself into?"

The valet paid no attention to the blood, but cruised up the stairs and through the door, not so much as noticing the bone-thin horse cropping at the dirt in one of the potholes nearby, in search of non-existent grass. Maria cast it a sympathetic glance, only to feel her bile rise as it raised its head, and she realized that it wasn't cropping at nothing-- it's lips were red with blood, and a dead Flying Monkey lay in ruins in the bottom of the hole. Her feet picked up the pace and she ran up the steps after the valet, terrified.

They hurried down a long, dirty corridor, with tattered tapestries and ratty rugs. Maria kept her eyes on the valet's impeccable green coat, afraid to look around at what other perversions this quasi-Oz offered. Eventually, they arrived at a towering door that made Maria feel two inches tall. She wondered how it made the Munchkins feel.

A young Munchkin-- she recognized him as a member of the Lollipop Guild-- was standing guard at the door. Or rather, she GUESSED he was standing guard. He was really just leaning against the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other, smoking a crack pipe. Maria was sickened to realize it didn't even make her shudder. She'd seen too much already.

"Whaddaya want?" the young man slurred, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. His eyes raked over Maria, and she felt a cold shiver work down her spine at his lewd smile.

"Out of the way, my boy!" the valet intoned. "I have a visitor to see the Wizard."

"No one gets in," the young man replied, from rote. "Orders from the top man."

The valet leaned forward and held a hand to his mouth, as if to share a secret with the Guild member, who leaned in to listen. "This is Maria," the older Munchkin hissed.

The younger Munchkin's eyes widened, and he looked from his elder to Maria and back. "Really?"

The valet nodded sagely.

"Wow." The young Munchkin eyed her again, and chuckled. "The boss sure knows how to pick a looker."

Maria flushed, but was saved from having to respond by the valet. "None of that young man!" he scolded. "Or I shall tell the Wizard." The Guild member paled at that. "Now let us through."

The young Munchkin said nothing more, but stood out of the way as the valet pushed open the door.

"My lord!" he called as he entered the room, Maria following behind. "Your visitor has arrived!"

******

Maria's eyes swept the burnished interior of the throne room-- it was the only place in this godforsaken city that actually seemed to sparkle. But there were no furnishings, no tapestries-- only a curtained booth in one corner, and a lone figure dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt on the marble steps across the room from her.

"Your grace," the valet said, his tone softer and more respectful, "I've brought Maria to see you."

Michael was turned so that his back was to them, but she could just see his face-- if she'd known anything about theater, she'd have called it the three-quarter position. He made no move to turn as he responded, "They why are you still here?"

The valet made no comment. He simply took a flourishing bow and turned to leave. Maria heard the doors behind her begin to swing shut as he left, but she kept her eyes fixed on the dark figure across the room. "Boy," she heard the young Munchkin saying from the doorway, "I'd sure like to lick HER lolli-" But then the door slammed shut, and they were alone.

Silence reigned for a long second.

"All right!" Maria finally broke in, advancing on him. "If you're going to play Mr. Antisocial, then I guess it's up to ME to get the ball rolling."

"How'd you get in my head?" His voice was tight, pained. The question was asked so softly, Maria almost couldn't hear him.

She held up her hands, palms outward, and paused at the base of the stairs. He stood at the top. "Trust me," she said, "it's a LONG story, none of which is important right now. What I need to know is where you are and who took you. So spill." "HOW'D you get in my head?" Michael asked again, a little more insistent. He still hadn't turned to face her.

Maria stared at him in disbelief. "Hello?" she said, waving her hands in the air. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to RESCUE you. Can we cut the third degree?"

"HOW'D YOU GET IN MY HEAD!?" He bellowed, finally rounding on her, face twisted in fury. Maria's jaw dropped open in horror.

His right arm hung limp by his side, drenched in blood.

"My God, Michael!" she cried reflexively, starting up the stairs. "Your arm!"

As she neared him, he reached out with his good hand and grabbed her by the shoulder. "TELL ME!" he roared, his other arm remaining motionless.

"WHAT?!" she yelled right back. "WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW!?"

"HOW YOU GOT HERE!"

"YOU LINKED US, JACKASS!"

"What?" The change in volume was so extreme, Maria almost missed his reply.

"I said you linked us," she repeated, anger and fear still bubbling in her voice.

Michael released her arm, and stared at her, dazed. "How...?"

"That kiss in the Crashdown," she told him testily. "Remember that, spaceboy? Well, I guess your alien abilities were working on overdrive, because they decided to join your mind with mine, and look where it's gotten us." She made a sweeping gesture, as if to incorporate the entire dream. "In a big-time-fucked-up version of Oz, screaming at each other."

Michael looked around, as if for the first time realizing where he was. "I was WONDERING why I was in the Emerald City," he murmured. "I always hated that movie."

Maria glared at him. "That's MY dream you're messing with, buddy," she muttered. "I LIKE 'The Wizard of Oz.'" She threw up her hands in disgust. "God, why am I discussing this? None of this matters right now! I'm not going to ASK why there are demented Munchkins smoking crack in the Emerald Palace, or how come horses have suddenly become carnivores in the great country of Oz, because I DON'T CARE. That's an issue for you to take up with a good psychologist when we get out of this." She stared him dead in the eye. "Speaking of which, would you just tell me where the hell you are, so that we can get out of here and go save your worthless ass?"

Michael looked at her sharply. "We? Who else is here?"

"I came with Isabelle."

"ISABELLE is here?!"

"Relax, she's still outside. In NORMALville."

"Oh." He visibly relaxed, then shrugged. Maria wondered how come he didn't wince-- the blood was still flowing down his right arm, forming a dark, thick pool on the floor beside him. She tried not to look. "I don't know where I am."

Maria rolled her eyes. "Great!" she exclaimed. "I brave Flying Monkeys and potholes the size of Miami to find out you don't know where you are? Perfect!"

"But I know who took me."

It was her turn to give him a sharp look. "Who?"

"Topolsky," he whispered.

"Did you say TOPOLSKY?" she asked, shocked.

He just nodded.

Maria's head was swimming. "Why?"

He shrugged again, but didn't answer.

Maria moved closer to him, her anger from a moment before quickly dissipating. "Does it have something to do with this?" she asked as she reached out a hand towards his bloody arm.

Michael's clean hand lashed out to smack her's away. "Don't," he said quickly as she drew back in askance. "Don't touch me."

Maria was hurt. "Why not?"

His eyes looked pained. "Because I...I don't want you to feel it...you know, if we're bonded or whatever...."

Maria's face softened, and she moved forward again. "I'll be all right, Michael," she told him. He looked like he was going to bolt, so she cupped his cheek-- his muscles immediately relaxed. "Let me look."

He didn't resist anymore, though he did watch her carefully when she began to examine his shoulder, as though expecting her to collapse in agony to the floor. She was pleased she could prove his worries unfounded.

Pulling back the tight-fitting cotton, made sticky and warm by his blood, she tried to examine the wound. But it was hidden higher up on his body, and she couldn't get to it without tearing his shirt. "I can't see," she told him softly. "Can I tear--"

She didn't get to finish her sentence, because before she could say anymore, Michael was tugging the t-shirt off over his head. He winced and sucked in a hissing breath, but made no other noise.

Maria stared at him, the blood coating his arm forgotten for a moment. God, he was CUT-- and she didn't mean in the violent way. His abs were so well defined, she felt as though she were looking at a sculpted angel. The smooth curves of his pecs arched up to his shoulders, where they met with the swells of his muscles. He was symmetry. "That works, too," she managed to say around her suddenly bone-dry tongue.

"It was pressing on it," he explained. "It hurt."

Sure. Simple. Like looking at his bare chest wasn't a distraction or anything. "Whatever," she said hurriedly. "Just let me look."

Fighting back her squeamishness, she leaned in to examine his shoulder. "This is dreamblood," she kept repeating to herself over and over. "Just dreamblood. Not real. Not real."

She sucked in a breath when she saw the wound. "Dear God," she whispered. "Michael, what did she do to you?"

A long incision had been made in his flesh, stretching from the hinge of his shoulder to well below the clavicle. "She wanted to examine my ligament structure," he said through gritted teeth. "So she did."

Maria's hands went reflexively to his arm, and he hissed in pain as she touched him. She immediately pulled back. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "God, I didn't mean to... What was I thinking?!"

"No, it's okay," he told her quickly. "It...doesn't hurt as much in here as out there." He jerked his chin towards the door, as if beyond it lay the real world, and not this twisted vision.

Maria watched him carefully for a moment. Something was different in his eyes. He looked-- scared? Broken? She couldn't tell. But he needed someone to comfort him. And she was all she saw.

"Come here," she said softly, pulling him closer.

"What?" he asked, unsure.

"Shut up and let me work." Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she laid her hands on his shoulder, and THOUGHT.

"Hey, what are you...?" He trailed off when she shushed him.

Maria's hands thrummed as she skimmed them over his shoulder. At first, there was no difference. Then, slowly, a single layer of the blood disappeared. Then another. Bit by bit, in fine increments, the blood vanished, as the laceration knitted together beneath her gentle fingers.

"There," she said softly, pulling back a little. "All better. Well," she added, "at least in HERE it's all better."

Michael stared at his newly healed dreamshoulder. When his eyes went to hers, Maria had to swallow-- his gaze seemed to burn. "Thank you," he said gruffly.

She shrugged, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, it's the least I can do," she told him. "I figured, this is half my dream, so why not give it a try?"

There was a long silence, as each searched for something to say.

"So you say we're linked?" Michael asked eventually.

Maria nodded.

"In what way?"

Maria turned and sat on the topmost step with a sigh. Michael sat beside her. "Emotions," she answered. "I can feel what you're feeling-- at least, when you're awake I can. Right now, I don't get anything." She brushed a gold lock of hair back from her forehead. "I used to be able to....to REALLY feel you," she continued. "Like, physical stuff and all that. But then...then that happened," she said, gesturing to his shoulder, "and I couldn't anymore. You blocked me out."

"Oh," he said quietly. Then, "Why can't I feel you?"

Maria shrugged. "Maybe you can, but just don't realize it." At his puzzled expression, she went on. "All I've felt from you so far is nausea, agony, and panic. Those are pretty damn strong-- maybe you've just been too busy feeling on your own, without my added emotions fucking you up even more. So you kept me out."

He didn't say anything for a long time. Trademark Michael silence-- it meant either he was thinking deeply, or he'd fallen asleep. "Since we're in a dream, I'll go with answer A, Alex, for the Daily Double!"

"Maria?" he finally said.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"I'm glad you got in."

She smiled. "So am I." After a pause, she added, "Though the chick in the bustiere I could have lived without."

They both laughed at that for a moment, but the levity was shortlived as the reality of the situation hit home.

"We're going to find you, Michael," Maria assured him after a short pause. "We're going to find you and get you out of wherever you are, and we're going to make Topolsky pay for everything she's done to you."

"No, Maria," Michael answered her. "Don't look for me. Just get Max and Isabelle out of town, and keep yourself safe."

"Michael--"

"No!" His voice was firm. "I...I can't let something happen to you. To any of you," he added hastily. "And these people-- you can't beat them. You just can't."

She turned to him and took his hand in hers. "Don't say that, Michael!" she countered emotionally. "Don't even THINK that! If you give up in here, then you will NEVER survive out there. And then Topolsky wins."

"I'll get you, my pretty; and your little dog, too!"

Maria and Michael both looked up sharply at the harsh new voice. Topolsky, clothed in a black pointed hat and flowing black silk dress, cackled at them from the base of the stairs. "I want my slippers!" she screeched at them, her usual buttercream tones traded in for the high pitched whine of the Wicked Witch. "I want my slippers and your little dog!" She began to climb the stairs towards them with a hitching gate.

Maria stood hastily, backing away from her. It was with a start of surprise that she realized Michael was gone. "Where is he?" she demanded of the advancing witch.

Topolsky cackled again. "The puppy dog is waking up," she screeched. "The puppy dog is waking up, and he's MINE now, like he should have been from the start! Now give me my slippers! I want my slippers!"

Everything was whirling, spinning, as the throne room dissolved into a roaring twister. Maria felt herself being picked up and spun, whipped around and around and around.... Glancing down at herself, she saw that her original clothing had changed, and she now wore the blue checked gingham of Dorothy, with a pair of ruby slippers on her feet. Her eyes flew frantically to Topolsky's face, as the witch managed to somehow still advance on her, slowly but surely. "LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU BITCH!" Maria cried, terrified.

"I want my slippers!" Topolsky shrieked. "Give me my slippers!"

"YOU CAN'T HAVE YOUR DAMN SLIPPERS!" Maria screamed back.

"Then pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," Topolsky said, almost calmly, gesturing with a perfectly manicured finger towards the curtained booth that swirled in the violent eddies of the tornado with them. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!"

Maria suddenly found herself standing nose-to-curtain with the booth, Topolsky hovering behind her, one slim hand latched over Maria's shoulder, the other gripping a whisk broom. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!" she shrieked in the slim girl's ear.

The curtain blew open as a powerful gust of wind caught hold of the billowing green material, and Maria sucked in a surprised gasp.

She saw Michael. Not the dream Michael-- the REAL Michael. He was laying on a hard cot in what looked like a cold, damp room. His head was snapping back and forth, as though he were fighting to conciousness. His right shoulder was red and bloody, the sutures torn due to his thrashing. He was bleeding, he was moaning, he was screaming her name. "MARIIIIIAAAA!"

"Michael," she whispered.

Then she was falling, as Topolsky's suddenly claw-like hand pushed her forward. "I want my slippers!" the witch screamed one last time, before her voice was swallowed by the roar of the twister.

Maria didn't have long to think about what was happening as she fell through the space between two molecules and landed with a hard THUMP on the other side of Reality.

******

She sat up slowly, one hand on her head. At first, she couldn't figure out what had happened. Then, she saw the damp walls, the cold stone floor, and the sweaty figure still thrashing in bed, and she KNEW. "Oh, God," she whispered. "God, no. No, please."

But no prayer could save her now. She was here. Somehow she was HERE-- the REAL here. The REAL her. And that was the REAL Michael, ready to scream himself into a frenzy if she didn't help him.

Standing quickly-- and steadying herself after the headrush-- Maria moved to his side quickly. "Michael? Michael!" she yelled sharply, taking his hand. "Wake up! Wake up NOW!"

His eyes snapped open, and for a second she knew he thought he was still dreaming. With a whollop that felt like a fist, his terror slammed into her, and she fell back onto the thin blanket beside him. The fear was paralyzing-- she couldn't move.

But slowly, his heartbeat slowed, and the terror backed off, replaced by disbelief. Woozily, she began to sit up, only to end up nose to nose with Michael. He stared into her eyes, unbelieving. "Maria?"

She smiled wanly. "Hey there, Spaceboy."

"But...but..."

"Don't ask," she answered his unspoken question. "But next time you yank me through space and time, could you at least let me land on something soft?"

Michael was speechless.

The door picked that moment to open, and admitted Topolsky. The agent's eyes widened when she saw Maria, but she miraculously kept her cool. "Well, well," she said, and Maria was suddenly reminded of how much she hated the woman's voice, "Ms. Deluca. I must admit, this is a surprise. One I will be more than happy to question you about. But first." She turned to address Michael. "Mr. Guerin," she said. "I'm glad to see you've calmed down a bit. I was just coming to make sure you hadn't killed yourself."

Michael's voice was as hard as his eyes when he replied, "Gee, didn't know you cared."

Topolsky gave him a cold smile. "We can't have such a prized specimen dying from a simple panic attack, now can we?" She raised an amused eyebrow, then turned back to Maria. "Ms. Deluca, I trust you'll find the accomodations adequate. I'm sorry we can't get you your own room-- we didn't expect company quite this early in the testing. But this is most...fortunate." Her eyes ran over Maria's body, then Michael's, and she grinned wider. "MOST fortunate." Her eyes latched onto Michael's, and the hatred flowing from him through their bond made Maria shudder. "Get some rest, Mr. Guerin," Topolsky ordered. "We have a busy day ahead of us."

"Blow me," Michael growled.

"That can be arranged," Topolsky replied icily, before turning and slamming the door behind her. The lock clicked into place, and Maria was alone with Michael again.

They sat in silence for a long moment, as the reality of her situation sank slowly into the slim blonde's mind. "Guess Topolsky got her slippers after all," she thought grimly. "Now what's she going to do with me?" Then, glancing at Michael, "And Toto, too."

Finally, the alien in question collapsed back against his thin pillow, groaning, his left hand coming up to cover his eyes. "Maria?" he said softly.

She focused on him. "Yeah?"

He removed his hand, and gazed into her eyes. "Welcome to my nightmare."

"Would you hold still."

"I AM holding still."

"No you're not. You're squirming."

"Well it stings!"

"I can't clean this up with you doing the Macarena like this!"

"Then give it to me! I'll do it!"

"God, this is so TYPICAL!" Maria vented, sitting back hard on the thin mattress. She glared at Michael, who sat propped up against the metal headboard. "I am trying to HELP you here, and you're YELLING at me."

The young man stared back at her. "I'm not YELLING at you," he said huffily.

"Oh yeah? Well, I distinctly picked up on some exclamation points, buddy."

Michael rolled his eyes and went to cross his arms across his chest, only to wince and let his right arm fall back to the bed. "I can take care of myself," he grumbled.

Maria raised a derisive eyebrow. "Oh really? Fine." She threw the damp, bloodstained cloth at his head and stood, crossing to the sink in the corner of the room. "Then go ahead, buster. You were doing such a GREAT job of healing yourself before I got here anyway. Why should I even bother?" Turning on the faucet, she began viciously to wash her hands.

She heard Michael muttering under his breath about ditzy blondes, but she ignored him. Focusing all her attention on the water pouring over her hands, she scrubbed furiously. His shoulder was still bleeding, though not as badly now as it had been when she'd first...'arrived' two hours ago.

She chuckled mirthlessly. Oh, this was a FINE fix she'd managed to get herself into. "Isabelle's going to wonder what the hell happened to me," she thought. "If only she knew!" Maria had no doubt that the others would eventually put together what had happened-- it would just take a while. "I mean, it's not everyday that people randomly fall through holes in the fabric of reality, right? But the way everything's been going, it makes more sense than anything else!"

The water had stopped running pink now that the blood had sluiced off her hands, but she kept them under the steady flow. She didn't want to listen to him behind her-- hissing through his teeth, muttering about 'killing that bitch.' Maria took it for granted that he meant Topolsky. But his annoyance and frustration were percolating to her through the bond, and it was driving her INSANE. So she snapped off the water and spun around.

He was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, face creased in pain as he pressed down on his shoulder with the damp facecloth. "What?" he grumbled through gritted teeth, glaring at her.

Maria shook her head and walked back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she reached out and snatched the cloth away from him, ignoring his protests. "Let me do it," she told him. "Listening to you whine while I'm doing nothing is worse than listening to you whine while I'm busy." Gently, she began to clean away his blood again. Thankfully, it had slowed to little more than a trickle. "How's the healing going?" she asked, trying to ease the mood in the room.

She saw Michael purse his lips our of the corner of her eye. "Not bad," he replied, and she was glad he chose to go along with her would-be truce. "I just wish I were better at it. You know, like Max, or Izzy."

Maria glanced at him. His eyes were focused on her soft ministrations, and he didn't meet her gaze. Looking back to his shoulder, she asked, "Why aren't you?"

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I just....I can't see how everything fits together. Unlocking doors and melting lockers are one thing. Trying to sew up a living body is kinda different." He sighed and let his head rest back against the wall above the headboard. "There're so many layers... It takes a long time to fix something. At least, for ME it does." He looked back to where her hands had finished cleaning up the blood. The wound no longer seemed to be bleeding, and Maria traced her finger along the thin red line that marked where he'd been cut. "Would you mind?" he said testily. "That does still hurt, you know."

She looked up guiltily and pulled away. As she did, she felt... wait, was that...could that be disappointment she felt coming off him? "Sorry," she apologized. After a pause, she went on. "That's a pretty skinny cut," she observed. "How'd it happen?"

Michael looked away from her and focused on a nonexistent point in the corner of the small room-- it was about the size of Maria's bedroom at home. "I told you. She wanted to examine my 'ligament structure.'" He said the last two words in a perfect imitation of Topolsky's wolf-in-sheep's-clothing voice. "So she whipped out her handy scalpel and went to town." He closed his eyes and Maria saw him flinch and swallow, as if he could still feel the blade cutting into him.

Wait a minute....

"How did you feel her cutting you?" she asked. "I know you did-- I felt it for a second, too." Her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. "Weren't you, you know, knocked out at the time?"

When he shook his head, Maria felt her bile rise. "Naw," he said, not opening his eyes. "Anesthesia and alien biochemistry don't mix apparently." He chuckled. "But we must be pretty damn strong-- I didn't pass out until about two hours into it."

Maria's mouth was dry. "God, Michael," she said softly, reaching out reflexively to rest a hand on his chest. His eyes opened at her touch, and he looked at her. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, suddenly very aware of their close proximity.

Michael didn't say anything for a long second, and Maria felt herself starting to color under the intensity of his gaze. "I should take my hand away," she thought absently. But she didn't move.

"No," he finally said, breaking their eye contact as he looked away again. "I'M the one who's sorry, Maria. For....all this. For dragging you into this, for yelling at you. Everything."

She chuckled and pulled her hand away. Now she DEFINITELY felt disappointment pulsing off him, and it made her blush darker. She was glad for the dim lighting in the room, provided by a single bulb covered by what looked like an upside-down, opaque serving dish. "Dost my ears deceive me?" she said. "Or did Michael Guerin just apologize for something?"

His eyes met hers. "Don't get used to it," he told her, and she could hear the teasing tone had returned to his voice. It made her smile.

"I knew it was too good to be true," she sighed dramatically. Maneuvering around so that she sat next to him, she leaned her back against the headboard, too, and turned her head to look at his profile. He really was a sculpture-- marble, maybe. Or granite. "If it means anything, this is partly my fault, too," she told him. "I mean, it was half MY dream, so I'm as much to blame as you."

He turned his head to look at her, mock surprise in his face. "Dost MY ears deceive me?" he reiterated her earlier question. "Or are you taking some of the responsibility?"

"Don't go getting all excited, Spaceboy. I'll still expect tons of sucking up on your part when we get out of this before you get back into my good graces."

Michael's face went grim again, and he turned away. "Yeah," he said softly, but no more.

Maria cursed herself for ruining the mood. For a moment, it had almost been like they were on the outside again-- safe. Not trapped in this prison of stone and surgical steel.

Before she could say anything else, the lock clacked, and the door swung open. Topolsky entered-- her hair tied back in a tight bun-- followed by two burly guards. She wore a tailored-yet-casual blue suit. Taking in the scene on the bed, she smiled. "I'm pleased to see the two of you are getting along," she said. "We can't have you clawing each other's eyes out."

"What do you want, Topolsky?" Maria asked coldly.

The older woman turned hard eyes on her, and Maria swallowed. "With you, nothing yet. That will come later." She gestured to Michael, and the two guards crossed the room to grab him by either arm and yank him up from the bed. Michael struggled against them, but their hamlike fists clamped onto his biceps with bruising force as they dragged him to the door.

Maria jumped up from the bed. "What are you going to do with him?" she demanded, trying not to let Michael's anger and, worse, fear, play out in her voice.

Topolsky turned on her again, bemused. "You didn't think we'd stop what we were doing simply because YOU were here, did you?" she asked the slim girl. "Absolutely not. Your arrival...changes our plans a little, but the show must go on."

"What's up, Topolsky?" Michael asked as the guards pulled him past her. "Can't handle me on your own anymore? Gotta call in the boy toys?" He tried futilely to wrench his arm away from the guard on his left, with no success.

Topolsky glared at him, but didn't respond. "Take him to the testing facility," she ordered the burly men. "Have him hooked up to the machine." The guards nodded as one, and dragged Michael through the door. He managed to glance back over his shoulder at Maria one last time. His eyes were scared-- she could FEEL his fear-- but they were also determined. She could feel that, too. He wasn't about to let Topolsky see him weaken.

Her momentary pride was quickly quashed, however, when she realized Topolsky hadn't left the room. "What do you want?" she growled at the older woman.

Topolsky smiled sweetly. "Nothing. I'm just wondering again how you managed to get in here." She chuckled. "I know you didn't come through the front door, and there are no vents. And THIS door is guarded by four men at any one time." She shook her head. "I've been telling the powers-that-be for some time that we needed to install cameras in every nook and cranny of this building, but they didn't want to spend the money. They think it's top secret enough that no one should be able to find it." She sighed. "Well, I guess this proves them wrong. Though judging by your friends' actions today, they have no idea where you are, so they also have no idea where WE are."

Maria looked sharply at her. "What do you mean?"

Topolsky flashed her a grin. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She turned and began to leave. Poking her head around the door one last time, she said, "I am still VERY interested to know how you managed it."

Maria felt creeping shivers work up her spine under Topolsky's gaze. Unable to think of anything else, she mimicked Michael's bravado of the night before. "Blow me," she hissed.

Topolsky's eyebrows raised in amusement. "We'll see what we can do," she replied, then turned on her heel and strode out the door, slamming and locking it behind her.

Alone in the small room, Maria could think of nothing to do but lay down on the bed and wait for Michael's panic to set in again. Though she had more than enough of her own to deal with at the moment.

****** "So what does the lab rat get to do today?" Michael asked Topolsky as she walked into the blindingly white room. He really hated this room. With a passion.

"We're going to play a game," she answered him, as she crossed to where he was standing. Checking the wires attached over his heart and to the insides of his elbows, she continued. "It's called, How Long Can the Alien Run?"

Michael looked down at the treadmill he stood on. "I was wondering why you had me on this thing," he said. "I figured it wasn't because you had my health in mind."

Topolsky chuckled and stood back. "This is a simple endurance test," she told him. "The aim of the game is to run as hard and as fast as you can for as long as you can. It's already obvious that your physical abilities are stronger than an average human's-- we just want quantitative evidence."

"And what if I don't want to run in your little wheel?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room. He didn't SEE any kind of weapon....

Topolsky gave him a chilly smile, and he froze as she picked up a long, black tube from a nearby steel table. It didn't look like anything spectacular-- just a long rod with a crystal bulb on the top. It didn't even look very heavy. But when Topolsky flipped a switch hidden somewhere on the side, that bulb began to glow, and Michael felt his stomach sink.

"I call this my cattle prod," the woman was telling him, and Michael forced his eyes to move from the tube to her face. "It's very useful for making the uncooperative cooperate. Let's say, for example, that this is you." She gestured to a small steel chair beside the table. "And this is me." She gestured to herself. "This is you not trying your hardest." She once more gestured to the chair. "And this is my reaction." Almost nonchalantly, she tapped the glowing bulb to the back of the chair. There was an almost blinding flash of light, and then the chair wasn't there anymore.

Michael took a minute to realize it hadn't been disintegrated-- it had simply been thrown a good fifty feet across the room to collide with the opposite wall. It lay in a sparking heap on the floor. Michael swallowed.

"Needless to say, you being heavier than a chair, the electricity wouldn't send you quite so far," Topolsky was telling him, though his eyes never left the chair. "But I think I've made my point."

She was at his shoulder now, and he looked down into her eyes, determined not to let the fear that bubbled in his stomach show. "So I suggest you run your hardest, Mr. Guerin," she informed him, ignoring whatever it was she DID see in his face. "Now." And she flicked on the treadmill.

As the rubber beneath his bare feet began to move, Michael started to run. He turned away from her and focused his eyes on the opposite wall, making a pointed effort to ignore the destroyed chair, which still sparked occasionally. If he tried, he could almost imagine he was someplace else-- running down Main Street in Roswell, perhaps. Running away from wherever this place was.

As the image grew stronger, he began running quicker-- if he could go a little faster, he might just get away.

******

The hours passed slowly in the little room, and Maria found herself trying anything to distract herself from the desolation flowing through her bond with Michael. She'd never felt so empty, so hopeless. Trapped.

So she sang.

Whatever the hell she wanted to sing, she didn't care. Oldies. Pop. Rock. She even tried a bit of "O Mia Babbino Caro" in her WORST opera voice, hoping that whatever listening devices they might have installed in the room picked her up loud and clear. "We have to remember not to talk about...what happened," she reminded herself. If someone WAS listening, they couldn't find out about how she'd arrived here. Still, with any luck she was giving someone on the other end a pounding headache.

She was just starting on the third verse to "Major-General" from "The Pirates of Penzance" when she heard people moving outside the door. Choking off the song in mid-lyric, she stood quickly as the door began to open. Her heart sank as the same two guards from before dragged Michael back into the room and deposited him roughly on the bed. They didn't say a word to her-- just dropped him like a rag doll and left the room.

Maria glared at the locked door, as if the heat of her gaze could somehow melt them an escape tunnel.

A moan from the figure on the bed captured her attention, and she turned quickly. "Michael?" she said softly, kneeling beside the bed. "Michael, are you okay?"

He was laying on his stomach, half on, half off the mattress, so that his left hand brushed the floor. "Can't....move," he murmured, eyes closed.

"You can't move?" He nodded minutely, and Maria cursed under her breath. "He must really be out of it," she thought grimly-- little to none of his emotions were coming to her. "Let me help you."

Michael grunted in acknowledgement, and Maria stood to help him slide further onto the bed. She froze, however, when she got a good look at him. "Michael!" she exclaimed. "Mic...God, your back!"

Burns. His back was covered in red, angry burns. They glared up at Maria and seemed to wink at her like evil, scarlet eyes. "You can't do anything about us," they jeered. "We're here to stay."

Michael made no response to her exclamation, but stayed motionless on the bed. Maria swallowed her horror, and concentrated her energy on gently maneuvering him to the center of the bed. He moaned a few times as she did, and it made her eyes tear up.

"It's OK," she said softly as she helped him settle in again. "It's OK. It's over now."

"Thank you," he mumbled into the thin pillow.

She managed a smile, which sent a single tear coursing down her cheek. "No problem," she whispered hoarsely, dashing the droplet away. "Get some sleep."

"Hurts too much," he told her.

Maria's brow furrowed with concern. Climbing up on the bed beside him, she propped herself up on one elbow and tenderly began stroking his hair. "Don't think about it," she said softly. "Concentrate on something else."

"What?"

Maria cast her eyes hopelessly around the room, searching for something to take his mind off the pain. "God, how did he manage this last night?" she wondered. "What do you WANT to think about?" she asked.

He smiled slightly. "I think...I think I want to think about you," he murmured.

She was taken aback, but didn't stop stroking his hair. "Me?" she inquired softly. "Why me?"

He moved his head closer towards where she lay stretched out beside him. "You smell good," he told her. "Like coconuts. And you feel good."

She smiled slightly despite the situation. He must have been delirious-- Michael would never have admitted any of that if he were fully aware. "Then think about me, Michael," she encouraged. "I'm not going anywhere."

Still caressing his hair, she watched as the tension moved out of his shoulders. He must have been exhausted, because despite the pain, he fell asleep.

Lowering herself to lay down so she she was face to face with him, Maria moved her hand from his hair to his cheek. His breathing was deep and even-- at least he wasn't on the brink of death. "And that's SO comforting. I feel MUCH better now."

Well, if he wanted to think about her, she'd let him. Closing her eyes, Maria wiggled closer to Michael on the bed, so that she was pressed up along his side. She moved her face as close to his as she could, so that his breathing mingled with her own. Her hand slid from his cheek and down his arm, until it found his hand. She laced their fingers together and held tight, hoping that the calm, warm thoughts she sent him through the bond were sinking in, and that he'd have sweet dreams tonight. Perhaps something to do with coconut.

As she drifted off to sleep herself, she wondered briefly what Topolsky was going to do with her, besides keep her on as nurse-maid.

One week later, she found out.

ONE WEEK LATER....

"GODDAMIT!" Isabelle sat bolt upright in bed, jaw locked in frustration.

This was ridiculous. Every night for a straight week, she'd tried to infiltrate Maria's dreams. And every night for a straight week she'd been blocked out. "Damn you, Michael Guerin," she growled under her breath. Whatever other properties this psychic link he shared with Maria had, one of them was apparently blocking MARIA'S dreams as well as his own. Each time Isabelle tried to get in, she was met with the same gray wall of nothingness she always encountered with Michael. And it was frustrating as Hell.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and headed for her bedroom door. It was three in the morning, but she desperately needed to clear her head. A trip for some water should do that nicely.

As she switched on the faucet and held the tall glass under the cold stream, she thought back over the Hell that the last week had been. It hadn't taken long for them to figure out what had happened to Maria-- the whole situation was so warped, why not? Teleportation didn't sound so farfetched when you were talking about it in the same breath as telepathy and dreamwalking.

Isabelle sighed and switched off the water. Raising the glass, she rolled its coldness across her forehead. Things had spiralled from there. Thanks to some nifty forgery skills, Max had been able to fake a doctor's note to the principal, saying that Maria would be out of school for an unspecified amount of time due to a low-grade flu. Liz had somehow managed to convince Mrs. Deluca that her daughter would be spending a lot of time over the Parker's house, 'Mega-studying for a chemistry exam.' Mrs. Deluca hadn't made a fuss-- apparently, she and Maria had a fairly open mother-daughter relationship. Isabelle snorted-- if SHE had a daughter, she would want to know where the girl was every second of the day. Thank goodness Mrs. Deluca was a bit of a flake.

Lowering the glass to her lips, she took a few deep swallows of the cool water. Thinking about the night she had dreamwalked with Maria still made her shudder. She'd been waiting on the outside of the Emerald City, feeling like a general fifth wheel, when the world had taken a serious turn for the psychotic.

Finishing off the water, she held it under the faucet again and watched it refill. Images of the Emerald City flitted through her head, and she shook herself to try and make them disappear.

The ground had started shaking where she'd stood outside the jeweled walls of the city. Then, it had SHIFTED.

She pulled the glass from under the faucet and took a deep swig as she thought about it. It had been like a great cosmic ballroom dance, as the Emerald City took a lumbering step to the right, then the left. Then, as she'd watched in utter disbelief, the entire thing disappeared. There one minute, gone the next.

The second glass of water was drained now, and Isabelle was toying with the idea of a third. The entire episode had shaken her to the core, and she'd woken up in a cold sweat, to see Max and Liz's anxious faces hovering over her. A quick call to Maria had cinched Isabelle's fear-- she was no longer there. And their job had gotten a hundred times harder.

Deciding against the third glass of water-- and knowing she'd pay for the other two come morning-- Isabelle turned from the sink and headed back to her room. She crawled into bed, and considered trying again to get into Maria's dream. After some thought, she decided against it-- the same brick wall would face her, and she didn't think she could handle that right now. Instead, she snuggled back down into her covers and fell asleep.

So when she woke up the next morning, she was absolutely shocked to discover that she knew exactly what she had to do to get into Maria's dream.

With a yelp of excitement, she flew out of bed and careened towards Max's room, pausing only briefly to make a much needed trip to the bathroom.

******

EARLIER THAT SAME NIGHT.....

Maria lay beside him, as she always did at night, and wondered when her life had moved beyond her control.

The night was silent as she pondered. The only sound was Michael's quiet breathing beside her, and she turned slowly onto her side to watch him sleep. They'd shared the bed since their first night together-- out of some fit of chivalry, he wouldn't allow her to sleep on the floor, and she'd refused to make him sleep there after his...'treatment' by Topolsky.

She shuddered. Thinking about the whip-thin woman with the ice-blonde hair always made her shudder. She could still remember with painful clarity that night a week ago, when he'd been returned to her with electrical burns peppering his back. And the night after that, when he'd come back with a long incision down his chest, from his clavicle to the bottom of his rib cage. An internal examination, apparently. Neither of them had slept that night, as he switched between conciousness and blessed oblivion. Maria hovered over him, trying with her useless words and inadequate tools to ease his pain, as his alien abilities worked overtime to physically heal the damage. And the fear-- the panicked, delirious fear. It had almost drowned her. She had almost been lost. Thank God, no night since then had been so bad.

In fact, today they hadn't even taken him. While it was a welcome break from the endless days of torturous experimentation, the change in routine worried Michael. Maria could feel it, plain as if he'd worn a neon sign that flashed, "I'm worried." //They're planning something,// she thought grimly. //God, what are they planning?// Somehow, she knew it involved her. And that thought scared her more than anything.

Gazing at Michael's peaceful profile, Maria couldn't resist the urge to reach out and brush a few stray strands of hair back from his face. Thank God they were allowed daily showers, or she didn't want to THINK how greasy his spiky hair would have been, let alone what the two of them would smell like right now. She didn't enjoy wearing the thin green scrubs she was given, but at least she got a shirt-- that was more than Michael was allowed.

When she'd met him. That was when her life had careened out of control-- when Michael Guerin and his alien cohorts had swept into her life and turned everything upside down, then flipped it all inside out for good measure. Maria shook her head gently. Because the funny thing was, she didn't really care. For some reason, lying here beside him, feeling his warm body resting along hers... It felt safe. In this prison of knives and fear, and she felt safe as she cuddled close to him. The irony made her want to laugh out loud.

Instead, she closed her eyes and slid nearer to him. He mumbled something in his sleep, and turned onto his side, so that he was face to face with her; but he didn't awaken. Maria watched him for a moment, before closing her own eyes and drifting off to sleep. She toyed with the idea of trying to find his dream again-- she hadn't visited him in the dreamworld since the night of the Emerald City. Tonight, when she felt his dreams might be calmer, she wondered what he might be dreaming about. Perhaps she would try and find out.

She had barely dozed off when the door to their cell slammed open with a resounding CRASH and Topolsky walked in.

Maria sat bolt upright in bed, and felt Michael do the same behind her. "What the hell do you want!?" Michael demanded of the woman at the door.

Topolsky grinned, as if it were perfectly normal for her to be barging in on them at ten minutes after midnight. "You thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you, kiddies?" she said softly. "I didn't." She snapped her fingers, and the same two burly guards who had dragged Michael to the treadmill a week ago entered the room. This time, instead of going for Michael, one of them crossed the room and grabbed Maria.

"What the--? Let me GO!" she screamed, fighting against his vise-like grip as he dragged her off the bed and across the room to stand beside Topolsky.

"Hey!" Michael bellowed, bolting up off the bed and trying to follow, only to be blocked by the other guard. "Let her go! She doesn't have anything for you!"

Topolsky laughed, a musical sound that was devoid of all sympathy. "I'm afraid I have to disagree, Mr. Guerin," she said, obviously enjoying his frustration at being held back from Maria. "She has something we need very badly." Reaching out to the side, she laid a delicate hand on the squirming girl's abdomen. "She has a womb."

Maria froze. So did Michael. Their eyes met, and in that moment, no bond was necessary to know what the other was feeling.

"We're going to play another game, children," Topolsky was telling them, though neither needed to listen. "It's called Aunty Topolsky Wants a Hybrid."

******

Maria's mouth had gone instantly dry at Topolsky's words. But she somehow managed to mumble, "W-what?"

Topolsky moved away from her, so that she stood equidistant between her two prisoners. "A hybrid," she said matter-of-factly. "A pairing of two separate species to form--"

"We know what the hell a hybrid is," Michael growled. "What makes you think you're going to get one from us?"

Topolsky quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's simple, Mr. Guerin. You two are going to have intercourse. It's the simplest, cheapest way to get the deed done."

Maria choked on her bone-dry tongue. "W-what?!" That seemed to be the only word she was capable of expressing.

"When you arrived, Ms. Deluca, it was a stroke of luck," Topolsky continued, circling back so that she stood before Maria. "We always knew that we would proceed to this point in the experimentation-- the formation of our very own superhuman. The difficulty was in finding the proper vessel for the gestation." Reaching out, she cupped Maria's cheek. "You weren't our first choice, but never look a gift horse in the mouth, I suppose."

Maria tore her face away from Topolsky's hand. "And what if this 'vessel for the gestation' doesn't want to help you?" she spat venomously.

Topolsky raised another eyebrow, but didn't respond. Instead, she turned and walked across the room to stand beside Michael. Maria felt her stomach start to roil when she saw his back straighten, as he prepared to take whatever punishment the woman might inflict on him. But Topolsky's next words turned the butterflies in Maria's stomach to stone.

"Kill her," she said nonchalantly.

Maria felt one of the guard's hands go from her arm to her throat. The strength in that grip terrified her-- he could so easily snap her neck. "MICHAEL!" she screamed.

"NO!" Michael roared, bolting for her, only to be grabbed by the other guard, and held fast. "NO! MARIA!" He turned wild eyes on Topolsky as Maria felt the hand around her throat begin to tighten. "LET HER GO, YOU BITCH!" he bellowed.

Topolsky paid little attention to his outburst. Instead, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Maria felt the hand around her neck stop, but not loosen.

"That's a warning," the agent told them. "If I snap my fingers again, he will break your girlfriend's pretty little neck. But if I clap my hands," she continued, eyeing Michael, "he'll let her go. It's your choice." She shrugged. "After all, there are, on average, three billion of her kind-- that being, female human-- on this world. There are only three TOTAL like you, Mr. Guerin. She is more than expendable. She is a liability if not used for a purpose." She chuckled. "I really think you have no choice."

Maria found Michael's eyes again. The hopelessness coming off him in waves was making her weak in the knees. Slowly, she saw him nod.

Topolsky smiled-- a bright, sunny display of teeth. "Excellent." She clapped her hands, and Maria felt the behemoth behind her loosen his grip and toss her forward. She stumbled across the room, and landed in Michael's arms. He held her tightly as she gasped for air against him, his strong fingers stroking her tousled hair.

The other people in the room were moving now, and Maria made herself look up. The guard who had almost killed her had brought something in from the passageway, and was busy mounting it in the upper corner of the room, across from the bed. When he moved away, Maria saw it was a video camera. "What's that for?" she asked shakily.

"The camera?" Topolsky asked. "Well, we MUST have documented evidence of an alien mating ritual. If he starts sprouting horns or turning green, we have to know. The powers-that-be agreed to pay for this little expense." The other guard was running wires from the camera along the edge of the ceiling, heading for the door, supposedly to meet up with some AV jack in the hallway. When he was done, Topolsky nodded to him, and the two guards left to stand just outside the door.

The agent followed close behind, stopping only briefly to turn back to where Michael and Maria stood in one another's embrace. "Have fun, children," she told them. "You've had plenty of time to get to know each other-- I'm sure you can make this experiment an...enjoyable experience." With that, she walked out, and the door slammed behind her, as it always did. Somehow, it sounded more final this time.

******

Maria couldn't believe what had just transpired. The entire episode had taken less than ten minutes-- it wasn't even half-past midnight yet, according to the caged clock on the wall by the door. But her purpose in life had just been dictated to her, and she was a few short steps away from becoming a mother. The enormity of the situation made her shiver.

"Are you cold?" she heard Michael ask, as he tightened his arms around her.

She shook her head. "No. Just...sorta in shock, I guess."

He nodded against her hair. "I know. Me, too."

They stood in silence for a minute.

"I'm so sorry, Maria," Michael finally said in a tight voice. "God, I'm so sorry--"

"Shhh," she cut him off, pulling back ever so slightly so that she could look up into his eyes. He looked so hurt. "It's not so bad," she reassured him, trying to keep the trembling of her muscles to a minimum. His guilt was weighing on her shoulders like a cinderblock. "Think of it as a continuation of what we started at the Crashdown."

Michael didn't respond. Instead, he raised a hand from her back and tenderly brushed it across her neck. "He hurt you," he said softly, as he touched the red marks left by the guard's fingers.

Maria tilted her head back as his fingers stroked the flesh of her throat, letting her eyes drift closed. "No," she told him, surprised by the breathless tone of her voice. "Not really. Just..." She trailed off as she felt his fingers move away, to be replaced by his lips.

A little moan of pleasure escaped her as his mouth quested gently over her throat, from her jaw, to her jugular, then up to her earlobe. "I wish it didn't have to happen like this," he whispered to her.

Maria fought back his guilt, and tried to assure him without words, as she sent him her own emotions-- desire, pleasure, surprise. She threw everything she was experiencing at him, and prayed that, just this once, he'd feel her as deeply as she felt him.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered back to him, moving her head so that her forehead rested against his.

He didn't speak, but she felt his strong arms loop around her back and under her knees. He picked her up, as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her the few brief steps to the thin mattress behind them. Her lips found his as he tenderly laid her on the bed, as if she were delicate crystal that needed to be handled with care, or she would break.

"Make love to me, Michael," she murmured against his lips, as he stretched out above her. "If you do that, then WE win. Not them."

Michael quirked a smile, and kissed her again. Deeper this time. So...much...deeper...

God, she was so warm.

Michael's fingers floated over her skin, gentle as butterflies, as his lips explored the contours of her neck. He was so afraid-- so afraid that he would hurt her. That she would hate him after all this was over. He didn't think he could take her hatred-- her soft caresses were all that had kept him sane as he lived day to day in this psycopathic hell.

Maria moaned beneath him as he touched her, and Michael was brought back to the here and now. He wanted to rip her green scrub shirt off and attack her throat, her chest-- suck every inch of her flesh, like he'd dreamed of doing since that night centuries ago in the motel on the way to Marathon. Mariathon. Marathon.

Moving slowly, he pulled himself up so that he rested on his elbows above her. Maria's face was flushed, her eyes closed. When she felt him draw away, her lashes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him. "Michael?"

"I...I just wanted to look at you," he said lamely. //Yeah, nimrod. Sound like a real winner, why don't you.//

But Maria just smiled and pushed herself up onto her own elbows, so her chest rubbed against his. "Do you like what you see?" she asked playfully, though her eyes told him that she already knew.

Still, Michael couldn't keep himself from nodding furiously, like a wind-up toy. "God yeah."

She smiled, and tilted her head up a little. Lightly, she began to nibble along his neck-- infuriatingly soft nips along the edge of his jaw. He groaned low in his throat, and felt her lips curl into a smile against his skin.

He wanted to see her. More than anything in the world right now-- more than his freedom-- he wanted to see her. All of her. Every glistening inch of almost-alabaster skin that was just the right shade of pink. Mariatone.

Sitting back quickly, he pulled her into a sitting position in front of him. Maria said nothing, just smiled as his eager fingers took hold of the edge of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. She raised her arms to help him guide it off, then let them drop as Michael tossed the green fabric into the corner. He turned his attention back to her, and his eyes focused on her perfect chest. Bras were not a necessary expense here apparently, and she sat bare from the waist up before him. His mouth gaped ever so slightly, and he saw a pink flush work up her flesh. Dragging his gaze up from her breasts, he tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't look at him.

"I could feel that," she said, sounding embarassed, keeping her eyes averted.

"Feel what?"

"Your...reaction," she told him, a foolish grin spreading over her face. Finally raising her eyes to his, she giggled, "I'm not THAT built."

Michael chuckled and leaned forward to peck her on the lips. "Yes you are," he told her, before moving his lips downward.

******

He felt like hot caramel.

Maria had no idea why that image came into her mind, but as Michael's lips kissed their way down her chest, that was what she pictured: caramel kisses. Sundae lips.

His desire was quickly being overshadowed by her own, as his mouth moved away from her collarbone and moved lower. And lower.

She let out a gasp of pleasure as Michael sucked her right nipple into his mouth and gently began to suckle. With each pull, she felt a white hot cord burn through her. "Gahhh...Michael," she moaned, as her spine turned to jelly, and she began to collapse back to the mattress.

But Michael wouldn't let her. His hands gripped her around the waist and pulled her forward, so that her legs wrapped around him, her crotch pressed up against his stomach. His tongue worked her nipple, making her gasp for air. Maria twined her fingers in his hair and held him to her, even as he released one nipple and moved to the other, to repeat the actions of his tongue and deliciously sweet mouth.

Maria found her hips beginning to move in time with Michael's suction, rubbing against his six-pack abs. Thrust forward, pull back, thrust forward, pull back. She moaned, and he made a guttural sound in response, opening his mouth against her breast and laving her already hardened nipple with his tongue. She raised up against him, muscles straining, as his hands smoothed up and down her back and his lips moved away from her breast.

"M-Michael," she whimpered, already missing the beautiful sensations of his mouth sucking her.

He grazed his lips along her skin as he raised his face to look at her. "We're not done yet," he told her, his eyes unable to settle in one place. They explored her face-- her nose, her lips, her eyes, the soft strands of golden hair that brushed against her forehead. Maria felt his artist fingers trail up her spine to bury themselves in her hair as he pulled her forward for a kiss that the romance novels her mother read would have classified as smoldering. Slowly, she felt him start to tilt her back to the bed.

******

He couldn't control himself much longer.

Michael's breath was fast and ragged, and he wondered briefly if Maria noticed how proprietory his hands were on her body as he lowered her to the bed again. A glance at her face showed her eyes to be closed, her cheeks flushed. She was enjoying him. Enjoying what he was doing to her.

He fought back the impulses that threatened to take him over, forcing his protesting id to the back of his mind. Maria. Focus only on Maria right now. She was giving herself to him-- to his strange alien chemistry. He would repay that the best he could-- he would make her first time one to remember.

She strethed out languidly beneath him as his lips began to work down her body again. Mariataste. Mariascent. They were abstract ideas that his psyche gave form and name. Her sweet, rosy skin and the smoky scent of her lust.

God, she wanted him. He was in heaven.

He'd reached the elasticated waistline of her scrubs, but that was no barrier to him. With little thought, he reared up onto his knees and pulled the green pants down her slim legs, followed quickly by her regimen white panties, which, he was awe-struck to discover, were soaked through with the evidence of her desire.

Maria whimpered beneath him, rubbing her legs together in an effort to maintain control. "Michael," she begged.

He wasted no time. Shifting his position on the bed, Michael gently eased her knees apart. That simple act made her back arch, and her fingers clenched the thin army blanket beneath them. He marveled that his simple touch could bring her this much pleasure, even with a camera recording their every move for future reference.

Trailing featherlight fingers down her inner thighs, Michael tenderly touched the mound of golden curls at the juncture of her legs. Maria's hips raised to meet him as she groaned with need. Not quite knowing why he did it, Michael parted her damp lower lips and played along the folds with his fingers. Her explosive breath and the sharp up-thrust of her hips elicited an equally violent jolt in his groin, and he moaned as he leaned forward.

******

When Michael's lips touched her, Maria died.

Or she might as well have. Never in her short life had anything felt so... There was no description. She had no parallel. Except to say it was like tasting for the first time. Like the moment she had first opened her eyes as a newborn and SEEN. An awakening. It made her scream his name. "MICHAEL!"

Maria could feel his focus-- his steadfast determination to concentrate only on the salty taste of her; on her reactions to his tongue, his fingers. He was reining himself in, holding back from tearing off his own scrubs-- which seemed painfully out of place-- and burying himself within her in one swift stroke. The wanton fire in him scared her, but thrilled her even more; that just touching her could arouse him so much. It made Maria feel like a goddess.

Michael's tongue played along the ridges of her nether-lips, and she buried her fingers in his hair as she arched away from the bed. Then, she felt his teeth brush over the swollen nub of her clit, and she lost all coherent thought. Her hips thrust up against his mouth as she choked out a wordless sound.

Michael's teeth gently worked her clit as his tongue played with her and his hands held her down. Maria whimpered under the onslaught. She couldn't take this-- she felt her inner walls twitching already, wanting. "Michael," she begged, "Michael, please. Oh, please, please!" Her fingers worked down from his hair and dug into his shoulders as she stretched her muscles to the maximum. When he slid his hand down from her hip to her soaked lower lips, she prepared herself for what new form of sweet torture he intended.

But she was totally unprepared to handle the flood of sensation that overcame her as he thrust three fingers full inside her even as he sucked on her clit.

Maria screamed as she came. If such a sound could be called a scream. Scream denoted fear or despair-- this was neither. This was an explosion of emotion that barrelled out of her in a long, exulted cry.

But Michael wasn't finished yet. She was gloriously wet, and his fingers slid easily into her tight passage. Despite her lassitude, Maria pushed her hips down against his fingers, wanting him to go deeper, deeper... "Please, more," she murmured, barely able to speak.

He pulled his lips away from her sensitive nub, and she let out a despairing cry at the loss of feeling, only to have it replaced by a coo of pleasure as his mouth was replaced by his thumb. He circled her, even as his fingers moved within her.

Michael loomed up over her now, and Maria's arms went reflexively around his neck, pulling herself up to press against him as the new and enthralling sensations threatened to tear her apart. She buried her face in his neck, her mouth open and hot against the tender flesh of his throat. His free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close as her hips lost contact with her brain and took on a mind of their own.

Maria ground her pelvis into his, feeling the hot throb of his erection through his green scrubs. How had they come this far without removing those? She could feel the roil of emotions that poured off him-- they mixed with hers to form an aphrodisiac. She wanted him, he wanted her; she wanted herself, he wanted himself. They poured themselves together, and Maria could feel his control breaking. But she didn't care-- she had no control left herself.

Her fingernails clawed at his back, his shoulders, as she felt that precipice she'd only experienced once before begin to loom before her again. Rushing closer, faster, faster....

When she flew over the edge, she was screaming his name, because he was the only one who could save her.

******

"MICHAEL!!!!"

Maria came against his hand for the second time, tightening around his fingers like a vise, and Michael stopped thinking. Nothing else existed, except Maria. Mariatouch.

He slipped his fingers from her sheath, impatient or unable to wait for her muscles to loosen. She groaned in protest at the loss as he raised himself over her and ripped his scrubs off, along with the clinical white boxers beneath. For once in this hell, he was glad he had alien abilities. //Too fast, too fast// he told himself over and over as he fit his knees between hers and forced them apart. But Maria gave him willing access, reaching up in a lazy embrace as she spread for him, her fingers brushing his shoulders.

Michael couldn't think as he pushed himself into her. His vision exploded, and he couldn't see her anymore. But he could hear her-- her gasp of surprise and pleasure as he thrust into her slick passage, which still twitched from her orgasm of just a few seconds before. He buried himself in her, wincing as he felt her barrier tear, and heard her cry of pain.

Michael wanted to comfort her-- to tell her that he would be gentle, tender. But he couldn't. Instead, he buried his face in her throat and kissed her as hard as fathomable while he pounded into her. Maria was his nexus, his valley-- the place where his world came together. As he moved within her, for just these few choice moments, nothing else existed-- no prison held them. They were free. And he couldn't have slowed down if he'd tried.

As Michael flowed in and out of her, and felt her hips meeting with his, he prayed that he could just die here, wrapped in Maria, part of Maria. Because once you've seen a sunburst, normal light is never the same again.

******

Her orgasm shattered the sky.

"MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!" Maria screamed, as if repeating his name could somehow make the experience last forever-- or at least until the shattered remains of stars and planets were rejoined.

Her inner walls clamped around him, and she felt Michael release a shuddering breath against her shoulder as he came, filling her. She hated that the beautiful moment was haunted by Topolsky-- 'vessel for the gestation.' It made Maria want to shudder, but she fought the impulse and cleaved to him as they both fell back against the tousled sheets and blankets, gasping for air.

Michael's breath was both hot and cold against her damp chest as Maria held him close, unwilling to let him go. For a brief minute, he'd forgotten where they were. She had felt that, clear as day. And she never wanted him to return to that dark place of pain he'd inhabited since they arrived here. The thought made her ache.

Eventually, Michael began to move on top of her, and she groaned as he withdrew and slipped to the bed beside her. But he quickly drew her to him in a tight embrace.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Maria didn't know what to say-- how do you thank someone for showing you how to burn? She traced lazy circles on his chest, around his nipples, and realized suddenly that she had barely kissed him all night. All sensation had been focused on her. It made her whimper.

Michael looked down at her. "Maria?" he asked, and she heard his worry. "Are you...ok?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "I'm fine. I just...suddenly figured out that...God, Michael, you did all that for me, but I did nothing for you." She sniffled. "I..I'm so sorry."

Michael rocked her gently. "Don't be," he told her softly. "You did everything for me."

Maria looked at him, teary-eyed. "I did? What?"

He stroked her hair. "You let me touch you. You didn't shy away." His long fingers caressed her cheek. "You said my name. That was all I needed."

She smiled at him, and cuddled closer.

Suddenly, Maria realized that she was chilly. The heat of just moments before, while not gone, was dissipating quickly. She shivered. "Let's get under the blankets," she murmured against his chest, and felt him nod.

"All right," he said, and started to draw away from her to stand up. She groaned as he left her, but started to move, too. Only to stop and groan again-- this time from pain.

Michael obviously sensed the difference in her tone, and she felt his contentment fade into the background, replaced by worry. "Maria?" he asked softly, kneeling beside the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied. "Just...just my legs kinda hurt. But it's really nothing--!"

It was useless to tell him it didn't matter-- he'd already sat on the edge of the bed, and was gently parting her legs again. "Oh, God, Maria," he breathed. "Oh, God, I am so sorry."

The wave of guilt and self-loathing that hit Maria were like a physical blow, and she jerked a little as it washed over her. "W-what?" she managed to get out, as she forced herself into a sitting position. Her eyes bulged as she looked at herself.

Her inner thighs were bloody from when he had first pierced her. It was hot and sticky, something she hadn't even noticed until now. But beyond that, the soft skin of her legs, from her knees up, was beginning to bruise-- from where his knees had held hers apart, as he plowed into her, forcing her wider and wider.

Michael was staring at her in horror-- not from the sight of her, but from the knowledge that he had done it. "Oh, God," he choked out, standing and stumbling away from the bed. He didn't seem to notice he was naked as he stumbled to the sink and bent over it, as though he were going to be sick.

"Michael?!" Maria called after him. She wanted to go to him, touch him gently, comfort him. But her legs wouldn't work. "Michael, it's all right," she reassured him. "I'm okay."

"No you're not," he replied, not turning around, not looking up. "God, I...I HURT you, Maria. I...I RAPED you." His voice choked off.

Maria's eyes widened in disbelief. "Raped me?" she breathed. "Michael, is THAT what you think this is? Rape?"

He nodded, but didn't look at her.

Maria sat up straighter, ignoring the pain from her lower body. "Michael," she said firmly, "this is NOT rape. Did I ONCE tell you no? Did I EVER try to push you away, or make you stop?" He didn't answer, so she went on. "I'll answer that-- no. No, I didn't. God, Michael. I WANTED this. I wanted YOU." She reached out to him. "And I still do."

Michael looked back at her then, and she saw that his eyes were shining. "But, I might..."

She shook her head. "No, Michael. Mights and maybes don't count. All that matters is that right now, I want you to hold me." She threw her sincerity at him.

Slowly, his resolve seemed to weaken. But he didn't come to her side right away. First, he turned back to the sink and dampened a facecloth in warm water. Then, heading back to the bed, he sat near her feet. "Open your legs," he said softly. "Please."

Maria smiled, and did as he asked.

"I can't heal very well," he murmured. "But...I want to help." Reaching out, he ran the warm washcloth down the inside of her thigh.

Maria let herself rest back against the sheets as he tenderly cleansed her lower body. The warmth of the washcloth was soothing and arousing, and she felt her core start to thrum again. She gave a little jump when he passed the rough material over her lower lips, grazing her clit, and moaned happily.

Eventually, he moved the cloth away, and stood up again to rinse it at the sink. Maria opened her eyes, which had drifted shut, and watched him move, admiring the play of muscles in his back, and legs, and arms.... It made her sigh.

Michael turned back to her, and she felt more than saw the playful glint in his eyes. "Is milady checking out my ass?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Maybe. Is milord inviting her to?"

He walked back to the bed and swooped her up into his arms. "I think milord would rather cuddle," he told her, as he snaked the sheets down and slipped her slim frame between them.

"A man wanting to cuddle?" she said in fake shock as he slid onto the mattress in front of her and pulled the blanket up over them. "What is the world coming to?"

Michael didn't respond. He just grinned wickedly, and disappeared under the blanket.

"Michael?" Maria asked curiously, wondering what he was planning. "Michael, what are you do...ooh...oooooh..." She trailed off as she felt his hands spread her legs again and then felt his mouth gently travelling along her inner thighs, placing kisses over each bruise, each delicate inch of skin. Soothing her with his lips.

Maria purred, and snuggled as deep into the thin pillow as it would allow, letting his warmth flow over her. She just wanted to stay like this forever-- with him, like this, forever.

Which was why she took it so hard when, the next day, they were separated.

Go to part 9-12