Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

SEVENTY-ONE

A/N: Because the previous chapter was a bit short. Because you asked for more. Because it's almost Christmas; two updates today :)

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I was tracing the thumb of his knuckle with my index finger. Sliding it around the top of his nail, wondering if they were short because he had chewed on them or if they had cut his nails while he was unconscious. There was dirt underneath them. No. Not dirt. Blood. Most likely his own. He had his own dried blood underneath his fingernails.

I twisted our interlocked hands, turning the back of his hand more towards me so that my free hand could continue to trace and explore his skin. To move over the bumps of his blue veins, to lightly brush over the plastic object taped to his skin, avoiding the plastic line that supplied his blood with fluid. And nutrition. Apparently, Max's father had been feeding us intravenously while we had been unconscious.

Apparently we both looked horrible. Haggard and gaunt. Malnourished and weak.

Max gave my hand a squeeze and I could feel his eyes on the top of my head. But I had blocked him out of the connection. Apparently, I was able to do this now. Without much effort. Max hadn't asked me about it yet, even though I was very certain that he had noticed. That he was hurting from it. Which wasn't my intention. I just needed to be alone. Alone with my thoughts.

Alex was seated on my other side, moving his eyes between Mr. Evans, the untouched soup in front of me and my face.

I guess my silence worried them.

Max's worry would be bulldozing me at the moment, if I hadn't been blocking him. I could tell, just from the way he sat really really close, from the tremors in his body, from the way his free hand was clenching and relaxing while resting on top of his thigh, and from the heat of his gaze.

He was paying about as much attention to this version of a debriefing we had ended up in as I was.

Mr. Evans was talking about Command. About a man named Dresden. About Mr. Guerin and Mr. Whitman. About the rupture of a society that had been in place since their arrival on Earth in 1947. About a community scattered and disorganized. About the change that had made this happen. Max and I. Our unusual bond. And me killing Sean and Steven.

About the rebellion that Max and I hadn't been too far off about in our speculations.

But I had stopped listening sometime after Mr. Evans had told me that they needed our help. They needed the strength of our bond. We needed to refine it, tap into its strength, and overthrow Command.

With that, the block in my mind had come naturally. Slammed down like black iron walls around my mind, cutting Max out. I hadn't been immune to his flinch as it had happened, or the way his hand had tightened around mine, or the fact that he was searching around my mind, gently tapping to get in. He didn't do it for long though, knowing what associations him trying to break into my mind might give me.

So he had, albeit unwillingly, allowed me to cut him out.

It was not really like it was an active choice. It must have been what my mind had needed. It was trying to protect itself. Because the block I had put up wasn't similar to the one Max used on me. His was usually one-way, preventing me from feeling him. While he could still read me perfectly fine. But my version was more like the one I had managed to do when Sean had assaulted me in the gym. Cutting off the bond at both ends.

But I knew that it was still there. I knew that I hadn't destroyed anything. I had learnt (the hard way) that not much could destroy this bond.

My thoughts moved uninhibited to Sean. To his blue eyes and his cold smile. To the feel of his hands around my throat as he had squeezed and squeezed-