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

EIGHTY-TWO

There was something about the way Philip Evans looked me over that I hadn't noticed before, but in retrospect I was fairly certain he had done to me several times. Max did the same thing. I wondered if they were scanning me. If they were unconsciously checking my status or consciously looking for injuries.

The reason why I noticed this time was probably because of the lingering slowness to Mr. Evans' 'scan'.

Max tensed next to me and I distractedly caught onto his insecure thoughts. He was wondering if his father was seeing something Max had missed. If Max hadn't healed me properly when I had fallen to the floor. Because even if Max hadn't felt allowed to remove my headache earlier, I was grateful that he hadn't been ruled by his self-blame (and not healed me) when my energy had been dangerously low as my limp body had connected with the floor.

Max was now wondering if there was something inside of me that he had not picked up on; something that could be hurting me.

Like a shocked and frightened man, awaiting the test results to his loved one, Max was holding his breath as his father's gaze moved up my body and slowly reached my face.

Mr. Evans frowned, a small barely noticeable twitch in the corner of his eye putting me on edge. I'm sure I wouldn't have noticed that twitch on my own. It was actually Max - who knew his father better - who had picked up on it.

"You're using non-human abilities," Mr. Evans stated slowly, his voice bouncing off the thick hushed anticipation of the room.

I nodded haltingly, still wanting to know why Max was stressing out, and why his father had frowned when he had seen me.

There's something wrong, Max whispered fearfully into my head, making my heart clench. But he's not going to tell us.

If he hadn't been so afraid for my health, Max's primary reaction right now most probably would have been anger. Instead, he reached for my hand and interlaced our fingers.

My eyes were fixed on Mr. Evans' face, enabling me to catch the faint interest in his eyes as he followed his son reaching out to grab my hand. I looked down at Max's and my hands almost expecting to see something fantastic.

But there was nothing odd about our handheld. His skin was darker than mine, his hand so large in comparison, the tightness of the grip visible to the eye as the tips of his fingers were white from the clasp, creating equally light areas of whiteness where the pads of his fingertips pressed into my skin.

"Let's take a seat," Mr. Evans suggested evenly and gestured towards the dining table. We had gathered in the common room of the hostel. Where pieces of exploding bread still covered the wooden floors, along with several puddles of water on the floor from me boiling the water in assorted pans and pots. It looked like the aftermath of the playtime of two under stimulated kids.

I moved forward in accordance with Mr. Evans' suggestion, but Max stood still, tugging me back with our clasped hands.

I looked over my shoulder at him, frowning. "Max?"

The connection was bubbling with his conflicting emotions, making me dizzy and making it impossible for me to read him.

With his strong pull, I stumbled into his body. He wrapped his arms around my waist, the difference in our height making him lift my body to the tip of my toes as he hugged me tightly, his warm lips touching the side of my throat as he pressed his head into the curve of my neck.

Are you okay? he whispered through my head, in a mental voice that told me that he was anything but.

I swallowed, that familiar fear making me feel weak. Too weak to reciprocate his hug. My arms hung at my sides, over his arms, as the pressure of his arms under mine had me float slightly in the air.