Snapshot · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

61. Déjà vu

The Evans' Residence
(2034) Max is 49, Liz is 48

"She won't talk to me," Max said.

Liz shrugged out of her jacket, while she closed the front door behind her. "Who?"

Leaning against the doorframe, Max's stance seemed casual to the outside observer but his face told the truth about Max's state of mind.

Max Evans was worried.

Really worried.

"Bree."

Liz frowned and started to remove her shoes. "She's still in her room?"

"What if something really bad happened?"

Liz straightened and looked at her troubled husband. "She hasn't talked to Zoe either?"

Max shook his head and pushed off the doorframe. Grabbing Liz's hand, Max pulled his wife towards him and into his arms.

Crushed against Max's chest, Liz frowned. "You're really worried, aren't you?"

"She's crying."

Liz pulled out her arms from where Max had crushed them between their bodies and put them around his waist instead, returning his hug.

Max hated it when his daughters cried. He couldn't stand it. He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

But to Liz, crying was a good sign. It was much better than the stone dead silence Brianna had given them over the last 24 hours.

"I'll try and talk to her."

Max kissed the top of her head before releasing her.

Giving him a sympathetic smile, Liz rose to the tip of her toes and kissed him lightly. "Stop worrying. It's not good for you."

It was not like Liz was immune to the troubles of her daughter. Brianna's odd behavior had been on her mind every second since it had started. But Liz knew how worried Max got, how he couldn't quite handle it, so there was no need that she added to the whole thing by showing him how truly worried she was herself.

She was good at repressing her feelings to a place where they got manageable.

A life-time in Max's presence had taught her that.

*****

Brianna's bedroom

Liz knocked lightly on the door and opened it slightly. "Bree?"

"I don't want to talk about it," came the mumbled reply.

"You sure? It might make you feel better."

"Dad sent you?"

"He's about to collapse with worry."

There was a sniffle and then she whispered, "Fine."

Liz quietly closed the door behind her and walked up to the bed, where her 16-year-old girl was curled up in a fetal position.

Laying down behind her, Liz put her cheek against her daughter's wet cheek, a gesture which resulted in a fresh river of tears from Brianna.

Liz put an arm across Brianna's waist, fighting her own tears. It made her heart ache seeing her own flesh and blood in so much pain.

They just laid there for about fifteen minutes, neither saying a word. Brianna crying in the comfort of her mother's embrace while Liz waited for Brianna to get ready to talk. Then the crying stopped, the sniffles grew further apart and with a simple quietness Brianna opened her heart.