Unspoken Love

Chapter 1. Flint & Matches

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In the eye of a storm, the world is still. In turmoil there has to be hope.

And inside a barn, surrounded by Flint Manes's hired men and fellow anti-alien disciples on the outskirts of Roswell, hope was the only thing Michael Guerin had left.

That and what Max had always called his stubborn-pigheadedness, that he would get through this, that he would find Alex and somehow get both of them free, before Flint Manes killed them.

Michael might never know what set off the other Manes brother, and definitely didn't understand the man's primary goal when he kidnapped the pair of them and brought them here. He hadn't actually seen Alex, but Flint had assured him in-between beatings that Alex was nearby and receiving the same treatment.

He knew they were on an abandoned farm and was fairly sure that he knew which one, south of Roswell and from the large open doorway he had seen...however long ago now, that there were at least five other buildings in view. All of them were barns and presumably an out-of-sight, maybe derelict homestead. Six places that could be Alex's prison cell.

The problem was that Michael, despite trying his best and putting his not inconsiderable genius to the test, could not get free of the restraints Flint had put him in. He wasn't Houdini, but his difficulty was mostly due to the yellow flower pollen Flint had dosed him with, which muted his powers, leaving him far less functional in this one-man fight.

He was desperate for some way of getting to Alex and though the flowers were wearing off, he was not up to his usual level. Right now....he was running out of time and his usefulness was also waning.

Again he tried to break the chains on the complicated rack he was lashed to with his powers, subtly with the two guards watching. His shoulders burned and his wrists were bleeding, but he made himself breathe through the pain.

It was moot point.

The ratchet refusing to move off its pin, leaving him seeing stars and still stuck. It would have taken less than a second with his telekinesis!

But unfortunately, his most used and arguably most useful gift was not cooperating. Glaring viciously he slumped in the chains, his shoulders screaming as his entire body weight again dropped. His telekinesis was the one ability he really needed by morning.

The room spun violently in off-kilter circles, the axis of the revolving world so off it was actually irritating to watch, the light and shadows dizzying. The guards are taunting again, bored with their high-value, dangerous but contained target. Flint hasn't let them go as far as they want...but it won't be long before he does.

He knows the type. Depravity is only a step and permission away.

A fist hits him again, smacking into his cheek rocking his head back with the force of it, courtesy of Flint's number two. A lean guy, also Army who spoke little and really, really loathed Michael.

He's been hit many times before, but not with this level of hate. With his body so expertly chained, he can't do much but bite down on any noise that might escape his throat, a defiant act born of pride and his own hate.

Never let it be said that the Manes family do anything by halves.

Pain was an old friend, a familiar sensation in a life of temporary homes and bitter adults. It was graded, stacked against experiences of survivable and not, referenced for the time it took to heal or the time it didn't heal at all. A hammer flashed in his memory, his own scream reverberating. Maybe it still was. It was hard to tell.

Michael blinked slowly, hating the heavy feeling of the yellow pollen that numbed his powers and had nausea rippling through him. He'd been stuck here, wherever here was, for what felt like an eternity, the exact march of time lost to him in his pain-fueled haze. Being kidnapped, he decided was embarrassing enough, but only partly succeeding in doing what Flint wanted, once again for Alex's life, then being trussed up like a pig in chains was somehow worse.

His siblings were going to be next, if he failed. Flint had significant interest in them which had fear burrowing deeper into his heart.

The demands exacted on him were confusing, contradictory. They wanted his mind and powers, but were too afraid of what he could do. Putting him in this twilight zone of trying to achieve what Flint wanted so he didn't hurt Alex and barely being able to lift his head.

He hadn't really fought when they came for him in the junkyard, the threat to Alex's life enough to have him lowering his guard. He hadn't wanted to alert them to Sanders either.

Flint's triumphant smile was sickening, but his threats were so damn creative when he detailed what he would do to his own little brother, if Guerin didn't comply, had Michael's tongue silent and why didn't chuck him into a wall like he wanted to. He didn't send out a distress signal to his siblings or fight at all when they threw Alex's jacket on the ground and played a recording of Alex arguing with Flint, ending with a meaty thud. A fist hitting bone. Flint hitting Alex.

They had brought him here, to wherever this place was and made their demands.

Flint at first had wanted him to make sense of blueprints from the 1940s, which for Alex he had agreed to do. They had remnants of a system from the crash site, not necessarily the one in 1947, but Oasian in design certainly. It was a ship weapon, a pulse attack that obliterates whatever it hits. The exact kind of thing that Guerin would rather die than build, but again he played that recording, added threats. A bloodied Air Force t-shirt was dumped in front of him and worst of all, a bloodied prosthetic leg.

Michael couldn't really build it without the needed materials, but he could make a prototype. That was in the first few days.

When that was mostly done, they moved on to project two. An alien device that Flint was obsessed with, salvaged from a facility that Michael presumes Alex had destroyed during his Project Shepard quest.

They wanted him to activate this piece of technology that wasn't - as far as he could work out - even Oasian. It was another alien device, sleek and oval in shape, it's purpose a mystery. It defied tools and telekinesis.

As useful as an plastic egg or a nice desk ornament.

When he mentally prodded it, the device struck out with energy trying to wrap around his mind. A terrifying experience that Michael had fought tooth and nail against, and eventually after a battle that felt like it had raged for years, he had succeeded in denying it access to his head. Flint didn't care and since he came back to the barn with bloodied knuckles, Michael stopped talking, afraid that blood was Alex's.

Flint had seen it work apparently, had seen footage of it killing an Oasian, presumably in Caulfield. So what Michael was supposed to do with it, he didn't know. Kill himself and save Flint the effort of firing a bullet?

Since that enlightening talk, and the prosthetic leg - Michael had been left mostly alone. The cold had him shivering, huddling in his chains as he ignored the taunts and threats.

The temperature was dropping, now they had moved closer to true winter, the barn damp and freezing. Michael couldn't really feel his feet anymore and had reached that stage where the cold had stopped mattering, his core temperature too low to really notice. Not that Flint was going to care if his tied up alien had hypothermia.

Soon it was going to be morning and Michael knew that Flint was going to do something to Alex, the promise holding true that he'd bring Alex in here and kill him in front of Michael if he didn't get the stolen alien tech working.

"I'll do what you want you sick fuck! But leave Alex alone!"

They wanted him to finish building the weapon and the worst part, was that he could. He had built a working prototype of a weapon that might not work, that might explode when used, hopefully killing Flint in the process and was willing to give it to Flint, for Alex. In the lull in-between working on that, he was brought here and chained up, until morning.

When he didn't work fast enough, that was when the beatings started again, the pollen and more subtle, but highly effective torture. Agony had him dropping some of his shields and he knew that his siblings had felt it, alerting them if him being missing hadn't already. He could feel Isobel trying to reach for his mind and initially he had blocked it.

But as night fell - what was now yesterday he thought - he had reached out.

The prototype was nearly ready but not as fast as Flint wanted. He had buyers or partners that wanted the tech, so the threats to Alex had ramped up.

The cold had him shivering in a freezing barn, being struck with a cattle prod again and again, with Flint destabilizing even more, shouting about what he would do to Alex, to Max and Iz....

In desperation for Alex's life, he had reached for her. With no finesse and blind panic he had broken his own rules and actually reached for her mind, shoving aside her mental shields like a shower curtain. Finally proving to her what she had always suspected. Proving he had mental control that he had never admitted to before.

Afraid and concussed he had showed her Flint, right up until the pain had him blacking out.

If he lived, he was going to have to live with the embarrassment of shrieking on a mental channel to his sister when the electrocution started again, the high energy input reacting badly with his own core of power. He was supposed to be stronger than that and it had terrified her.

The connection had fizzled out, but Isobel now she had away in kept trying. Until she reconnected to his mind using their link, temporarily shielding him with all her love and that fierce fighting spirit that made her the best of them. His gratitude only made her panic more, terrified he was about die, but the pain had made it hard to think.

He held on to the link for as long as he could, trying to communicate what Flint was doing, the danger to them all.

Michael! Where are you? She had asked desperately.

Flint. Barn. Won't do it Izzy! Won't.

Flint Manes? That bastard? Michael!! Her cry of horror as the pain washed over her, overflowing from him, hurt in some ways more than the cattle prod.

His anger surged and it bought him time. He knew that she heard what Flint was saying, "This always worked so well on the prisoners. Destroyed their attitude problems every time. Let's see how long you can take it Guerin."

Michael! Her worry was a cloud bank against his mind, her fear stabbing him. We're coming. We'll find you!

No! Don't come here. Can't get free. Get out. Run. When it blows in the morning, I'll die too.

Blows?! She yelled and he winced.

Hold on Michael. Iz had instructed, and he could feel the tears fall down her cheeks, feel her grief and that strong denial.

He's going to kill me soon. Get Max. Run Izzy. He's gonna come for you.

Love you both. I'm sorry.

That was...some time ago he thinks.

With the job complete, the choice of freeing Alex and killing him was on the table and Michael made his peace with that.

Alex deserved to be happy, to go back to a life with Forrest Long after a year gone to the wind on his private crusade against Project Shepard. If dying meant giving that dream life, meant that Alex lived, Michael was more than happy to pay it. The idea of Alex being hurt, of feeling this pain like he was....it was too much to bear.

Escape hadn't worked. The head injury and the pollen's effects, were making it hard to tell reality from hallucination. He'd lost so much time to it's effects. Now he wondered if he was supposed to be swapped to this other group, Flint had talked about. An subdued living lien and an alien device, handed over for something Flint wanted in return.

Except they hadn't given him the dose for a while, so he wasn't as subdued as they thought, letting his powers sort of come back online to keep working on the alien device. A bigger risk for a bigger gain.

Flint had made it clear. Make this work or he'd slice off Alex's remaining leg. And he would. Michael had no doubt that Flint was crazy, warped by Jesse Manes and by his own ambition. Alex was a traitor in his mind, no longer useful or to be considered family. Expendable and gay, two things that would make it so easy for him to cross that final line. And Michael was terrified he would actually do it.

Right now he was chained up for the night, the prototype working for the weapon, ready for testing. An experiment he hoped would end Flint and give Michael a chance to get to Alex. He'd done the calculations and worked out that this barn was too far from the other buildings to do that much damage, except of course for fire. He had planned for the explosion to be localized and could only hope his plan would work.

In the morning he had to do the demonstration of how he had progressed with the alien oval, or at least give Flint an answer about it, he would find acceptable. What he was going to say, Michael had no idea. But he had to try or just hope that Flint tried the weapon out first.

Michael was deeply afraid that Flint planned to try the weapon out on Alex. Video the murder of his brother and use that to sell it to this other group. Or use it on Michael with Alex watching, just to be an absolute asshole.

The oval thing mocked him, immune to everything he had tried so far, except mental contact. It sat on a table in front of him, a guard in Flint's employ with a machine gun watching him fail. He couldn't open it. No tool had worked, neither had heat or electrical pulses. His telekinesis was an option but it was considered too dangerous and that had only increased his dose of pollen.

What was left? He was too out of it to do much and time was running out. His head was throbbing, his body hurt, his mind less controlled than usual thinking was so damn hard.

The link to his siblings pulsed and he groaned.

Isobel was trying to contact him, prodding his shields and with another punch to the head, his control slipped a little more. Emotional, fearing he had condemned Alex, Michael coughed wetly and stopped trying to protect himself. Isobel touched his mind worriedly, he could feel her barely controlled panic and anger, but the device in front of him lit up, with a soft blue glow.

If the first attempt was anything to go by, this new one was going to be worse. The oval lit up fully and Michael had no idea what it was doing.

He had dropped too many shields.

Michael!

This is gonna hurt.

He didn't know if that was her warning or his own. He laughed at the irony of it being activated by telepathy - wasn't he the worst choice then? - and then hollered loudly as pain slammed into him, the oval forcing entry into his mind as he tried to shove it back. He didn't know he was bathed in light, didn't realize that was why the guards hadn't rushed forward.

Was it an explosive device? Like a grenade? Was it some kind of communication device and he just wasn't compatible with its type of telepathic connection?

This was it. He thought. What a way to die.

Michael missed the gunfire and the shouts around him, missed the explosion of power and the door bending to the will of someone very much not human.

His mind was on fire and his shields were only holding so much back as the device hit him again. He was no longer screaming, jaw locked as he writhed in the chains, fighting to get free.

Isobel was panicking and he could feel Max's intense distress. It was holding molten metal in his hands and he couldn't hold on. His body jerked and seized on the rack, and this time he couldn't stop crying out ....

Then it let him go. It stopped its attacked and he lifted his head panting.

But for a single, perfect second, he saw Alex holding a gun to the guards.

When he looked at them his expression was fierce, eyes full cold rage. But as he passed them and headed to Michael, those dark eyes were wide with fear, with worry. He was across the room, at the other end of the massive barn and yet like magic, when Michael blinked, he was suddenly right in front of him, lips moving urgently.

Alex. He was so beautiful, he thought and he wished he had been good enough, wished that Alex was his. But, at least he got to see him one last time.

The pain had him biting through his lip, but he held on, staring at Alex's panicking face, his eyes glossy with distress, as Michael's body twisted and seized. The chains fell away and he was falling, the energy burning through his system, the oval thing still glowing.

The oval thing might kill Alex.

That became the central thought overriding even the pain.

Alex couldn't touch him with this...foreign power surging through him, he thought and he wanted Alex's touch, needed it. So in classic Guerin fashion he bent the world to him.

Instead of fighting it, Michael absorbed it, taking it into himself and shoved the power down, containing it tightly. It wouldn't last, but it was just in time as he crashed to the ground and Alex, beautiful, kind Alex gathered him into his arms.

He couldn't hear anything, his body no longer really responding to him, which should have been terrifying, but he could still see and Alex was right there. Alex's hand cupped his cheek and he turned his face, which was a literal crime, Michael thought.

Look me once last time, won't you? Alex?

He made his hand touch Alex, the barest, briefest touch on his chest as Alex hovered over him, blocking out the light. Alex's head whipped back around and he leaned over Michael, so beautiful and real. He hasn't be able to shave, his eyes were bloodshot and his eyebrows were set in that stressed look.

Michael's hearing was off, but he could read Alex's lips. "I'm here. Guerin, I'm here. You're going to be okay."

And he was here.

Warmth spread through him, the energy surrounding Alex in a pretty halo of color, but it couldn't hurt him. He had absorbed the energy - could in fact absorb more if he had to. The light was a by-product of him taking the power from the oval. He touched the light with shaking fingers and a rightness settled in him and he smiled.

In a suspended, beautiful moment, he felt Alex. All of him. His emotions, his thoughts, his entire being was open to Michael.

"You gotta get out Alex." He told him, voice shaking, the words so hard to force of his throat.

Alex, he thought before everything faded to black.

==

Guerin!

No. No. No. Come on please. Michael!

Is he breathing? Is it working?

Michael! Please. You can't die. You can't. Don't.

Don't leave me. You can't. Please.

Guerin....

Someone was panicking, their distress washing over him, pulling him from the sweet darkness where nothing hurt and nothing mattered. Warm and safe, he didn't want to wake, to face the bright lights and the questions, the pain.

He was fading back into the darkness, letting go. Except one thought had him pausing.

Alex. He thought with a jolt. They had Alex. Flint was going to hurt him. The weapon Michael had built!

So Michael Guerin fought, power restored to him raced through his veins and his mind fractured and hurting began to reassemble his shields. No. He couldn't let them hurt Alex. Someone prodded at his mind, but he doubled down and shoved. Pain ripped through him and he cried out even as he held on.

The oval, he remembered.

Beside him, he knew Isobel and Max were somewhere near Michael's side. With the foreign energy, he could easily distinguish all of the life around him for what he assumed was around a mile. His own abilities magnified. There were deer in the woods beyond the buildings. Rats in the storehouse. Two dead guys were on the ground, three tied up. Sanders was close, standing behind Isobel with Maria. Alex was holding him. Max was on the ground with Liz, Rosa and Kyle.

The foreign energy tried to reconnect with his head and he felt Isobel and Max recoil as the oval hurt them too. He felt their pain and fear, felt all of their pain. The oval was affecting everyone in the room.

Michael!

Brutally Michael shoved it away, eyes opening to slits.

Someone was trying to lift him, tugging his resisting body into a sitting position, but Michael ignored this, intent on redirecting the oval device's energy back to it in a lethal feedback loop. This wasn't a fire you could get away from. Distance he knew wasn't an impediment to this thing, whatever the hell it was. It had three telepaths close by and Maria was probably sensitive to it and for all he knew it didn't like Oasians. Maybe their people were enemies. Maybe it had a security thing on it.

He didn't know what it was doing, but he did know that it could and would kill his family. This wasn't sustainable. Something that could cause him this much pain, was not something a human could survive and Isobel had suffered enough with evil things trying to take over her head with goddamn Noah.

Like a cockroach, this thing had to put down. He couldn't let it hurt his family. He didn't need it now, if Alex was free and they were getting out.

The high pitch whine was painful, the pressure and mental pain it exerted on him was agonizing, but Michael had had enough.

He felt the weird energy cage and shoved harder, grounding the power into the earth and screamed with the agony of doing it, but if that thing thought it was gonna kill Alex, it had another thing coming.

He felt Max join in, then Isobel, pushing the power away and exhausted, Michael let them finish the job, readying himself for the detonation.

Michael!

Someone yelled, "Get down!"

It started to blow up but he was ready and shoved it away, kicking the blast and its contents through the wall to blaze across the dead fields of this dead farm.

Burning things could hurt Alex and it was going to rain.

Alex's body curled automatically in over his, as if trying to shield him. For a moment Michael thought of his mother, of the explosion that had killed her, but with Alex's face tucked into his neck, that pain couldn't hurt him either.

What hell was that?

Guerin? Can you hear me?

Oh that was Alex's voice. He sounded upset. Worried and there was fear underneath his name, buried in his tone. Alex was scared. That wasn't right.

But the pain was gone, vanquished with the oval device thing that Michael thought he might have imploded.

Michael stopped fighting, leaving him feeling like a broken doll. Hands were back on his face and it was something to realize he still had a body. He couldn't open his eyes now, but he felt Alex near, could smell his aftershave and knew those calluses, knew the sound of his rich dulcet voice like he knew his own soul.

He felt completely open to Alex, like clay his soldier could mold as he wanted and he smiled at the thought.

Then he knew nothing.

==

Rising back through the darkness towards light was no more pleasant this time around, and for a little while Michael resisted. Consciousness meant pain, cold and helplessness, nothing he wanted to experience yet again. Better to remain here in the comfortable darkness.....

Except his mind once awakened to a certain point found it difficult to simply drop back into sleep. Something was nagging at his attention, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Then the penny dropped. There was something wrong with his powers.

Too much power!

The energy overflow he suddenly became very aware of, was alarming. Michael kept a tight rein on his abilities - those he knew of - and understood the chaotic nature of the power circling through his system. They were rivers, like arteries and veins, connected so it made a complex network all over his body. As long as he kept the channels flowing, his power was easily accessible and even easier to control. Even if the actual process was mysterious. The way that energy was collected in the first place, to the way it was distributed, to how he could use it with his mind.

He knew it was dangerous to bottle energy. Better to release it in secret daily use, like telekinesis, controlling how he used it and how much he used with conscious effort. This allowed him to store some reserves, relying on how it felt when his system overloaded as it had as a child, to be his guide. If there was tension in the feel of the energy, like a cramping muscle or a taut chain, he knew he was dangerously overloaded. If it flowed nicely and followed the command of his will, something that had taken years to perfect, to hone, then he was in what he considered a 'safety zone'.

Right now, that power felt tight and hot. Locked down into a core of power, like a pot just about to boil over.

Theoretically, the best course of action was to release that power bit by bit, until he went back to his normal levels. But since he had no idea what was happening, Michael tamped down on the instinctive urge to let go of it.

Everything hurt, but that wasn't new anymore than the cold was. He was freezing, when really with the roiling energy in his veins, he should have been overheated. But he couldn't really feel his feet, his hands hurt with cold and his body was stiff. The type of cold when the dampness of the earth seeps into your bones overnight, leaving you freezing and achy come morning.

With all the injuries he was sporting, getting up was going to be agony. Getting warm was not going to be a fun experience either as his joints defrosted. He debated just staying still and wondered if waking up was a bad idea.

What was new, was the car rumbling beneath him, the comfortable warmth surrounding him that hadn't yet been able to defrost his body, and the scent of Alex's aftershave.

His aching body was cradled against a warm, firm chest, his neck supported by what felt like a muscular bicep. Fabric of some kind rubbed against his cheek, catching on his curls, until a hand gently pushed it down. A hand that returned to it's place curved over his waist, burrowing beneath a cover of some kind to do so.

Muzzily, Michael thought Alex was going freeze if he kept his hands out of the blankets and wondered with a pang of worry if Alex was warm enough.

...He was dreaming, Michael was sure of it. It wasn't entirely right, the details mixed up when usually his perfect recall meant he could really immerse himself in memories...but he must be revisiting that summer afternoon lying against Alex in the afterglow, watching the sunset, face pressed to Alex's chest, his arms around Michael's back....

Except....he should be able to lift his head and kiss Alex as he did that day or any of the times he had been lying like this....and he loved lying pressed to Alex Manes.

Despite being called a genius, it took a long time for him to add one and two together, the basic arithmetic failing him. Because it felt like he was being held, his head cradled with long, painfully familiar fingers combing through his sweaty, grimy curls, ghosting over his throbbing head in a soothing caress.

There was a light, pathetic but real overhead and dim enough it didn't contribute to his aching head. His shoulders were limply pressed to another firm surface and something was digging into his lower back, legs loosely held. A soft touch of familiar mental greeting, so vague it was easy to ignore had his defenses lowering even before they could start. Max.

Max was holding his legs?! Why the hell was his brother holding his legs?

A car. His legs being held. His body supported. Seconds ticked by and the answer slowly resolved itself. Someone strong enough not care that he was heavy was holding his upper torso and supporting his head, while his legs were propped on Max's knee, keeping him from falling. His feet were cold.

Someone who cared enough about him to tolerate a heavy, filthy, bleeding man sprawled in their lap. Because while the cold was numbing the pain, he'd been hit enough times, he must be bleeding on the person holding him and they had dumped icy water over him twice in the barn.

It felt nice, the gentle petting and the feeling of safety, the love that wrapped around him like a blanket. So, conscious thought drifted away for a moment. A sweet lull where nothing mattered and with the power held tightly, he wasn't a danger to anyone. He could rest, so he did and his mind catalogued all that he could sense.

....They were driving pretty fast, the road bumpy. So desert and not the highway.

....Max was on the left side of the car and he seemed okay, tired but not stressed.

....Isobel was close but not in the car and she was stressed.

....There was another car behind this one, and if he listened, it was a pick-up truck. Two people in the cab.

....There was also another car ahead of them. Already hitting the tarmac road at speed by a distance he estimated was around twenty meters and Michael recognized the sound. Max's Jeep. He'd fixed the damn thing enough times to know! Guess that answered where Isobel was then. Yep...there was the gear change....

....The suspension on this car was good, so likely a four-wheel drive and it smelled of citrus. The engine recently re-tuned and the tires were new.

.....They hit something, a pothole he presumed and he moaned in pain. Definitely a desert road.

Someone swore so softly it was hard to hear, the world was out of tune as the pain washed over him.

Hold it tightly. Don't let go. He ordered himself darkly.

He was too afraid to wake up now. Had they brought Alex too? He needed to know.

"He's waking up." Max said near his feet, his voice sounding gravelly and hoarse. "He's still in a lot of pain." This was said apologetically and Max's broad hand touched his knee, not in healing but in comfort.

We're miles from the house! But he's safe. Someone said anxiously, a whisper in his ear. I'll take care of him. He's going to be okay. He has to be.

It feels so good to have him in my arms again. The person continued, fingers stroking his hair, twisting delightfully in his curls. Oh my God. Michael. He nearly died. Michael. It sounded choked and a feeling not unlike hatred filled him. A hint of it at least. It was inwardly aimed, grief and self-loathing.

But it sounded like Alex. Michael moaned softly in discomfort at the thought, pressing his nose into the open shirt beneath his cheek, down to the soft fabric of a t-shirt layered over muscle. Alex's aftershave, gun oil, sweat and that pure glorious scent that was all Alex, pushed the final connections into place.

Alex was holding him, he realized dimly. How he hadn't worked that out in the first five seconds, he put down to the concussion.

He was being held mostly in Alex's lap, with Alex's arms wrapped around him, his head cushioned on Alex's chest. And the fabric over his shoulders was Alex's jacket.

There was a home in these arms, the sweetest comfort and Michael wanted to cry at the revelation that Alex and him had escaped somehow. Alex was okay. He was holding Michael too tightly to be severely injured. Michael couldn't detect even a whiff of blood and in this position he was partially slumped over Alex's torso, where Flint would have aimed his hits. Alex was okay. Maybe a little beaten, but the true wounds would be psychological.

Alex was holding him.

Which was glorious and wonderful and Michel wanted to just bask in the feeling, like a reptile in the sun....but Alex must be in pain. Michael was heavy and Alex was missing a leg, his prosthetic still no doubt gracing the barn floor. What was Max thinking?

He tried to shift, worrying that he was crushing Alex, who was possibly injured. What the hell had Flint done to him?

But as soon as he moved, even the fractional pathetic shift which was all his weak body could do, Alex's arms clamped him tighter. "Shh. You're safe. Just sleep Michael. I've got you." Alex told him, his voice stronger now. The fingers settled on his cheek, cupping his jaw tenderly.

Is he waking up? Am I hurting him?

"...Lex?" Michael managed through a swollen, dry mouth. Everything hurt. For a moment, it was like they were seventeen again, sharing air and curled into each other, like being apart was beyond comprehension. No matter how far apart they became, here in the precious embrace of Alex's arms, he found his home. He couldn't keep it, but while it lasted, he had a safe place to rest.

"I'm here. You're safe." Alex told him, muscle shifting as a warm hand curved, a wrist sliding under his neck, fingers pressed to his nape. Those elegant fingers, bony and strong were always a lifeline to him.

What wasn't....normal for Alex was the rush of words that were torrential, rather than the few scattered drops of rainfall that Michael had come to expect. Alex had never been chatty, even as a kid... but this was a deluge of words. That was alarming, but the accompanying emotion that colored each syllable was both totally in line with what Michael had always suspected lurked beneath that controlled facade and at the same time, uncharacteristic.

I've got you. You're safe.

Please don't freak out. It's me.

I'd rip my heart out before I'd hurt you. You know that, don't you? He has to.

You'll hurt yourself. Just stay in my arms. Please don't.

What if he can't trust you? What if he hates you? Oh God. Maybe you're the worst person to be holding him....

He didn't think he was going to freak out, Michael thought grumpily, Alex was holding him and why was Alex spiraling about Michel hating him? Being held by Alex? That was worth a Manes-style beating. So despite his worry, mind sparking to full awareness with the sharpness of that worry - Michael went boneless, using his lack of response as proof he wanted to be where he was.

His body fell more into Alex - and surely his weight was too heavy? - but the words cease for a moment as he mashes his face into Alex's chest.

Just a quiet, Guerin. Said like a sigh, something like love and resignation and devotion bundled together.

"...int." He tried, throat scraped raw, eyes stubbornly refusing to open. He shifted his head and that alone hurt, a low grumble escaping him.

"What was that?" Alex asked leaning his head down, "Guerin?"

Michael?" Max asked.

This is not like him. He hates being coddled. Hates being seen as anything other than fine. You have always had that in common and he's letting you hold him, hasn't even argued. He's really hurt. What did that thing do? Max looks equally freaked. He's so beaten up.

Someone, not Alex touch his arm and he flinched, light flashing over him. "At least he's awake." Someone - Kyle Valenti said interrupting them. "Guerin? Can you hear me?"

A warning would have been nice! He just woke up! Do you have no idea about trauma Kyle? Alex snaps in that whisper voice. "Kyle," He then said in a warning tone, the vibration mesmerizing against Michael's cheek.

"He's still too cold." Kyle Valenti says ignoring them, "He might not be coherent yet. His core temp is too low. The sooner we get him warm the better."

Yeah because I'd let Guerin freeze. Alex retorted in a whisper. I've only spent the entire time I've known him worrying he was cold! Of course he is cold. He's freezing because he was locked in a barn, tortured and stripped down to his jeans in winter!

Max he thinks tucks a blanket over him and he flinches again as his arms are moved. His shoulders really hate him right now, thanks to being tied up for so long, but the fleece is warm and smells of Isobel's closet.

His shoulders are hurting. He's not moving or saying anything. Michael? Alex frets in that whispering voice.

"Mmh." Michael says into Alex's chest and those glorious arms band around him again.

He wonders who is driving if Valenti is in the front, but doesn't really care. If Max is in the back and Alex is here, then the person driving must be safe.

That was a flinch. He's afraid. They hurt him. Tortured him. They hurt Michael. I should have killed him.

The Manes family is a disease. It would be better if none us existed.

Tortured Michael.

He has to be okay.

Michael grit his teeth and found the strength to lift a hand, from its position limp in the valley between his body and the backrest. '"Sorry." He managed, still trying to open his eyes.

Sorry? Sorry for what? Guerin....God how are you so good? I hate them. I promised to always protect you and I failed. I let you down.

Woah. What the hell! Michael tried to move, but his body refused to cooperate and Alex had a steel grip on him, probably worried he'd fall.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Alex tells him in a broken voice.

"Kill you." Michael tells him, "Alien thing. Hurts. Alex."

"You're going to be fine." Max tells him, voice strained.

Kill me? They....he used me to get to you? I'm the reason you're hurt? And that alien thing? The thing that blew up? How did they have another piece of Oasian tech? The self-loathing only grows, fear and worry accompany it in a dizzying spiral.

His hand finds Alex's chest and he tucks his face firmly into Alex's sternum, "...Couldn't stop him."

"Its okay. He'll never hurt you again." Alex tells him, an echo to his words, a finality ringing through them. "Never."

"I'd rather he killed me than you." Michael tells him and ignores Max's jolt and Alex's denial.

His head was throbbing and Alex was holding him. He shouldn't be. He has a boyfriend and things between them were so strained, but he loves Alex and though he's going to be guilty later, he burrows into Alex's warmth, content for the first time in forever.

And Michael falls asleep again, tucked into Alex.

===

When he wakes for the third time all he knows is pain. He grits his teeth again, refusing to make a sound and the energy, alien to even for an alien like him, zings through his body painfully. He waits to be hit, is surprised when he's not and can't help but lash out when someone presses the knot of agony in his side.

Someone cries out and he's darkly pleased. He hopes its Flint.

He holds his shields tightly and nausea roils through him as he tips sideways. Strong arms catch him and he's pulled in close to a body, but he doesn't fight because Alex's aftershave invades his senses and Isobel's strident presence washes over him.

If you've hurt him, you deserved that. Alex says darkly.

"Michael! Stop fighting us." Isobel complains.

"The kid just came from torturers, of course he ain't in his head." Sanders says, as antagonistic as ever.

I should have gone alone. I would have him on a bed by now. I'd have the medical kit by now. Alex grumbles. I love these people but they know nothing about efficiency.

Alex is so cute when he's being bitchy. Michael thinks fondly. "Hurts." He tells Alex's neck, the word badly slurred. '"Alex."

"You're hurting him." Alex retorts, hands gripping his waist. Don't you dare hurt him. It's okay. I'll get you there. Hold onto me.

Michael let all of it wash over him as he held on tightly to the power ripping at his control. His own body rejecting it as foreign. "Alex," He said, trying to get him to listen, to hear him. "S'm'thing...wrong..."

"Its okay. It's going to be okay." Alex tells him urgently, as they move, "I've got you."

I won't let anything happen to you. Please just be okay. I'll do anything.

"Get him on the couch. There might be internal bleeding." Kyle says sharply and Alex shivers. "Probably some broken bones. His jaw might be. Ribs are cracked, at least three, but I don't know what else."

His jaw wasn't broken. Michael knew that. Just really bruised and his teeth were fine. The blood in his mouth was from biting his cheek and split lip. His left eye was swollen shut, but not as badly as it could have been. The cold had helped with that. Flint was more of a torso hitter. He likes the bruised look of reds, purples and the sick satisfaction of broken ribs. Just like Jesse Manes.

Michael knew every kind. There were people who liked to strike the face, the humiliation, vulnerability and ownership it expressed. Instinctively he always wondered too if humans aimed for the face because killing someone with a head injury was really easy. Ones like Flint who liked the torso, punches and kicks to make his victim feel small and helpless. The ones who prefer vivid marks of potential fatality like Jesse, strangling his son, so they remembered they were owned every time they looked in the mirror. The ones who liked aiming their anger at your limbs, so they were bruised and aching, held close and afraid.

He knew them all.

Isobel went for the face in her attacks, aiming to stun, to hurt, to humiliate her attacker. So he'd know that bruise was her fist.

Max also liked body shots, maximum impact. Winded, down and struggling to get up. Easier to arrest, he supposed.

Alex's fear drowned out his thoughts. Anything. Just please let him be okay.

"I'll try again. It's been an hour. There must be a way I can heal him." Max says stridently,

"Just be careful." Liz says worriedly, "It pretty much knocked you out before."

"Is there something I can get?' Maria asks, and she sounds so scared.

"Yeah. Get me some water. We need to to clean off the blood so I can see just where and how he's injured." Kyle agrees,

"At least the bleeding has stopped." Rosa chimes in, "He looks like he fought a bear."

"He looks like he got a beating from a coward." Sanders says angrily, "Is he conscious?" There was worry under that anger and Michael wondered what his mother would think, worrying the kid she had loved in that barn, who grew up to be the closest thing Michael had to a parent.

"Come on Michael, lie down." Isobel coaxes as they slide him onto the couch cushions. Max's couch, he can tell, so obviously this is Max's house. He's safe. They're safe.

Being horizontal helps and the world stops lurching. Hands touch him and he tenses, ready to fight, bloodied teeth bared. But he can feel Isobel's hand cupping his cheek, feel her churning emotions as she touches him. The voices form a cacophony of sound that he tunes out. He can hold on and maybe pass out again....Except when Max tries healing him, pushing energy into Michael's body, the foreign energy problem became a serious issue.

His eyes finally snap open, including the swollen one which was painful, to stare at a familiar white ceiling and his body arches. He cries out, lower thankfully than the scream that wanted to escape, but hoarse and broken. Alex was right there and he really didn't want to add to his already overflowing guilt. He couldn't understand exactly what was going on but Alex was okay and that was what mattered.

Michael! He heard Alex's voice, the distress ringing out loudly, over the chaos of everyone else. Sanders is shouting. Kyle is trying to take his pulse, Max is recoiling with a cry of his own, Liz trying to support him with Rosa. Isobel cringes and then returns to his side and Alex...Alex is right by his head leaning over the back of Max's couch, eyes wide.

He's pale beneath his tan and it's still nighttime he realizes, the living room barely lit as everyone seems to be gathering around the couch. Alex's eyes are distraught and Michael wants to say he's fine, but he doesn't trust his own voice not to betray him.

Naturally he makes a weird keening noise of panic and pain. Alex's eyes somehow get wider, the distress held within them eclipsing everything else.

Michael!

"Guerin! What's happening?" He says sharply not a second later but Michael can't fathom the echo, the disparate tones in Alex's voice, because the pain is becoming white-hot.

"Kid, what the hell?" Sanders is asking, appearing overhead too. His craggy face and eye-patch stark against the white ceiling.

"There's something attacking Michael." Max pants out. 'What the hell did they shoot you up with?" He demands but Michael can't even spare the brain function to offer a decent retort.

Everything in the room is vibrating, the floor shaking, books plummeting from the shelves. Michael bites down on his lip again and hot blood drenches his tongue, spills over his chin and Alex's face goes from distressed to horrified.

"Michael!" Maria calls worriedly, "What's happening to him?"

Alex reaches for him as he tumbles, thrown by the power that's desperate to escape. "You're okay." Alex tells him desperately, then the echo, Its okay. God please, be okay. Michael. Michael. Its just his powers. He doesn't know he's safe.

In desperation Michael reaches out to Isobel mentally, throwing the image of the desert to her, the feeling of burning. Tells her the power is boiling over and he can't hold it anymore.

'Shit." She swears and shouts at Max, "We need to get him outside!"

"Why?" Alex barks in worry, as Sanders and Rosa both add, "He's bleeding!"

"He going to die otherwise!" Isobel bites back and together they haul Michael upright and drag him out the patio doors.

Die? No. Alex's voice is fear and denial but he helps get him upright again, the world spinning.

"Stay back!" Isobel shouts as they make it past the porch, Michael stumbling badly. The entire house is shaking, trembling like he is.

Michael loses track of everything as he pitches forward into the dirt, plunging the power burning in his veins straight into the ground. He hollers into the earth and the world lights up with energy barely contained and hardly natural. The tree catches alight, the fence turns to ash and Max just about stops the dust storm hitting his house.

Its rage is terrifying and it hurts. Michael knows he's screaming, knows he's crying and feels his siblings try their damnedest to hold him together, as he purges the foreign power that just feels so wrong.

When its over, a few minutes and damn eternity later, he's face down hyperventilating and Max is gathering him up. He gets his knees under him, elbows and forearms digging into the dry dirt. "Michael?" Isobel says anxiously, the light of the fire washing his sister's face in orange light.

"....Okay." he chokes out, gripping Max's shirt. Its important that they know this, he has to tell them. "They had this...this...alien thing...device..." He looks up a little as sparks fall from the sky. "Fuck...your tree..."

'Forget the tree." Max says sharply, which he won't be saying later, but Michael takes the reprieve. "Valenti's putting it out with Liz and the others."

"A weapon?" Isobel asks breathlessly, crouched on the dirt beside him.

'Not....not Oasis..." He manages. "Hit me...pulse...tried to take over my head."

He feels running bizarrely before he even hears the uneven gait, then the twin thuds of Alex's knees hitting the ground beside him. He knows its Alex. That brave, loyal emo rebel, war hero was hardly going to let alien powers and a goddamn fire stop him from getting to Michael. Although maybe he would for anyone. Michael feels queasy and drunk enough imagine him running through a hail of bullets for some fellow fallen soldier or innocent civilian.

A hand is dropped onto his back as he chokes and breathes in dirt and the barrage of uncharacteristic words flows over him. "Michael?! Is he okay?"

Please be okay. What was that? He's breathing. Oh thank God, he's breathing. They look relieved...is it over?

He was screaming. Oh God. Michael.

We have to get him inside.

Michael....

'He's okay now. I think." Max tells him, "He got hit with an energy weapon. Absorbed too much energy."

"That explosion?" Alex asks worriedly, then more quietly, He threw the blast away from us. Dying and barely with it, he saved us.

"Alex," Michael gets out, voice broken by the screaming. He cringes at the thought of Alex hearing that, of his siblings but Alex's hand tightens on his arm. His voice is shaking with worry and unconcealed rage.

He's flinching. He's in so much pain. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know it hurts sheʼashkii. We'll get you inside. I'll make those fuckers pay.

Sheʼashkii?

It had taken years to realize that the word meant sweetheart or beloved in Navajo. A piece of Alex's heritage from his mother's side, a part of his identity growing up, curious about the people his father never spoke of. All Michael knew was that Alex had looked up to and loved his maternal grandfather who had lived on the Rez.

That was an endearment for Forrest surely? He had only merited sheʼashkii a handful of times. Once when they were still kids and Alex had been drunk on touch, legs locked around Michael's waist as he rode Michael for the very first time . Once when he was close to his third orgasm in the Airstream when he return from Iraq that first year, one hand clenched on Michael's ass, his other buried in his hair as Michael hit his prostate over and over again. And once, he thinks when he was riding Alex, both of them drunk on sex, beer and each other, the endearment thrown out with his name....yes my sheʼashkii, Michael...come for me...so good...

Then in another tone, breathless but less emotional he hears Alex say, "I'm here. I'm here. Michael can you hear me? Can we move him? "

Max heaves him over onto his back and the movement tears a harsh sound of pain from his lips.

Michael! Don't hurt him!

Isobel tries to support him and Alex lurches forward, but Michael's head spins. "Shit!" Max swears as Alex calls his name frantically.

For the third time since being freed, Michael blacks out before he hears if they plan to leave him out here in the dirt, where the stars are hidden behind clouds of milky grey. "Gonna rain." He tells them and loses the battle for consciousness, tipping into Isobel.

==

He's in less pain when he wakes again, if less functional at the same time, his body mellow with exhaustion, his mind foggy. It is raining, the storm breaking overhead and someone was singing quietly. Lyrics, he didn't recognize.

"Can we survive the heart that's lost control?
Break all your worries and make my heart feel whole.
Well there's nothing in the room,
But a shadow on the wall.
There's no place to hide,
There's no place at all..."

Alex's voice was beautiful, that rich dulcet timbre lending itself to almost any song. Michael loved hearing it, would have in another life probably been the president of his musician fanclub. He sometimes thought, that if Alex had gone on to be a singer or songwriter, Michael would have traveled the world for his concerts and bought every album.

It might be a dream fueled by acetone and pain, but Alex is right beside him and he's holding Michael's hand.

Actually holding his goddamn hand in Max's living room. Except...this is not the couch....this is a bed and as his spatial awareness kicks in, he realizes that Alex is both beside and in front of him. Sitting on the bed, holding his hand?

He was insanely happy to just lie here and listen, but his body had other ideas. He made the mistake of moving his right foot and gasped soundlessly as stabbing pain made itself known. "Shit!" He swore quietly and desperately tried sitting up, then gasped again as his shoulders protested.

Michael!

Alex's hand reflexively tightened on his and an arm slipped around his back, "Shh. Guerin! It's okay. Don't sit up. Your shoulder is fractured."

"Alex." He says, his free hand reaching for him. "Alex."

He ends up lying back down, wrestling with bed covers, Alex's dark eyes wide and worried. "Alex." Its the only thing he can say right now, pain and confusion battling in his mind, "What...?"

"You're at Max's house. His guest room." Alex tells him quickly, his other hand on his bicep, shifting closer on the bed so his bad hip is pressed to Michael's waist. "It's two am."

"Guest room?" Michael repeats and blinks as the room comes into focus. Its raining he thinks so the room is grey, the shadows drawing in and painting Alex's eyes nearly a solid black.

"Yeah. Your shoulder is fractured and your right foot is broken." Alex explains gently.

Is he truly awake this time? He looks a little better. He's blinking so maybe he's confused. He looks adorable when he does that.

At least he had some water last time.

Is he angry?

Michael feels like he's been pushed off a cliff, his head rolling with all of Alex's anxious questions that make little sense. Except while Michael can hear Alex saying this, including the adorable part, he can clearly see that Alex's lips are not moving.

Okaaay...he's a deer in headlights. Does he know where he is?

Is he concussed? Was Kyle wrong?

Why is he so out of it? Say something sheʼashkii. Please.

I should offer him some acetone.

"Guerin? Do you need some acetone?" Alex asks, proffering a bottle of nail polish remover. The strawberry scented one.

Guerin and sheʼashkii in the same span of breath, he thinks confused. "Lex..." He gets out, missing the a-sound completely.

Okay he recognizes me. I can breathe.

I don't think I could bear another round of him calling for me. The grief in his voice was so stark. Michael would be embarrassed but Flint had been very descriptive and Michael knew that killing Alex wouldn't weigh down that fucker's conscience in the slightest.

He was calling for me and I got there nearly too late.

He was calling for me.

One in, count to two and breathe out.

Unconsciously, Michael follows, holding his breath too for a double count. The house is quiet and Alex is just sitting with him, so they must be worried about his overall health or him waking up alone.

He must be feeling terrible. Funny I really don't mind him calling me Lex. Who knew? Face it. He could call you anything and you wouldn't care as long as he was okay to say it.

Again Alex's mouth didn't move, his eyes were intent on Michael's face and his hand was still holding onto his, his other holding out the bottle. Michael takes it with a shaky hand and Alex helps him take a mouthful. Slowly, the shakes ease a little and the pain is less intense.

The implication of what this meant was starting to slot into place and Michael really, really didn't want to believe it. He couldn't be listening to Alex's thoughts! He didn't have that kind of telepathy! Did he?

No. This can't be happening!

"Guerin? You're starting to scare me here." Alex said aiming for levity, but the concern was growing in his gaze by the second.

You scared me hours ago when they told me you were missing. You terrified me when you screamed. I'm going to be hearing that every time I close my eyes.

"Sorry...You...okay?" Michael asked weakly.

Dark brows rise over those intense eyes, "Am I okay? Michael you were kidnapped, hurt and all of it was done by my brother."

Michael frowns at him, taking in Alex's worn appearance, his rumbled sweater and dark wash jeans. There were shadows beneath his eyes and he was unshaven - really, really rare for Alex. His face reflected his worry, eyes anxiously scanning Michael's face. If there had been a nurse's call button, he would have pressed it by now.

Michael shifts and grimaces. So Flint didn't hurt him too badly, physically at least. But there were wounds nonetheless. "Thank God." Michael says honestly, "I was going out of my mind. Said he'd kill you. How did you escape?"

Alex's thumb paused its lovely caress of his knuckles, "Escape?" He asked softly, as if he'd stumbled on a word spoken in a language he couldn't understand.

What does he mean?

Oh no. Please tell me Michael....tell me that Flint didn't claim he had me locked up too? I'll kill him for that, no matter what Kyle says.

Defensively Michael frowns and answers the unspoken more than the verbal question, "He had your jacket. Played this recording of him hitting you. He had a..." He couldn't say prosthetic, it would make this worse he knew. "....One of your t-shirts. Said if I didn't do what he asked, he'd...." Michael closed his eyes, swallowing. Damn his face hurt.

He...tortured you with...by threatening me? The disbelieving, horrified tone is hard to hear.

"Michael,"

Then Alex's eyes widen again, and he clutches Michael's hand. Oh God....he looks like he's going to cry... Don't cry! Michael...

"You weren't there?" Michael asks in a too-small voice, relief beginning to blossom in his chest. Alex was fine. He could relax. Flint hadn't screwed with his head or physically hurt him. Alex was okay.

"No. Liz called me. Said you were missing. There was blood on the ground in the junkyard. We couldn't find you. Anywhere." Alex said in a rush.

Not until I hacked the cameras and saw them drive off from Sanders. Not until I had searched every part of this godforsaken town and found not a single trace of you. Do you realize how many haunts you have? How many people mentioned you, remembering easily? No one wanted to believe you were really missing. A thousand excuses for why you might be gone. Can you imagine their despair when they realized you were?

Do you realize how afraid I was? My heart felt like it was beating against a cage of barbed wire.

Nothing can happen to you. But it did.

He took you. They took you.

Because of me.

Michael did not know what to do with this information, the grief in Alex's words. The love of his life struggled with words, with articulating what he wants or needs after a lifetime of self-deprivation and his father's abuse. But his thoughts were anything but stifled.

Alex's heart was his strength and his struggle, something Michael had always known, but it was shock to hear it confirmed how much he wore his heart on his sleeve, hidden by armor. Michael didn't like the self-depreciation either, but he understood it.

Now, when he felt as weak as a newborn foal was not the time to having big relationship conversations and he knew Alex wouldn't listen right now. It would drive him out the door and Michael really wanted him to stay.

"Thank you." Michael says wearily, "Not sure I could have held out any longer."

Why is he thanking me? Does he think I would just....ignore him in danger? Alex's voice is full of grief, indignity and anger, all of it hiding hurt.

Michael cringed at his own wording and the instant hurt that rang out from Alex's mental response. He could read it in the tightening of his lovely jaw and in the dark eyes that sparked. Quickly, he changed tact. "For dealing with all this. And for what's it's worth...I'm sorry Flint did this to you."

To me? The outrage in Alex's response was a spike with fury not far behind.

"Proved he was....beyond reach." Michael blurted and then knowing Alex he offered, "The things he said...things he was willing to do..."

He's in so much pain and he's thinking of me being disappointed in my psycho-nut brother....

"I wanted to kill him. Max stopped me." Alex said abruptly.

"Good."

Good? How is that good? He hurt you! It was almost a snarl.

"I'd visit you in prison but the military wouldn't welcome me." He quipped and for a moment Alex smiled a little amused.

There wouldn't a body to find, but it's a sweet thought. Alex replies mentally.

"I'm just glad you're going to be okay." Alex tells him verbally however, and the words ring with relief.

"I'm just glad you're okay." Michael replies, the acetone and pain making him honest. Alex's eyes widen, his thoughts a complex storm.

"How did you find me?" Michael asks, just to keep Alex talking, just to remain here with him just a bit longer. "Valenti say how long until I can work?"

"You reached out to Isobel. You showed her Flint and the barn. We tracked it from there." Alex said shortly and raised a dark brow in silent judgement, "Your shoulder is fractured Guerin. Your foot is broken. Max can't heal it until the foreign energy you supped on is fully expunged, which Kyle says is not now. You nearly died Guerin."

That wasn't a first, Michael thought glumly. "I've broken both feet before. Shoulder is gonna be a bitch."

"Yeah." It was quieter than Michael expected and he listened despite himself. "Drink some water." He helps Michael with the cup, lifts his head and supports his shoulder when liquid fire ignites in his side.

"Ah shit." Michael groans, "Definitely gonna be a bitch."

"Fuck." Alex swears and tries to prop him up with the pillows, 'Do you want me to get Max?'

"Nah. His heart is not up for healing. I'll manage. Busted bones heal."

He feels the shudder and the tenseness of Alex's body and curses his words. Yeah. His hand didn't exactly heal well.

Busted bones. Fuck Michael. It kills me to remember. It kills me to think of anyone breaking your bones.

You can't bubble wrap him. He's an adult, not yours and supremely self-reliant. Telling him not to be stupid will just make it more likely he'll do something stupid and hurt himself. You're hardly better.

Alex wasn't much better but Mr. independence was trying.

He was screaming.

He needs to distance himself from the trauma. Its how he deals.

You can't dump your trauma on him. He needs to feel safe.

"I'll be okay Alex." Michael tells him softly, ignoring the sigh of, There we go. Instant proof. Deny. Deflect.

"What happened with Flint?" He didn't really want to know, but had to ask.

Alex's eyes went cold and flat, but his fingers were so gentle as they stroked his bicep and caressed his knuckles. He didn't think Alex was aware he was doing it. "I shot him. He's in hospital. Max arrested the other guys and they will be court marshaled. Flint will be charged. He was holding three other people at that farm. Michael?"

"What?" Michael shifted on the bed and grimaced, but tugged Alex's hand gently, "Who? Do I even want to know who?"

"They didn't know you existed. Couple of scientists from Albuquerque. He's going to be charged with kidnapping at least. I'll get him put away. I swear." His eyes are burning, willing Michael to believe him.

"Ain't your fault. I know you will. I'm sorry he had them." Michael settled back, exhausted and hurting. "For the alien tech?"

"For the weapon he had." Alex told him quietly. His thoughts were not on the weapon however, much to Michael's bemusement.

Is he cold?

Does Max have another blanket or quilt?

"I built it." Michael said quietly, waiting for condemnation or anger, or something.

Not what he heard, the soft exhalation and the thoughts of, You built a bomb last time Flint had me handcuffs. This time he made you build a weapon. He made me your price.

You would be mine. What wouldn't I do to keep you alive?

"Is that what exploded?" Alex asked instead.

"I...don't know. I made it so it would self-destruct when activated." Michael admitted raising his eyes to meet a warm, affectionate gaze. "But...I was kinda out of my head."

You were dying.

If he's waiting to see me get mad over planning to kill my brother, he'll be waiting for eternity.

If you had died, a weapon self destructing would have been the least of Flint's problems.

"Does anyone know? I made it Alex....I..."

"Shh." Easy sheʼashkii.

Alex strokes his knuckles again, "I dealt with it."

"I don't....things aren't clear after I connected to Isobel." Michael admits.

You showed her Flint and she felt your agony. We all nearly had a heart attack when she just slumped in her chair and then launched to her feet crying.

And even knowing it was Flint, we had nothing. Not until I traced the vehicle and found the facility. Four days too fucking long.

"Its okay Michael. Isobel is okay and you will be."

Weariness is pulling him down and Alex is stroking his hand again. Soon this bubble will pop and Alex will disappear back to Forrest and his quiet life and Michael will be alone with his memories. So he offers a thread to Alex with some anxiety. "He wanted the device thing to seal a deal with another alien-haters group. Proof he was good enough for entry. That's all he said. He needed proof he had real stuff. He was gonna sell that thing and me."

He hurt you for a club membership? I need to find these people. If they have Guerin's name....

Michael wanted to argue that wasn't why he was telling Alex but his next thought shut him up.

At least Michael trusts me with this. At least I can atone for this. If I stop these people then our family will be safe. He has to be safe. I nearly lost him. He nearly died.

===

He could hear Alex thoughts, but as he discovered not if the man wasn't in his proximity.

The next time he woke up, the sun was setting and he felt less like roadkill . Alex was gone and Valenti wouldn't say where as he prodded and tested him with Liz, both of them fascinated and disturbed by the alien artifact.

With little else to work with, Kyle recommended rest and wrapped up the worst of his injuries. Max couldn't heal them at the moment, his circuits had been blown by the foreign energy, a fact that was eating at his brother until he agreed to let him try later.

Exhaustion pulled him down and for most of the first day back, he just slept. A zoned dead-to-the-world sleep that he had thought impossible for him, curled in the guest bed and utterly oblivious to the comings and goings around him.

Neither twin was comfortable leaving him unattended, but he missed the one visit Alex had allowed himself, only becoming vaguely aware of long fingers caressing his hair and the butterfly kiss pressed to his cheek. He thought it was a dream, the whispered thoughts so quiet he drifted off, unaware that Alex was tucking the blanket around him.

Sleep my sheʼashkii.

Nídin sélį́į́ shijéí bináká hoodzą́. (Missing you has left a hole in my heart.)

Then another phrase drifts over him, with no English translation.

Ayóó anííníshní.

==

When he finally woke up the following morning he felt more alive than he had in days. Isobel had a crisis to deal with and Max had already left for the cop shop, but Liz was still around. She was wearing Max's t-shirt and Michael determinedly said nothing and refused to think about it.

He was beginning to love Liz like another sister, and he was happy for his brother....but no. He was not going there.

In the bathroom, experiencing a shower was both stinging pain and bliss, as the hot water rained down on his battered body. In the mirror he winced at his own reflection. Swollen bloodied lip, a blackish bruise painting one cheek and a laceration above his eye that was just waiting to bleed again. Max had taken down the swelling and fixed his fractured eye socket, but the rest was going to have to heal on its own.

His body was no better. His chest was bruised, stomach a riot of greens and blues with a nasty cut on his hip.

He looked like he'd survived an epic beating and felt like it too.

Liz explained as she got ready for work that Isobel had gone to find him when he missed their breakfast slot at the Crashdown, found a pool of blood by his door and no answer on his phone. She of course called Max, who was with Liz at the time. By lunchtime Liz had called Alex and Maria and between them they had found a trail. What took time, she said apologetically was finding the facility.

Maria had a vision at Sanders, but she saw colored lights and someone hitting Michael repeatedly, then Michael chanting out numbers, shaking with cold and with snow dusting his hair.

When Isobel had tried reaching him, the first few goes it didn't work. Then in the middle of Max's living room when they were strategizing to find him, Sanders included, Isobel had cried out, slumping in her chair. She had told them how he was strapped down and they - Flint- was electrocuting him. That she had felt his pain, felt the throb of foreign energy then.

"She said you told her and Max to run. That you were sure Flint was going to kill you." Liz said with tears in her big brown eyes. Tears and grief for him, her alien, dysfunctional lab partner. No. For her family. He was family, a mystifying thing, but true. Genuinely so, if she and Max stayed together.

Alex had been beside himself and had worked through the night to reconstruct the path they must have taken, track the cameras and Flint's spending habits. Eventually they found that he had rented under another name, an old farm where he had kept Michael under lock and key.

And Alex had been determined to go, whether or not Max sanctioned it. Even more so when Isobel had told that he was fading. He voice shaking Liz had recounted at his urging, how they had made it onto the farm fairly easily, but when they hit the barn, they heard him screaming. When they busted inside, he was on a rack device and unbeknownst to Michael, Flint had been pointing a loaded gun at his head.

Alex had shot his brother without pause and while the team was taking down the few guards Flint had, she and Alex had cut him free from the rack.

The device had activated and thrown an energy blast like a grenade, but Michael somehow had stopped the explosion hitting them, throwing it through the wall so it obliterated the farm land instead.

He was fine on the car ride back - well beaten to hell - but then when they got to Max's house, the closest to the farm, he had started having seizures. His powers went haywire and he hit Kyle once, then threw his siblings twice. He had a fit that stopped his heart and Kyle had needed to resuscitate him on the couch.

Michael had hugged her and promised not to do anything crazy.

It was at this point that Izzy had practically flown through the door, stopping only when she saw him showered and dressed in clean clothes, sitting at the kitchen table. She had hugged him tight enough break bone and he had only clutched her closer.

"Iz." he said, putting all the emotion and fears he had felt into the word and felt in reply her anger, her love and then the kiss to the side of his head.

"I know." She said quiet and fierce. "We got you back."

Because he was upright and in less pain, Isobel bundled him up and drove him to her house, installing him with Liz in her spare room. A bedroom that he only really used and only once in a while, but right then he was so grateful, he just curled up beneath the covers and let sleep take him.

==

He didn't admit what the device had done, claiming that it had just released energy like a weapon. He had explained that Flint was claiming he had Alex, and while Isobel was livid he went along with it, strangely neither Max or Liz were particularly loud about it.

He certainly didn't admit that he had heard Alex's thoughts.

It would fade. It was likely an hallucination. It would be fine.

It wasn't.

====

He didn't see Alex for a week after that, much to his relief and disappointment. He had received multiple texts from him and one phone call. Mostly about him moving back to his trailer so soon after nearly dying and updates on this mysterious group.

The guilt didn't stop him treasuring these new memories of Alex, or going to sleep every night revisiting the moment when he was curled in Alex's lap, held and for once; safe.

Michael had told him everything he could remember and had been that same mix of disappointed and relieved that he couldn't hear Alex 's thoughts over the phone. It proved, he thought that it was just a brief moment of weirdness, so he didn't bring it up.

If someone was going around listening to his thoughts...well pity them...but he'd be seriously disturbed and angry. It was such a colossal invasion of privacy and there was no one more obsessed with guarding his private life than Alex.

He had just reached a solid friendship status with the love of his life and things, despite the near death experience, were going well. Announcing he had briefly been able to hear Alex's innermost thoughts was not, he was sure, the way to keep contact with the guy.

Alex would be freaked out firstly and then angry after he'd taken a second to understand. He would not forgive Michael for this intrusion, that he was sure about.

Was it worth burdening Alex like that? Ripping off the band aid helping them get past their...well their past? Could Michael risk losing him completely, when he had already lost him to Forrest Long?

In the end he decided he couldn't. And so he answered every question Alex posed and offered nothing more. If Alex was suspicious he didn't allude to it, if he doubted Michael's sincerity, he didn't challenge him.

It was totally fine.

Alex's last text to him read: Just take care of yourself.

===

History runs in cycles apparently and try as he might, Michael can't seem to get away from it in the weeks post-Flint.

Things with his siblings are good and he's working hard at Sanders, when he's not on ranch jobs again for extra cash. But his depression is creeping back into his bones, as the bruises from Flint fade and he just feels...battered.

He used to falling on his knees and having to claw his way back up. He used to righting his own damn ship when the storms come and finding new solutions often to old problems, like his finances. These days, it feels harder to achieve.

He dreams of Alex and they're always so real, leaving him yearning and aching when he wakes. The loneliness he's been ignoring is getting worse and its compounded by how determined everyone is, post-kidnapping to get him involved with projects and dramas. Of course nothing is so simple. He and Max get into an argument over the weapon that Michael built and why at the end of the week.

Michael knows this case, with imprisoned scientists and weapon building plans has brought the government close. No one knows that he was on that farm being held too and officially, the Sheriff's Department is getting praise and interest for their 'raid' on the property.

It seems that the Pod Squad had discovered him missing, tracked him eventually to Flint after he had showed Iz what was happening to him. They scoped out the place and realized that half of the property was being used as a lab. With heat mapping, it was obvious where the higher temperature-than-human alien was being kept, and that turned out to be the furthest from the rest of the kidnapped people.

One anonymous tip off later, the Sheriff's people raided the main buildings on suspected drug manufacture from the east side and Max raided the outlying barn with the Pod team. Alex took down Flint and together they took down the military types that Flint was employing. Twelve altogether. How he got all that to fit, Michael wasn't sure and no one was saying.

Of course the quick extraction of their alien squad was supposed to be simple. Except for the alien oval device that blew up, got hurled through the side of the barn and blazed across the field and the weapon that Michael had built.

Michael's calculations and Flint's blueprints were nonsensical if you didn't know what it was for and he thinks Max meant that all that information had gone down with the fire, or that Liz had stolen it. That weapon was confiscated, but as soon as they messed with it....it blew. Didn't make it passed transport off the farm. And that had brought the government, the FBI and all the rest of the alphabet soup with them. So far, so good.

No one knew about him and there was no one injured in the blast, nor anything of the weapon left. Flint was so badly injured thanks to Alex, he was hospitalized and might not survive, which Michael had mixed feelings about. No matter what Alex said, the entire episode had hurt Alex and for that Michael was sorry.

Max was under scrutiny and a lot of stress, but that argument had been bitter.

This time, nine days, thirteen hours and three minutes since he last saw Alex - he had ventured into the Wild Pony for a casual drink with possibly the worst person to bring to a crowded bar owned by his ex-girlfriend.

Salma Rodriguez.

...And realized too late that Alex had come, with Forrest in tow and was in fact sitting at a table with about five other people. Well-dressed, bohemian, emo types that were probably friends of Forrest Long.

He clocked Alex from the moment he stepped into the bar, but it was too late to back out and he knew that Alex hadn't seen him yet. If his luck held, he wouldn't.

He looked good. As stunning and striking as always in dark colors. His chin was resting on his hand and Michael noted the single ring on his thumb, as he listened to the conversation adding sophistication to his sinful pose and chiselled body.

He was not pining.

Forrest was right beside Alex, where he should be as a boyfriend. He had every right to smile at Alex as smitten as he should be, to put an arm around Alex's waist and share their relationship with good friends.

What mattered, what had always come first for Michael, was what Alex wanted. And he had chosen Forrest Long.

In order to be the better man, the improved version of himself that might actually have a hope in hell of earning Alex's friendship, let alone a relationship again, he needed to stay clear. He needed to figure himself out and Alex needed the same.

Forrest was, he had to admit begrudgingly, a good guy. A safe pair of hands, because Alex would not tolerate anyone abusive and could break Forrest in seconds.

But...the very last thing Michael wanted was to be dragged by Forrest to that table and forced to play nice for hours opposite the love of his life. Just being near Alex these days was torture and since the guy had avoided him for days, what was the point of putting himself through all that?

So he had Maria watching from the bar and Alex off to the side as he met with a gorgeous woman, over beer and whiskey. Maybe not his best idea.

He wondered dimly if it was too late to call Max for a fake emergency text.

Salma though was in trouble and Michael owed it to her, however he could help. They had found a table at the back and she had been telling him why her marriage had fallen apart. The drinking, the violence, the other women and Michael had been listening intently, when it happened.

He felt a strange chill pass down his spine, chasing shivers. Then Alex's voice spoke in his ear, a soft hushed tone with the rich timbre. He looked around quickly. The crowd had thinned a little, exposing his table here at the back but there was no way he could be hearing Alex from across the bar.

Not unless he was hearing his thoughts....

Oh hell no. Michael thought panicking. This could not be happening! It was supposed to be over. A fluke. A bizarre temporary connection that should have dissolved by now if it was like a handprint!

Maybe it took longer to fade....fuck.

God is this boring.

Boring? Wasn't Alex into the heavy talks? Michael wondered, clutching his beer and trying not to look like he was having a crisis.

Wonder if they would notice if I check my phone?

Not worth the argument.

Okay...that wasn't what Michael had expected. Alex to be bored out of his mind, but he was interrupted by Salma returning with fresh beers.

She was stunning with thick glossy dark hair and amber brown eyes that were as sharp as a rancher's knife. Every move she made was one of grace and hinted sin, but Michael knew from firsthand experience that she could shoot with perfect accuracy like a sniper and break any man's bones. Her grandfather had been born in Mexico, a son in a long line of ranchers and her mother was the only child of Albuquerque farmers.

They had met at a rodeo eight years ago when she was competing in the barrel racing and he was set to win the pole-bending final. Neither of them owned the horses and yet both of them had won, within hours of each other . Salma had given him a job at the massive horse farm her family owned and then he had met her again on a cattle ranch two years later.

What they had when they came together was explosive hot sex with friendship card benefits. They had next to nothing in common, except loving their siblings enough to die for them and struggling to make ends meet, dreams denied through life's hardships. But Michael couldn't deny that any time spent with her was fun, dramatic and endlessly complicated.

The longest they stayed together was a month and they were ready to kill one another, when Salma took a job in Texas and he moved on to a ranch for a while, out the back of Santa Fe.

He'd heard about four years ago that she had married some local guy and had laughed to himself, when Isobel had acidly mentioned it over breakfast at the time. Iz had despised her. Why exactly, he wasn't sure, but Iz had been even more enraged when Salma had dumped him for Texas.

Now she was back and needed help. Her husband was an abusive ass and she was leaving town, heading for the Colorado border where her sister lived, then getting a divorce. She wanted to sell her pick-up truck and a few other items to help fund her way, coming to him for a fair price and a place to stay low. The soon-to-be-ex-husband would not be looking for her in Roswell.

In all honesty, she had always reminded him of Alex and that resemblance always carried a fondness that their train-wreck of a relationship had never really killed. And for her part, Salma had always claimed he was wasted on a farm and genuinely liked him. It sure as hell wasn't love, but their time together was anything but boring.

So here they were, Salma dressed in a low-cut black top and jeans, knocking back whiskey and Michael in his usual denim, eating peanuts.

"Leaving the fucker is the best thing." He was saying, "Your Mom can't expect you to stay."

"She does though G." Salma said leaning forward to pour another. "I just want out, you know?'

Salma had always called him 'G' from that very first day, reminding him of being nineteen and brave.

A friend? Where? Alex said in his ear, sounding mildly interested. They must be talking about Maria....

Wait...Michael?

Michael took a sip of his beer and determinedly did not look over at Alex's table. Self-control. Pretend this is not happening.

Is he...on a date? Alex sounded wounded, which was not fair.

....She's beautiful.

And advertising herself as much as possible...he can certainly see her bra.

Can't blame her.

Was that jealousy in Alex's tone? Michael wondered shocked.

Testing it, he leaned back and tilted his head, his smile playful. "Your Mom is on husband three."

Salma snorted and saluted him with her glass, "That's what I said."

There was silence from Alex for a while, long enough for Salma to move on to asking about his family and telling him about her sister. Long enough for Michael to think Alex wasn't interested.

He's so beautiful. The light is like a halo around him.

I want to kiss that long neck, put my hands on his chest...feel his heart beat as I slide them down. If I could, I'd have my hand on his thigh....

He'd let me lean on him. Let me take his hand. Let me keep it on my lap....he'd run his thumb along my leg and I'd...

Michael shifted uncomfortable. He really didn't want to listen to Alex admiring his boyfriend, didn't want to remember how good it felt when Alex's mouth descended on his neck...

"I really thought I loved him." Salma was saying, taking a handful of nuts.

"Yeah. Don't we all?" Michael replied glumly, taking a sip of his beer.

She looked up and watched him for a second, "What's wrong?" She asked, sharp eyes assessing him. "And why is the bartender glaring at you? You forget to tip?"

"She's...ah...my ex." Michael explains.

"Your ex?" Salma repeats amused, "What'cha doing screwing the bartender?"

"Bar owner."

Salma laughs. "Gets better. Boy, she must be pissed to see you here with me." She says leaning forward, her eyes dancing.

Michael flicks her a look, "That was not what I planned."

Salma laughs again, honest and loud. "G..you never planned on me."

Michael snorts and salutes her with his beer, "No one can plan for you darlin'."

Salma grins, her sadness dropping away so she looks more like the twenty-something spitfire who wanted to compete in the bull-riding. She leans forward and says, "So she thinks we're on date?"

"She can think what she likes." Michael said meeting her gaze, "Maria sure as hell, doesn't own me, any more than Daniels does you."

Salma plays her fingers over his hand, just to test. "She seems uncomfortable."

He glanced at the bar and saw her glaring in his direction pointedly. He gave her a shit-eating grin and turned back, mystified as to why she cared. Unless she had been talking to Isobel...and then Maria might be afraid he was dating a serial killer.

God...if I could do that. Alex suddenly says with longing on his ear. If I was worth it...if I was better...I could. He'd let me.

Okay, what the hell was Forrest doing? Alex wanted to be affectionate in public with him and he...what? Turns him down? Michael wondered angrily. He would do just about anything to have Alex willing to hold his hand in public, willing and comfortable enough to lean into his side like a proper couple.

Salma reaches out and brushes back an errant curl, something she used to do when they were together. He doesn't mind and refuses to check the reactions of his exes. Maria had decided to end them and they been over for almost a year. Alex and him had been over for longer, even if Michael had never stopped loving him.

Still, its a shock when Alex says, I hate her. I really hate her. Fuck. I can't do this. I have no right..but fuck...

Then before Michael can fully comprehend what he might be talking about Alex adds, I love those curls. I want to be the one doing that.

Curls? Michael mentally repeats. Forrest does not have curls. Wow. And he's a genius, he thinks sarcastically. The curly haired dude is him. Go figure.

Shit. I missed what he said.

Smile. That usually works.

Michael snorts and smile at Salma who grins.

Get a hold of yourself. He doesn't want you. How the hell would you compete with her anyway? Its' going to be hard enough at the community drive on Saturday. Is he going to bring her? Make me watch as she gets to touch him and sit next to him if she's not sitting on his lap!

Woah.

The jealousy was scalding, tinged with self-loathing and inwardly directed anger. It was hard to comprehend that Alex could even feel that about himself, proving that they truly were a pair. Still, he was right. Michael wasn't going to be bringing Salma on Saturday, but he was going to have to witness Forrest being all sweet and loving.

Saturday was supposed to be a community gathering, a gardening project that Isobel was helping to sponsor . On paper it was a nice thing, but Michael was too jaded not to believe that it was a place where people like him or even Liz were actually welcome.

Food initiatives were something he believed in wholeheartedly, and something he believed in giving time to. He'd starved as a kid and even as adult, this year alone, he had been in the position of deciding if he could afford to eat. But the quiet heroes of the movement wouldn't be welcome at the gathering either. He and Sanders were already members of two, donating fruit and vegetables to the homeless and to use in free meals for school kids.

Michael was being drafted in for labor, forced to endure hours of 'gardening' with several of his flower championship rivals and pretend like he wasn't a rancher or once had dreams of being an agricultural engineer. While people like Forrest attempted to touch soil and plant seeds.

Perhaps that wasn't fair to a boy who had grown up partly on a farm, but Michael honestly couldn't face dealing with Ann Evans's yoga class and seeing Alex with Forrest. Then having to attend a reunion for a cousin that he had never met, wasn't his relative at all and didn't want to.

Alex never played it up in front of Michael but had this air of demanding respect for his choices and a commitment to including Forrest as his boyfriend. Proudly so, which was hard to swallow. Michael understood. When he had been with Maria, Alex had been understandably distant, but supportive. Michael had no choice but to be the same.

And he wanted Alex to be happy, whether that was with an emo Nazis-in-America-obsessed poet or not, Alex deserved all the joy and happiness you could squeeze from life. He deserved a man he could be proud of.

And in truth, Michael thought scrubbing a hand over his face. That wasn't Michael Guerin.

Does he have a headache? Alex asked worriedly, not helping in the slightest.

Why was Alex thinking about him so much? Why was he giving him hope right now?

"You know what? Why don't I just drive you to the border?" Michael suddenly said, the impulse to get away too strong to ignore.

'What?' Salma asked shocked, "Guerin..."

Does she have to hang off his arm?

"You'd be doing me a favor and I owe you." He said quickly. "I wouldn't have my trailer right now if you hadn't given me a job and you saved my life once. Least I could do."

"G," Salma touched his hand again, "Can you really take that kind of time off?"

Now he had blurted it out, Michael took a second to think about this. And the more he considered it, the better this escape plan seemed to be.

"You need wheels to get to your sister in Pueblo, I'm offering. It's the weekend. It's what five hundred miles? That's six to eight hours. I can take you there and be back for Monday." He smiles lazily, "I'd miss out on an excruciating Evans reunion and back breaking labor for some assholes who hate me."

Salma's smile was slow but bright, 'You mean it? You'd drive me to Colorado?"

"Yeah. Why not? I could crash in a motel." Or more likely in the desert in the back of his truck, but Salma didn't need to hear that.

"Hell no." Salma said shaking her head smiling, "Mia would put you up. I don't know what to say G. Thank you. It means a helluva lot."

"No problem. Like I said, I need a reason to escape." Michael winks and she laughs.

"Look," She said gently, "There is always work in Colorado Springs,"

He took her hand and kissed it sweetly, "It means a helluva lot that you're offering...but Max is only just better you know? He nearly died."

He just kissed her hand. Fuck.

Salma nods and grips his hand, "I understand. Family comes first. Still, if you want you could stay few days. " Then she downs the rest of beer and says, "What time does the community thing start?"

"Eight o'clock in the morning." Michael says with a sigh, raising his beer.

What is he doing? Is he drunk? Alex wonders and Michael silently groans.

"It's ten now. How about you pick me up at six am?" Salma suggests.

"How about we leave now?" Michael suggests bravely. "Your ex is looking for you. Sooner you scram, the safer you'll be."

"She really mangled your heart didn't she?" Salma noted, sounding annoyed for him.

That was one way to describe the damage he and Alex do each other, but if she was willing to be his ticket out of the coming purgatory, he was willing to let it slide.

"Now or dawn?' He just asked her.

She grinned, wild and beautiful as she stood up, hauling him to his feet. "I'd say now is a golden time."