His eyes follow her as she walks away from the table. It is with sadness and regret that he watches his former girlfriend talk to Maria behind the counter. They are not laughing like they used to do while working. Because even if Max successfully removed their memories of alien hunts and paranoia, Alex is still dead.
He falters when he encounters the memories involving Alex. Going through Liz's mind is like going through a well-organized filing system, which doesn't surprise him considering Liz's highly structured personality. Memories are categorized according to events, places or people.
Her grief slams into him so strongly he has to hitch for his breath. But there is something else there, something stronger.
Guilt.
Liz blames herself for Alex's death. Not only for pushing him into the Abyss by asking for his blood that day Max ended up in the hospital, but for letting him in at all, and especially for altering the timeline. If the other version of Max had not gotten Liz to change the future, the world would've ended with them all dying. But with the future changed, Alex died.
And Liz feels every bit responsible.
Having already disintegrated the memory of the long-haired version of himself, he removes all painful and lonely memories of Liz desperately trying to find the truth behind Alex's death. Having to remove every single memory concerned with Alex's death, Max is forced to go through them one by one. He never knew. He never knew how much she was suffering when he turned his back on her.
Max hears the door bell chime and looks up to see Michael walk into the Crashdown. Michael really tried to get out of working his shift today not wanting to deal with the reality Max had created.
There is something about the silent explosive energy surrounding Michael this morning that makes apprehension trickle down Max's back and makes him stand from his booth. Michael reaches the counter at the same time as Max and Max observes how Liz turns around, giving Michael a small smile.
Before Max can intercept she speaks, "Hi Michael."
"Whatever," Michael murmurs and Liz's face falls in barely surprised confusion.
Because it's not Michael's words that cause that look of hurt bewilderment. Michael is known for his one-worded blunt replies. No, it's the tone. Ice cold with a teaspoon of acidic anger.
Max steps in. "Michael, I need to talk to you."
"I'm late for work, Maxwell," Michael snaps.
Max grabs Michael's arm tightly. "One minute more doesn't matter then."
He turns to Liz and says, as neutral as possible, "Liz, excuse us."
Michael might be taller than Max, but Max is definitely stronger and he more or less drags Michael over to the corner of straws and napkins.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Michael bites. "You don't think you've messed up my life enough?! Now you want to get me fired as well?!"
"You can't treat Liz like that," Max says.
Michael's eyes are dark as he stares Max down. "Why not? I consider that nice. You don't want to know what I really wanted to tell her-"
"You can't treat her like that because she doesn't remember," Max says, his voice lower to not be overheard by interested ears, but not lacking in intensity.
"Then who should I blame, Max? You?! Yes, that actually makes sense. You might think that you did what you did out of love for Liz, but the truth is you did it to soothe your own guilt about pulling her into all of this to start with. You just needed a reason and Liz gladly gave it to you."
Ignoring Michael's last words, Max says, "Yes, blame me. Leave Liz out of it. Do you really think that you are going to feel any better after yelling at a person who doesn't have a fucking clue what you're going on about?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Michael says sarcastically. "I guess I haven't made myself clear. You actually think I give a damn about what Liz does or doesn't know?"
Max's fists tighten in response and he forces himself to take deep breaths to stop the anger from erupting and making a bad situation worse.
"Alright, I messed up," Max says, tone of voice dangerously low. "Is that what you want to hear? I messed up royally by not consulting with you first. And maybe Liz's decision wasn't the best one, but it has been done and we have to deal with it."
Michael stares at him. "No, Max. You have to deal with it. I'm not going to go on with this pretend parade just so that Liz's plan will work even better. I'm not sure, but I think that would make me an accomplice."
Michael turns to walk away and Max catches his arm intent on stopping him and informing him of just how important it is that Michael doesn't reveal anything. But Max stills as he finds himself watching the scene that has Michael frozen in his spot.
Maria, breezing past completely unaware of the emotions drowning Michael's pounding heart.
She sighs loudly when she sees him, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Michael! What's wrong with you? I thought you hadn't arrived yet." She grabs a hold of Michael's arm and unceremoniously pulls him out of Max's grip. "And here you're standing chatting away your work time with Max. Get your ass into the kitchen. The masses are demanding alien-themed, greasy food and by God, it's our job to serve it to them." She halts in her rant, the far-off look on her face having both Max and Michael staring at her.
"Whoa," she says. "Biggest déja-vu there."
The men watch her, Max worriedly and Michael hopefully, as she rakes her mind for a memory that has been removed. She shrugs and Max breathes a sigh of relief.
Frowning, she pulls on Michael's arm. "What are you waiting for? And what is up with your hair? Didn't you use to have those weird spikes?"
In his efforts at creating new memories and knitting together old ones to a seamless fit, Max had forgotten about a woman's tendency to remember something like hairstyle. As he watches Maria pull Michael into the kitchen, admonishing him for being stupidly quiet, he remembers that the day Michael decided to wear his hair combed down instead of spiked up, Maria and Michael had a big argument about Liz running away from Roswell to go to her aunt, involving every aspect of the alien club possible. So Max had removed the whole day and obviously all the regular comments, like "Oh, you changed your hair!" and "Did you do something to your hair?" were erased as well.
With Michael's back facing Max, Max is oblivious to the expression that might be present on Michael's face but completely exposed to the frustration on Maria's. "What's wrong with you? Cat got your tongue?"
Max imagines Michael's empty expression, his staring eyes and his slightly open mouth. An expression Maria doesn't remember ever seeing on Michael's face and which confuses her to the brink of frustrated anger.
Max discreetly shoves Michael in the back, pushing Michael out of whatever dream world that had him entrapped.
"Max, does she ever stop PMS-ing?" Michael asks, his back still towards Max.
Maria's face falls, but only for a nanosecond before she recovers and smiles in dangerous sweetness. "Michael Guerin, get your ass in the kitchen now or I'll make sure that they'll get you fired."
"Whatever," Michael says softly, the warmness of his voice in such stark contrast to his casual word that Maria's threatening look immediately dissipates and she follows his retreating figure until he has disappeared into the backroom.
She shuffles her eyes back to Max and looks up at him questioningly. "What's wrong with him?"
Max diverts his eyes, staring into the floor where his feet are scuffing back and forth. "What do you mean?"
He resists the tremble in her voice and keeps his eyes glued to the floor as she answers, "He's different. It's like..."
Her voice trails off and when she doesn't continue, Max looks up. "It's like what?"
She looks him straight in the eyes, "It's like... No, it's stupid."
Max reaches out and touches her arm in a natural act of encouragement, but at the touch Maria pulls away, looking at him strangely. He withdraws his hand, realizing that he's not allowed to do that anymore. Maria doesn't know how close they used to be.
"I'm sure it's not stupid," he says.
She smiles weakly and shakes her head. "I need to get back to work. Nice seeing you, Max."
Before he can protest she walks up to the counter and grabs an ordering pad.
"Max? You okay?"
He swallows, recognizing that voice a little too well, and turns to face concerned dark brown eyes. "I'm fine."
Her smile is hesitant and she nods, "Okay. Did you want to order something?"
"No..." he clears his throat. "I think I'm just gonna head home."
She must find it strange that he would come into the Crashdown, spend ten minutes there and then leave without putting in an order but he can't stay here. He feels like he's suffocating.
"Okay," Liz says softly. "See you in school."
He nods. "Yeah...see ya."
*****
Four years later
She stands on his doorstep, looking small and lost in his large jacket. He walks over to the kitchen counter and flicks on a small lamp, which casts a soft yellow light over the apartment. When he turns around and sees her hesitation, he steps up to her, asking gently, "You okay?"
She nods, but her eyes are everywhere but on his face.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Uhm..."
She looks hesitant, her eyes flicking over the room. He used to be able to read her expressions to figure out what she was thinking. But he can't anymore.
"I have water, juice, coffee, tea-"
"Tea would be nice," she answers.
He nods. "Tea it is."
He watches her out of the corner of his eye as she walks further into the room, carefully closing the door behind her.
"You have a nice place," she voices.
"Thanks," he says. "I didn't feel like living on campus and a friend told me about this place."
"Okay," she says, barely audibly.
"Take a seat," Max says when she stops next to the couch, twisting her fingers uncomfortably.
"Thanks," she says softly and sinks down in the couch.
The thunderous sound of the boiling water from the kettle fills the room and as the light goes out on the white electronic machine, Max fills the cups with the steaming liquid. He puts teabags into the cups and takes a deep breath as he realizes that his hands are shaking.
"Isabel?"
Max puts the cups onto the wooden table in front of the couch and looks at her questioningly. Her eyes are on the photo frame next to the couch.
"Yeah," he answers.
It is a photo of Jesse and Isabel six months ago, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.
"She looks different," Liz muses.
"She cut and colored her hair," Max explains and sits down next to Liz, careful about leaving some space in between them.
I want to remember had been her words just ten minutes ago, but to her he is still her old lab partner. He doesn't really know what made her want to remember. What had changed? From their previous conversations he realized that she had started to remember some things, but how much and what?
Her question violently rips him out of his reverie and throws him back in time, to a time when things were still simple but about to become complicated. "Max, what are you?"
He swallows. "What do you mean?"
Compared to the flickering gaze before, her eyes are now fixed on his face; demanding answers in much the same way that she was demanding answers the day after the shooting.
"I know that my dreams were not just dreams. I know that somehow you healed me from that gunshot."
He reaches for the tea cup and shakes his head to himself for the words he's about to speak. "Well, I'm not from around here."
She nods, biting her bottom lip. "Where are you from?"
With her words a frown develops on her forehead and Max suspects that not only he feels the déja vu this time.
"Liz, I'm from another planet."
The corners of her mouth twitch as if she is about to smile, but her eyes reflect fear and she too picks up her tea cup. He watches as her hands envelop the cup and he wonders why she doesn't burn herself. Maybe she just doesn't realize that it's hot, her mind on other things.
"You're an alien."
It's more of a statement than a question but he nods an affirmative anyway.
"I know I should be screaming and running out of here or just laugh at you, but I know it's true."
He waits for her to continue as her eyes scan the apartment.
"We were together."
"Yes."
"I loved you," she whispers, still not looking at him.
It's difficult to breathe and he puts the cup away. His voice is strangled when he answers, "Yes."
Her eyes turn to him and she looks him straight in the eyes. "We made love."
He should've counted on Liz of all people to be direct. She had always been straight to the point, especially when she wanted answers. But he didn't anticipate her to know so much.
"You dreamt that?" he asks, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
She nods. "It happened just before you removed my memories, right?"
He nods.
Her expression turns slightly inquisitive. "Why did you do it? I know that I..." she sighs, "that I for some reason asked you to, but why did you do it?"
Before he has time to answer, she continues; her voice taking on a faraway tone. "In my dreams, I can feel how much you love me - uhm...how much you loved me... If you love someone that much, how can you agree to something like that? Why would you let me go? Why didn't you fight me? Fight for me?"
Her voice was anything but accusative, but Max still felt the sting, felt an old anger that had been suppressed in the wake of removing Liz's memories. An anger to yell at her for asking him to do what he had to do. Because the Liz he had known had known him well enough to use his feelings for her to her advantage. The old Liz knew that he wouldn't be able to say no to a request like that. She had known that he couldn't deny her the right to a normal life when a normal life was all he himself had ever craved.
"It's complicated," he murmurs.
"If I've understood it correctly, it was always complicated with us," she answers.
He lowers his eyes to look at his hands. "You didn't ask to become a part of my life. You went through so much to be with me. I tried to push you away so many times but for some reason you wanted to be with me-"
Her hand on his interrupts him. "Max," she says quietly a soft smile resting on her lips. "The Max I do remember was the nicest, most gentle guy I've ever met. If you were anything like that when we were together I'm not surprised I wanted to be with you."
"Thank you."
She shakes her head in disbelief. "I still can't believe I asked you to do that. What went so wrong that I asked you to do something like that?" She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You look so sad. Nothing like the version of you I've seen in my dreams. Did I do this to you? Did I make you this sad?"
He wants to lie. He wants to assure her that he has himself to blame and that he is sad because life in general did not work out for the best. But the truth was that the reason why his life in general did not work out very well is her. He has never been very good at lying to her and the truth stops him once again.
"Yes," he says simply.
She nods and looks down. "I'm sorry." When she meets his eyes again, hers are filled with tears. "I'm so sorry. I should never have asked that of you."
He smiles sadly, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently. "You felt trapped. You needed a way out. The whole situation had worn you down. I...I couldn't recognize you anymore. You were so cold."
"What happened?" she whispered.
He hesitates before he answers. "Alex's death."
She frowns. "Alex?"
"And Tess."
"Who's Tess?"
There had been no reason to let Tess remain in any of Liz's memories. Max's young alien bride had been completely erased.
"Someone I would like to forget."
"Believe me, it's not as fun as it's cut out to be," Liz says grimly, "To not remember."
"Are you sure you want to remember again?" Max asks.
"Everything that happened, everything that I wanted to run away from, happened to you too, Max. Why should you have to live with the memories and I should be spared? I don't want to run any longer."
He is relieved, but at the same time afraid of what will happen when she remembers it all. Will the sweet girl sitting in front of him now, the girl so reminiscent of the girl he used to watch for hours in the Crashdown before a heated argument involving guns changed their lives forever, still be there? Or would the access to her old memories turn her back into the girl who had to grow up too fast and who had been forced by circumstances to hide her vulnerability behind a cold hard shell?
Still he answers, "Okay."
She watches him in silence for so long that he almost begins to squirm under her intense gaze. "But I don't want to do this if you don't feel that I have the right to. I don't want to make the same mistake again and force you to do something you don't want to do. If you don't want me back in your life – the old me – then say 'no'."
Her words make him think of Isabel and Michael and how he recognizes that he is about to repeat his old mistake of not telling them before he changes some pertinent ingredient in their lives.
"I need to talk to Michael and Isabel first," he says.
She nods, understanding marking her features. "Of course." She puts the cup on the table, preparing herself to get up. "I guess I should go."
He stands, "Yeah. Right."
He follows her to the door and she turns, indecision written all over her face. "Max?"
"Yes?"
"Should I tell Maria?"
"I want to talk to Michael first, but there's no doubt in my mind that Maria wants to remember too. She did this for you."
"You mean she really didn't want to do it?"
The temptation to lie to shield her emotions pops up anew, but there is no basis to start lying to her now. "She really didn't want to. She is the most loyal friend I've ever met and she would follow you to the grave if it meant that you wouldn't walk alone. If I were you, I would worship her for the rest of my life."
She laughs lightly, guilt making the laugh sound unnatural. "I guess I have some groveling to do."
"Hang on," Max says and walks over to the kitchen counter where he writes something down on a bright yellow post it.
He grabs her hand, ignoring the electricity that is still there as soon as they touch, and presses the piece of paper against her palm. "My number. "
"Thanks," she says and starts for the counter. "I should give you mine so you can call me later about-"
His hand on her arm stops her. "Don't worry about it. I'll find you." He doesn't want to freak her out by saying that he already knows her number.
"Oh. Okay..."
He grabs a sweater that is draped over the kitchen counter and hands it to her. "Take this."
She looks down at her flannel pajamas and her bare feet, and smiling she accepts the sweater. "Thanks."
"I guess I'll see you," Max says.
"Yeah," she agrees.
The silence stretches as Max waits for her to turn around and walk out the door, but instead she moves closer to him and puts her arms around his waist. He's certain she can feel his heart pick up through his sweater as she presses her head in a perfect fit under his chin.
"I'm sorry, Max. I'm really sorry."
He fights all feelings he wants to feel about having her so close again and instead carefully puts his arms against her back to return the hug. He tries to squash the hope that is suddenly lit but he can't help but feel that the future is looking brighter than it has in four years.