Special Agent Joel Martin
He wanted to scream at them "I told you so", but of course he couldn't do that. They were his superiors, the so-called 'experts', and when they had told him to not act on his wish to capture the suspects at the motel where they had abducted Elizabeth Parker, he had obeyed.
Like the good little soldier he was.
And look where it had gotten them. Sure, they had developed a drug that could disable the aliens' abilities, but that wouldn't do any good as long as they didn't have the aliens themselves.
He slammed his fist down into his desk. If he had been in charge, he never would have let them slip through his fingers.
*****
Liz
Was it all a lie? Is my whole life a lie?
The wet grass pressed against the soles of her sneakers, the melting remnants of early snow clinging to the shoe strings, as she crossed the lawn, the night pitch dark around her, not a star in sight.
Do I love him just because Aislin had? Have I ever been myself or am I part-Aislin? Who am I?
She ran fingers through her dark hair, tears coursing down her heated cheeks. Her arms tightened around her middle. She was shaking, her heart thrumming irregularly with palpable anxiety.
Did I die the night of the accident? Is Aislin in control of me?
She almost reached out with her mind, calling out into the darkness of her thoughts, as if it was a dark room with a stranger standing at the other end. Afraid to actually receive an answer, she pulled back and swallowed her question. Her language skills, her intelligence, her heightened empathy which bordered on telepathy... Was that all Aislin?
Her fingernails cut through her thin sweater (she hadn't brought her jacket with her) and into the soft tissue of her waist as she tried to stop herself from exploding.
"Oh my God," she whispered into the emptiness and felt her heart break. Her restless feet came to a halt and her upper body started falling, folding at the middle, her head aiming towards her middle. Who am I?
"Liz?"
She barely heard the concerned voice over the sound of blood rushing through her head, her legs folding at the knees, her knees hitting the cold wet ground with a cry ripped from the deepest parts of her being. There were hands moving across her back but she felt neither the warmth nor the comfort they tried to offer, she only saw the darkness in her mind where her identity had once been.
"You shouldn't be on the ground," the voice said and somewhere at the back of her head she recognized it as Isabel's. "You're freezing."
"I'm not me," Liz whispered. "I'm not me." And she felt the sharp pieces of her heart rip through her blood vessels, tearing through her arms and legs and she screamed.
"Please, Liz," Isabel said, louder now, trying to break through the sound of Liz's anguish. "You have to be quiet. Someone might hear. FBI is-"
"Let them take me," Liz cried. "Let them kill me. I can't... What..."
But she couldn't think anymore, she just wanted the pain to stop.
"Max, no." Liz heard Isabel's warning just as strong arms lifted her from the cold ground. She was hurting too badly to fight him. Instead she let him cradle her against his chest, let his lips brush against her temple, even though his voice of, "I've got you," made her hurt even more.
"I'm not her," she mumbled against his chest, her fists tightening, trying to fight for her survival, fight for Elizabeth Parker.
The ground moved below her and she was slightly jostled in his arms as he carried her back towards the van.
"I know," he answered softly, fiercely.
"You love her," Liz sobbed. "Not me. It's her. It's her you recognize."
"Let's go inside, okay?" Max objected.
She shook her head. No. "Let me down." She squirmed impatiently, making it almost impossible for him to retain his hold on her. "Let go of me."
So he did. Her wet sneakers touched the ground and she stumbled against the side of the van. She looked up and met his dark eyes, the eyes that she had loved, where she had seen a side of herself that she loved. She realized now that the side she had seen reflected in his eyes was Aislin.
He might try to tell himself differently, but the reason why he had fallen for her and dreamt of her was because of the girl he had loved in another lifetime to such a degree that he had extracted her essence and placed it inside a human girl. So that his soulmate could live on.
"I know what you're thinking-"
Liz nodded and roughly brushed tears off her cheek. "Yes. You probably do. You're in my head. It's getting pretty crowded in here."
"I'll try and remove her," Max pleaded.
It was as if he had slapped her. She wasn't sure why it felt as if he had threatened her, but she suddenly had difficulty breathing. "You'll kill her?"
He looked confused, horrified even, and he stumbled on his next words as if he wasn't sure himself of their truth. "She has no right to your body."
"Neither did you," Liz croaked, a deep sense of violation floating through her. "Still you took the liberty of changing me. Forever."
He frowned and took a step towards her. She shrank back against the van. He stopped at her reaction and pushed a frustrated hand through his hair. "I saved your life."
She bit her bottom lip in a futile attempt to prevent the onslaught of tears. "I know. Damn it," she buried her hands in her hair and pulled. Maybe the pain from her scalp would distract her from the pain in her heart. "I don't know what to say. What to feel." The distraction didn't work.
"I was only a kid," Max said quickly, frustration coming off him in waves.
He was getting defensive and Liz couldn't blame him. He had only been a kid. He probably had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't be blamed for this. But at the same time, Liz needed to blame someone. Needed to find the reason as to why her whole life was suddenly a lie. Why Max Evans couldn't possibly love Elizabeth Parker because he was actually in love with an Antarian girl.
"I would never intentionally put another soul - or whatever - inside a living human being, you have to know that!"
Liz laughed. She couldn't stop herself. It was ridiculous. Their conversation was ridiculous. The whole situation was ridiculous. She was standing outside in the darkest hour of the night with cold melted snow water seeping into the fabric of her sneakers and her back against a white van (currently housing three aliens, one human and a hybrid fetus) which had been the getaway vehicle while fleeing from the FBI, while discussing the moral repercussions of placing an alien soul inside her human mind.
Was this her reality now? Was this what she signed up for when she started talking to Max Evans at that office party earlier that same year?
The human with the Antarian mind standing in front of her was staring at her, gauging her reaction, and she realized that she had no idea what her reaction was. What was the sane reaction to something like this?
"What happens if you remove her?" Liz questioned. "Will I cease to exist? Will I become brain dead?"
"You were never brain dead," Max objected. "You are still you. Otherwise there would only be Aislin."
"How do you know I'm not Aislin?" Liz demanded.
"Because when you were unconscious, Aislin took over, and that wasn't you," Max answered and - despite her previous reaction to his advance - took a step closer to her. She didn't move. "She was speaking Antarian. She didn't know where she was. It was as if she ceased to exist between her life on Antar up until the point at which you became unconscious."
Liz chewed on her bottom lip while fresh hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "The connection... Our connection. It's actually between her and you."
Max slowly shook his head and placed a warm hand against her cold cheek. He was close now, their noses almost touching. "No. Max Evans doesn't know Aislin. Zan did. Max knows Liz. The connection is between us."
She closed her eyes, willing the painful prickling of her arms to stop.
"Maybe her Antarian essence rewired your brain, made you more like us, and made it possible for us to have that bond, but it's still you. I brought you back."
She could feel his breath against her lips - he was standing that close to her - and taste the saltiness of her own tears as they collected at the corner of her mouth.
"I need to know," Liz whispered.
"Need to know what?" she heard his soft voice reply.
"That you love me," Liz replied, her eyes still closed. She was almost certain that her heart stopped in anticipation of his reaction. Would he pull back? Reject her? Feel like she was giving him a Tess-ultimatum?
Instead she felt the softness of his lips touching hers. She froze, afraid that her moving might destroy something, might break the illusion. She felt his left hand touch her right cheek in perfect symmetry with the location of his right hand against her left cheek and how he softly angled her head upwards, her lips meeting his more perfectly. She felt the encouragement in his kiss, of him wanting her to respond to him, and also his insecurity - afraid that she would not - before she reciprocated.
Her lips captured his upper lip softly and the world seemed to pause for the fraction of a second before she parted her lips and let him closer. Hurried. Impatiently. Their teeth touched minutely in the newness of the kiss before their mouths found the rhythm. The rhythm of tongues touching, of nibbling, of caressing. His mouth left hers (which elicited a disappointed groan from her) to kiss down the side of her neck before quickly returning to her lips.
He was warm, he tasted like rain and salt (or maybe that was her tears) and she felt herself (in the manner of a romance novel) melt in his arms. The kiss was heated, desperate, and growing in intensity.
She wanted to tear his clothes off, touch his skin, touch him everywhere, feel his warmth, crawl inside of him. She loved how his fingers were embedded in her hair, the warmth from the tip of his fingers against her scalp, the pressure of his body against hers as he pushed her up against the side of the van.
"Ahem..."
The clearing of one's throat in a typical Do-You-Mind? objection was not registered by the couple the first time. Or the second. When the innocent throat clearing reached a disturbingly loud decibel level on the third attempt, Max pulled back, his breathing shallow, his forehead against Liz's.
"Thank you," Isabel said next to them, grateful for getting their attention, and Liz had the courtesy of blushing as she realized that Isabel had been standing outside with them the whole time. "Maybe we should go inside?" Isabel said. "It's not safe out here. You know, with the FBI and stuff."
Max chuckled and Liz glanced up to meet his eyes, only an inch from hers. When their eyes met, the laughter disappeared from his face and he placed a soft lingering kiss on her swollen lips. He pulled back and waited for her to meet his serious eyes before saying, "I love you, Liz Parker."
Her heart was beating too hard for her to answer so she just nodded, her breath caught at the back of her throat.
"You okay?" he asked, a glint of something akin to amusement crinkling his eyes.
They were beautiful close up, his eyes. Even more beautiful than from a distance, she noted. The darkness of the night were turning his eyes into a shade of golden chocolate.
"For now," she whispered, reaching up with her hand to brush at his fringe. She could feel his eyes on her face as she followed the movement of her hand.
"It's been a long day," Max mumbled.
Understatement, Liz thought.
"So maybe we should talk more tomorrow," Max suggested.
"Yeah," Liz nodded. "We have a lot to talk about."
He looked instantly worried so she gave him a comforting smile and leaned in for another kiss. Her heart fluttered at the touch of his lips and she wanted to stay there. Keep her lips locked with his forever. But instead she pulled back and inhaled. "Right."
"Right," Max answered and took a step back. The cold air flowed between their bodies and she shivered. But then he took her hand and she forgot the cold for the moment as his fingers interlaced with hers.
Maybe they could have their fairytale anyway. Maybe.