Chapter Text
Isobel and Noah's wedding was beautiful. This was unsurprising but still amazing, even to Michael who helped put it together. Even as he spent ninety percent of the time on the altar behind Isobel happy for her, the other ten was daydreaming about marrying Alex.
Not that Michael had never imagined it before. He did... a lot. But this was new material to work with. The church was still not going to happen and never would, but he kinda liked the idea of an outdoor wedding with Alex. Alex looked so good in the sun, and hell, so did he.
Michael thought the reception was the best part, frankly. And yeah it was a little bit because of the open bar, but also because everyone was having such a good time. It was a real party, celebrating something good, something that actually made sense to Michael rather than a building opening or whatever sorts of parties Isobel usually planned.
Isobel and Noah had their first dance as a married couple. Then she danced with Phil, with Max, and finally with Michael before returning to her husband.
Michael really, really was happy for her. He just also really, really wanted Alex, too. But he supposed if she couldn't feel his loneliness, it wasn't that strong, and he didn't have to feel guilty about it.
Everyone ate and drank, and Isobel had kindly placed him at the table nearest the bar, though he didn't plan on getting too hammered. Messaging Alex his observations helped some.
"Whoo! What's that?" Isobel said, dropping beside him.
"Phone," he said, though the screen wasn't currently on.
"That," she said. "In your hand."
Michael looked down. He'd kept the ugliest of the back-up picks and taken to playing with it. The rest stayed in his box of other things relating to Alex. Just in case he ever needed another one. He showed it to her.
"Ooh, turned out nice! I'm excited for the stuff I'm gonna make," she said. "You'll help me since you're clearly a pro now, right?"
"Of course," Michael said, pocketing the pick. "You tired of dancing already?"
"Nah, we needed a little water break. Besides, it's nearly cake time!"
"I'm excited for cake," Michael said, raising his glass to her. She laughed.
"I'll be sure to send you home with some."
"You're already making me take two tins of pasta," Michael said. "And flowers!"
"Sharing is caring, Michael," Isobel said. She squeezed his shoulder and stood up as he grumbled.
He recognized the next song that played, and he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and said, "Fuck," under his breath.
Just as Michael suspected, Shut Up And Dance With Me instantly transported him to the prior week, slow dancing with Alex in his hotel room.
It was a perfect wedding reception song. Damn it. He turned his phone on and messaged Alex again.
Mmmguerin (1841): they're playing shut up and dance with me
Mmmguerin (1841): our song Alex!!
Mmmguerin (1842): I think this means next time you're here we have to dance again
Mmmguerin (1843): god I miss you
The rest of the wedding went well, too, though Michael had a feeling his loneliness got worse the longer the night went on.
Finally, he waved at the happy couple and headed out. He had to get out of that suit.
He got to the Airstream and stripped it off and put it back in its garment bag to return. Wait, he forgot to take a selfie for Alex. He frowned at the bag, shrugged, and just took a picture of himself shirtless and sent it to him.
Mmmguerin (2321): I forgot to take a picture with the suit on so you get this instead
Mmmguerin (2322): I probably didn't manage to hide from the photographer all night so once Izzy has the photos I'll send you those too
xX_Alex_Xx (2351): congratulations to Isobel
xX_Alex_Xx (2352): and thank you very very much for the picture. much appreciated
Mmmguerin (2354): Alex!!!
xX_Alex_Xx (2355): hey :) did you have fun
Mmmguerin (2355): yeah. Would've been more fun with you but. Such is life
xX_Alex_Xx (2356): so shut up and dance with me is our song, huh?
Mmmguerin (2356): course
xX_Alex_Xx (2357): we'll dance again next time
xX_Alex_Xx (2357): isnt it almost midnight there?
Mmmguerin (2357): nearly!
Mmmguerin (2358): I'm alright. Okay I might pass out but
xX_Alex_Xx (2359): i miss you too
Mmmguerin (0000): miss you.good night
xX_Alex_Xx (0000): good night guerin
Michael scrolled up and down, a faint smile, before he put his phone up and went to sleep.
Alex didn't get a chance to come back to Roswell before he got deployed again, and though Michael offered to come visit him where he was stationed in Germany until his Secret Mission started, Alex told him to save his money.
Which hurt, but it really would have been an expensive trip that he actually couldn't afford. He didn't know how to tell Alex it'd be worth living off of ramen for months just to see him for a week.
Michael did get weekly phone calls and daily messages now that Alex had constant access to the internet. He wondered if he shouldn't wean himself off of talking to him so often, but there was no way Michael could stop himself.
Before he knew it, it was January, and Alex was shipping out to Afghanistan in a week. He called Michael to tell him. He answered his phone from his bed, delighted to talk to Alex until he heard the subject matter.
"I still don't want you to go."
"I can't change it, Guerin. I'm already briefed and promoted and everything."
"I know but I just... I miss you so damn much, Alex, and we message every day."
"I miss you, too. I'm really glad we were able to talk as much as we have. Three years will be up before you know it, and I'll be back for you, okay?"
"Doesn't seem so short from this side of those years," Michael said. But Alex would be back for him? "You better come back. I don't know what I'd do if you didn't."
"I thought we went over this. Ouija board."
He snorted. "Alex, I mean it. You're not allowed to die. You have to come back."
"I won't die. I'll be back. I'll find you. Okay?"
"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be in Roswell waiting for you."
Alex's end buzzed, and Michael heard him swearing distantly, as if he held the phone he was using away.
"Alex?"
"Guerin, don't wait around for me like that. Please. Just in case I... You have to be okay."
He sat up quickly. "I have to be okay? I'm not the one going into god only knows what sort of war zone with no outside contact!"
"Yeah, yeah, so whatever happens to me--"
Michael's eyes stung. "Please don't say that. Please."
"You have to survive it, Guerin, that's what makes everything worth it, okay?"
"It's not okay, Alex, it's not worth surviving anything without you!"
"You're killing me, Guerin," he said miserably. "Maybe I, maybe I did everything wrong here, I messed this up and you-you shouldn't be waiting around for me, Guerin, you're so much better than that."
Michael re-ran whatever the hell Alex just said twice before he went with, "I don't understand."
"Okay, like, you've been with other people right? You mentioned like, casually?"
"Yeah, but they're not you. Nothing casual about you. What has that got to do with anything?"
"I am, though. Casual."
"Not to me."
"We're, we're not dating, Guerin, that's the definition of casual."
"We could be."
"No, we can't, because I'm not going to be able to talk to you for three years after next week, so you have to do something else."
Michael pulled his pillow to his chest. "I don't want to."
"There isn't a choice, Guerin."
He huffed. "Fine. Okay. I'll do something else. And, when you come back, when you find me, it won't be casual, all right? Alex?"
Alex hesitated. "Yeah..."
"But?"
"But my dad--"
Michael wrapped his hand in his sheets. "I don't want to date your dad."
"Doesn't stop him from being a homophobic asshole."
"I'm not scared of him, Alex."
"You should be."
Michael narrowed his eyes. "Is he still hurting you?"
"Guerin, I'm in Germany, he's in Roswell."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"No, but I still have to deal with it."
Michael tapped his phone against his forehead with a sigh. "Okay. Okay, if that's what you have to do. How do I help?"
"You don't let him take anything else from you. Go to-- Go to college and kick ass and do what you want. I'll deal with it."
"I already kick ass and do what I want from right here. You don't have to deal with it alone."
"Guerin, I am never going to risk you like that, not ever again."
Michael rubbed his face in confusion. "Again?" He turned his hand over and sighed at the scars. "Alex, that wasn't your fault."
He was met only with the sound of Alex taking a deep breath.
"I'm serious, Alex. It wasn't your fault, I don't blame you, and I would do it all--"
"Don't say again."
"--again if that's what it takes to stop him from hurting you!"
"It doesn't take that! It won't. That's why I'm here."
"That doesn't mean you have to fight him alone."
"I do, actually, because I can't have you--" He cut himself off. "I need you to let me take care of it, okay?"
"Sure. Then what?"
"What do you mean? Like you were saying. No more casual." Michael thought Alex sounded rather resigned, like it'd never happen.
"Unless you find another reason we can't? I think... I think you're making this way more difficult than it has to be."
"Guerin, do you trust me?"
"I don't think I'd have ever talked to you if I didn't," Michael said, bemused.
"But right now. Do you trust me right now when I say that I need my father out of the picture? Because I need that."
He rolled his eyes. "Call me if you need help hiding the body."
"Guerin, please. Tell me you understand what I'm saying."
"Yeah, I understand, and I do trust you." Probably too much, as an alien, but Michael didn't mention that. "I don't like it, but I get it. You do what you gotta do. But I already don't know if I can survive not hearing from you for three years, Alex, so don't make me miss you too long, okay?"
"Okay," Alex said softly. "I'll try, Michael. I really will. I--" His voice broke. "I can't promise anything else. That I'll make it back or I'll be worth waiting for or... anything. Don't-- Don't argue, just... I don't know. So, um, I know it doesn't matter what I want, but I would like it if we could go into this... okay with each other, at least?"
Michael had no idea which of those things to address first. In fact, it was so much, he felt like he was on the verge of a breakdown. He floated his flask over and took a long swig. "You know I'm not okay with this situation and never have been."
"Not the situation, you and me. Just-- Never mind. I have no right to ask you not to be mad at me for this."
"You can ask anything of me," Michael said mildly. "But, I'm an angry person, Alex. Kind of my default. I'm going to be stewing in this situation for years, it's not in my nature to come out of it hunky-dory."
"That's not what I... I'm talking about right now. Are you mad at me?"
"A little," Michael admitted. "I'm trying not to be but it's hard. Like I said, I'm an angry person."
"That's fair. Um, but if I had to use one adjective to describe you, it wouldn't be angry."
He scoffed. "Better be sexy."
"No," Alex said, an amused hum. "I mean, yes, but I'd say you're a good person."
Michael froze. He didn't even breathe.
"Guerin? You there?"
He hung up, like an idiot, then blinked at his phone in disbelief. He had to have misheard that. There was no way Alex called him a good person. No one thought he was a good person.
If Alex thought he was a good person, and Alex was the best human in the world and usually right, then...
xX_Alex_Xx (1243): guerin?
Mmmguerin (1246): um the call dropped
xX_Alex_Xx (1247): ah, damn, mustve been my end, sorry
Mmmguerin (1248): no, don't worry about it
Mmmguerin (1250): please stay safe, and be careful, and don't die
xX_Alex_Xx (1251): i'll do my best for the first two. ive told you a million times i wont die though
Mmmguerin (1252): well do your best for that one too
xX_Alex_Xx (1252): ok, i will
xX_Alex_Xx (1253): theres still a week til i ship out too
Mmmguerin (1254): do you
Mmmguerin (1254): ummm
xX_Alex_Xx (1256): yeah?
Mmmguerin (1256): I was gonna ask if you could call more until then but
Mmmguerin (1257): I don't know if I can handle that
xX_Alex_Xx (1258): oh. ok.
xX_Alex_Xx (1259): the call didnt drop, did it
Mmmguerin (1300): no
Mmmguerin (1300): sorry
xX_Alex_Xx (1303): Michael, youre a good person, and I know it bc we are so different, and im not good
Mmmguerin (1305): what? Alex it's the opposite. You have it exactly backwards
xX_Alex_Xx (1306): ahh... it's really smth that we think of each other that way...and ourselves that way....
xX_Alex_Xx (1307): we arent different in that respect
Mmmguerin (1307): Alex...
xX_Alex_Xx (1308): i'll work on it. ok how about that? we'll both work on being the good we see in each other
Mmmguerin (1310): I
Mmmguerin (1310): Alex I don't know what you see in me that's good
xX_Alex_Xx (1311): everything you show me is good. you talk to me you make time for me you tell me all kinds of things
Mmmguerin (1312): I like when you do that too
Mmmguerin (1313): I don't know what else to say. You've always been so kind to me even when I don't deserve it
xX_Alex_Xx (1313): bc you always deserve kindness. *always*
Mmmguerin (1314): and you really believe that. Well you should believe it for yourself too
xX_Alex_Xx (1315): ok i'll work on that. you work on it too ok?
Mmmguerin (1315): ok
Mmmguerin (1315): ok but can we talk about something else now. Please
xX_Alex_Xx (1316): ok ummm
xX_Alex_Xx (1317): ok i honestly cant think of anything, you got anything?
Mmmguerin (1318): I had to repot the forget me nots the other day
xX_Alex_Xx (1319): nice, they got bigger?
Mmmguerin (1319): yup. Hold on I'll take a picture for you
Mmmguerin sent an attachment at (1321).
xX_Alex_Xx (1322): what a beautiful garden :)
Mmmguerin (1322): thank you :)
Michael spent the rest of Alex's night talking about flowers. They spent the rest of the week staying on safe topics.
The goodbye call at the end of it was agonizing.
"I'll see you in 2018."
"Yeah, see you then."
It was good he wasn't working, and he was already in bed, because he bawled his eyes out. And when the melancholy washed away and he was just numb, Isobel texted.
I'm fine. I'm fine.
He had to survive somehow.
Michael took to wearing Alex's shirt to sleep when it got too cold to sleep shirtless but not cold enough to throw on a sweater and call it a night.
Then he even wore it under his pullovers, too used to the comforting fabric to go without.
He usually changed before anyone saw him.
The unbridled glee on Isobel's face when she saw it in February of 2015 confused him at first, sleepy but thrilled that she had brought him bagels.
"You're a military wife!"
"What the-- No I'm not. What are you even--" She pointed at his shirt, and he looked down. Thank god he was resistant to blushing. "I found this at a thrift store! And we're not married!"
"Oh, this explains so much," she said, clapping her hands together.
"Me at a thrift store and not being married?" He spread cream cheese over one of the fresh bagels.
"Your boyfriend--"
He dropped the fist with the knife in it perhaps a little too forcefully against the table. "Not my boyfriend--"
"--being in the Air Force. Makes sense, why he couldn't make the wedding, why you don't see him much, why he couldn't take the flowers, why he used to play guitar and why you wouldn't let me make him stay..." Isobel gasped softly. "He's in the Middle East, isn't he? You hate the news but you always watch when they mention Afghanistan."
Michael put the knife down to rub the back of his neck. He stared at his tiny kitchen table. "He said he's got a ton of these shirts," he said in a small voice. "I figured he wouldn't miss one."
She knelt beside his chair and pulled him in. "Michael, you stole his shirt."
"I stole his shirt," he confirmed. "That doesn't make us married, just makes me a thief. He didn't even notice I took it."
Isobel patted his back and hummed doubtfully. "You should take a selfie and send it to him."
"No, then he'd know! 'Sides, he's off the grid," Michael said glumly. "He wouldn't see it."
"Oh, is that why you're so slow to answer texts now?"
"What? No. What are you talking about?" He made a face and tried to think of how long it took him to respond to Isobel's texts. So what if he didn't see them for a couple hours? He was doing stuff. "I don't take that long."
"I see how it is. Your secret boyfriend stops messaging you, no point in looking at your phone anymore, huh?"
"He's not my boyfriend, and it's not like he messaged me all that much before, okay? He's busy, he didn't have internet that much."
Isobel swatted at his arm. "What else am I going to call him, Michael, you won't tell me his name!" She flicked at his hair and a more sympathetic expression took over her face. "I'm sorry. You're sad. When's he coming back on the grid?"
"After his deployment. Like three years." Two years, ten months, twenty-five days and a couple hours, but who was keeping track? "It's been a month and I don't know if I'm gonna make it."
"Oh, Michael," Isobel said, hugging him tight again. "What will cheer you up? Do you wanna go drinking later? I'll keep you company. I'm no hot military man but I can hold my own."
"You'd go to the Wild Pony with me?"
She grimaced at him. "Does it have to be the Wild Pony? That place is disgusting as a senator's sex life."
"Oh my god, why would you say that, now there are old white guys in my brain."
"Sorry." She patted his cheek. "What about Shooting Star Oasis?"
"No, no, we've been there, I'll just get all nostalgic."
Isobel picked up his pillow and thumped him in the head with it. "All this time, and I could have just asked Noah or Max or Dad who your mystery man was!"
"You could but that'd be an invasion of our privacy so you shouldn't. Please stop hitting me."
She threw his pillow back to the bed and crossed her arms. "I want to know."
Michael could have pointed out how petulant she was being, but he knew it'd be awfully hypocritical coming from him. "I'll tell you who he is just as soon as he okays it."
"And that'll take at least two years, eleven months?" Isobel poked him in the forehead. "Fine, I'll wait. He'll be back. You're gonna survive the silence even if I have to go with you to the Wild Pony."
"Such self-sacrifice," he teased.
"I'm a giver, Michael." She started on her own bagel. "And I really don't need a corner of my brain to be mopey."
"I know you're busy, but do you want to go tonight?"
As she deliberated, he tore through his bagel with as much restraint as he could. He wasn't going to tell Isobel he wasn't bothering to eat half the time and that was the only reason it looked like he was keeping the Airstream stocked. He needed to stretch what little money he got in the off season.
"Sure. I think we could even get Max out!"
Stilted, he said, "I'd rather just you, Iz. He wouldn't understand."
Isobel frowned at him. "You know I can make him understand."
"Please?"
She sighed. "All right. Well, anyway, I'm on a diet, do you want the rest of these?"
"Again? Izzy, it's not good to diet so much."
She folded the brown paper bag of bagels over and patted his arm. "I'll pick you up at six."
"Iz!"
She flashed a smile that was all teeth. "If we talk about my diets, we're gonna talk about yours, and it seems like you really don't want to do that, Michael."
"Thanks for the bagels," he said, looking away. "See you at six."
Isobel managed to keep Michael from retreating into himself (and fed) all the way until October, when she sent Max in her place for the first time without telling either of them. Michael was at the bar while he waited. They always got a table; Isobel and the owner of the establishment seemed to hate each other.
Max sat beside him, looking mighty put upon. "Hey."
Michael made a face at him.
"What?"
"Is Isobel coming?"
"No, she said she was having dinner with Noah, then she told me I should get out of the house and come here. What are you drinking?"
He shrugged and turned to the bartender. "What am I drinking?"
"Quoth you ten minutes ago, cheapest piss on tap, please," she said. "Tell me your parole officer has better taste."
"I'm not his--"
"I said please?" Michael gave an impressed grunt. "I am nice."
"What are you having, Deputy?" she asked.
"What crafts do you have?"
"Oh my god," Michael muttered as she handed him a list.
"This peach one, please. And I'll pick up his tab."
"Max!"
"Let's humor Iz, Michael. You know how she gets when she finds out we haven't even seen each other in a while."
"Fine. Arrest anyone interesting lately?"
Max shrugged. "Wyatt Long was in and out yesterday."
"Wouldn't qualify that as interesting," Michael replied.
"Fixed anything interesting lately?"
"Nope." Michael drained his glass and got up. "See ya."
"Michael, wait, come on. Ten minutes. For Iz."
He sighed and sat back down, flagging over the other bartender. "If you're paying, I want a fancy beer. Let me guess, Isobel saw that our last text was the week after her wedding."
"Probably." Max picked at the label as Michael's new drink was delivered. "She was beating a Candy Crush level for me and started snooping when she won on her first try. Then she said I needed to get out more."
"Ooh, there's your problem. Beat your own Candy Crush levels." Michael took a long drink.
"I'd been stuck for two weeks. I refuse to spend money on phone games."
"You sure she didn't?"
"Don't have any money connected. I swear, every time I get stuck she beats the level in one go."
Michael couldn't think of the last time he saw the game on her screen. "She doesn't even play anymore."
"I know!" Max chuckled. "It's not like they're levels she's beaten before, either, I passed her a while ago. And we thought my superpower was useless."
"Don't tell her that or she'll stop beating levels for you."
"I'd probably never finish them."
They talked for a while, well beyond the ten minutes Max suggested, about harmless topics like phone games and alcohol.
Unfortunately, that meant Michael was six drinks in and feeling punchy when the racists arrived.
Michael saw them in the mirror, then he spun haphazardly on his stool to watch them cross the bar. They each had matching red hats. "Unbelievable."
"Not sure they're really orange enough to pull them off," Max said into his beer.
"Aww, look, Hank likes you, he's got a Blue Lives Matter shirt."
"Yikes. I chose my line of work. No one chooses the skin they're born into."
Michael flinched and hid it by jumping up, which made his brain rattle dangerously. He put his Stetson on. "I'm gonna go say hi."
"Michael, wait--"
Too late. He strolled right up to the red-hatted ringleader and said, "So like it's just cool to be a neonazi in public now?"
"What?"
He gestured at his own black hat to indicate theirs. "Y'all a bunch of nazis, right?"
They seemed to know that nazis are bad, because calling them that pissed them off and they denied it, so Michael began to list the ways their rhetoric matched that of nazis in the mid-1930s. "What about that doesn't scream nazism? Like maybe if you don't want to be called nazis you shouldn't act like nazis?"
One of them finally swung at him, and Michael had enough coordination to duck and hightail it out of the building; he turned back just in time for the sheriff to see him aim an uppercut into Long's chin. The patrol car chirped.
Max had called for backup. Bastard. Admittedly, Michael was about ten seconds from being pulped, so he didn't mind getting pulled from the fray. He did object to getting slapped in handcuffs. "Aw, Sheriff, you know I'd go with you anywhere, you don't have to use the bracelets."
"You'd also like to sit in the front, wouldn't you?" she asked as she lowered his head to get him in the back.
"Since you mention it, yes. It was self-defense, Sheriff, honest. I was pursued by nazis."
She began to drive to the station with a sigh. The other officers grabbed two of the racists as they were now fighting each other. "Guerin, you were doing so much better. I haven't even seen you in months."
"I knew you missed me," Michael said, wiggling to get more comfortable in the hard plastic seat. It was a good thing he was long immune to disappointed women, or she might've had an effect.
"I really didn't. Not you nor the massive amounts of paperwork you come with."
"Well, would you punch a nazi for being a nazi? That's all I did."
He saw Sheriff Valenti roll her eyes.
"Did you know in Germany it's illegal to wear or spout nazi shit? That's true, Alex Manes watched a German lady beat the shit out of a nazi in New York last year," Michael rambled. "He had jet lag or he said he would've helped."
The sheriff hummed. Michael didn't want to think about Alex, that made him sad.
"You know those nazis don't respect you, right? They respect Max more 'cause he's a big white man. Not me. I know you could snap us in half. See, I'm just trying to do my part in making racism and misogyny unacceptable."
"How noble," she said as she pulled into the sheriff parking spot. "Let's go take some pictures."
He was all too glad to commemorate the occasion with a smirk to the camera, and Sheriff Valenti knew she wouldn't get anything more serious out of him.
Michael slept in the holding cell. He agreed at all the right times in the morning when Max woke him up for a lecture, so Max let him out.
"So the nazis aren't pressing charges?"
"Shockingly, no. But Valenti is charging you with a drunk and disorderly, which comes with a fine."
Michael grimaced before he could stop himself. "I'd punch a nazi sober, too," he said in the hopes of hiding why he'd reacted like that.
"Because what you really need is an assault record." Max wasn't fooled. "Can you pay it?"
"Is there an alternative? Community service or something?"
"No, Michael, it's pay the fine or jail time."
"Hoo. Hell of a poor people prison pipeline," Michael said, shoving past him. "I can pay it."
For some reason, after that, Isobel didn't join Michael at the Wild Pony anymore, and neither did Max. He quickly realized that Isobel had been paying a lot more than her share of the check, and given that fine and the strangled trickle of tourists, he wasn't going to be able to keep drowning himself the way he needed to in order to not think about Alex or his myriad of other personal problems, like how much his damn hand hurt, or how he couldn't find any more console pieces, or how he could extract the dang pod substance.
He stood at the bar one day in December of 2015. He wasn't sure why he was there except that he was used to it. He'd spent the last of his cash on canned soup and nail polish remover at the dollar store. He'd resisted drinking the soup. He'd already eaten that day, he could save it for breakfast. The acetone, however, went directly into his flask.
But, he managed to make a deal with the owner: alcohol for fixing a broken stool.
Maybe if he did a good job fixing the stool, he could get paid to fix more things? Other people's things? Sanders rarely had anything for him to do the last few months, and the ranch was giving more hours to kids who needed the work for school credit.
And he refused to go to Max or Isobel.
God, he wanted to make a stupid handyman joke to Alex so bad.
Instead, he sent him the last Skype messages he ever would, though he didn't know it at the time.
Mmmguerin (1009): I'm driving myself up a wall checking this app
Mmmguerin (1011): keep fooling myself into thinking your dot is green
Mmmguerin (1011): I'm gonna disable Skype on my phone and delete it from the home screen.
Mmmguerin (1012): I still want you to find me when you come back
Mmmguerin (1013): I miss you
Michael signed out and did just as he said. He would still tap the empty space where the app had lived and sigh. He replaced it with sudoku, which quickly got him to stop tapping there, because he found sudoku to be way too easy.
Isobel didn't have time for his shenanigans, and really, he was glad she was keeping busy. Michael even tried to make it to the less-fancy events she planned. He was rarely successful, but pleased as she was when he did show, he wouldn't stop trying.
Though she didn't go out and drink with him anymore, she did find plenty of excuses to see him, mostly involving things breaking down around the house. Whether or not they were actually broken, Isobel paid him in exorbitant amounts of delicious leftovers that made him suspect she was creeping around the Airstream while he was out and had discovered his most recent diet of canned soup and acetone. Then, on the days Noah worked late, she'd make Michael stick around and watch a movie with her.
At least she wasn't trying to pay him with money. That resulted in a resolute no from him. The food was fine; the borrowed Tupperware meant he could be back in a few days to see her again under the guise of returning them. (Only to be sent away hours later with even more.)
There were plenty of old or broken things in the Wild Pony to keep his alcoholism somewhat satiated.
He cashed in whenever Alex was on his mind, and at the end of the night he'd either stumble into his truck bed, or someone would call the police to come get him so he wouldn't drive, and then he'd get to listen to Max in the morning.
He liked to pretend that his brother cared, and that's why he lectured him. Not because it was his job or anything.
That idea came crashing down when a woman got transferred in from Ohio. She was military precise, constantly irritated with him, and an absolute vision. Michael got much the same disappointed, unimpressed speech from Jenna Cameron as he did from Max, and there was no way this woman gave the slightest shit about him.
(And he'd definitely tried to flirt with her despite being in the backseat of her cruiser. It didn't go well. He'd say he was thoroughly shot down, especially when she told him Long had tried to do essentially the same act.)
(At least Michael wasn't a neonazi.)
(Telling her that hadn't helped for some reason.)
But Michael did as Alex had asked. He survived, at least. And he was so, so angry about it.
And then who swans in but Liz Ortecho, a week before the anniversary of her sister's death, to get shot up next to alien Jesus who was apparently in love with her despite no contact in approximately ten years. Ohh, Max was lucky that Michael didn't crucify him outside the drunk tank. He only made a big mess before he grabbed his stuff and left.
Foster had left a message that there were some military thugs snooping around the Airstream, and he better get there ASAP. Fucking pushover.
Michael had all these words he thought he'd say to Alex when he came back and finally found him, but he never expected him to appear at his Airstream in uniform with a whole damn troop including his father.
He was kneeling beside his potted plants inspecting the leaves, though Michael didn't recognize him until he pulled him up proclaiming that was private property. No one touched his garden.
Seeing Alex's face didn't make the anger dissipate, only transmogrified it. The angry words, the leaving him alone words, the terrified words he remembered, easy enough with a split eyebrow and yesterday's clothes and Alex right in front of him with that stupid beret and the ghost of a smile.
So he said the angry words with a nod to Jesse Manes in the background and internalized the guilt of Alex shuttering after he looked behind him.
What was he leaning over for? Why did he have a crutch? Why did his leg sound like metal?
Why was Michael angry again?
Because he fucking missed him! They said some other things, but it wasn't the place to demand answers and he knew it and he hated it.
He went inside and slammed the door behind him. He pulled his shirt over his head before he realized that Alex was in Roswell. As in, out of a war zone, on the grid again, and therefore relatively safe.
Michael took a deep, steadying breath as he sat heavily on his bed. Alex was back. Alex was back.
He squeezed his brain back to one of their last Skype calls. Alex had wanted to deal with his dad before finding Michael. Obviously, he hadn't yet (and Michael couldn't believe he'd said such an asshole thing to him a couple minutes ago).
He heard the humvees driving out and cursed himself. Maybe he could have invited Alex in. That wouldn't have looked suspicious. Especially since he had a piece of alien glass sitting out on his table. He swatted it into a box and covered it with paper.
How long had Alex been back, anyway? He had so many ribbons pinned to that damn uniform. Surely he'd have heard? That was a big deal to small town people, wasn't it?
Then again, he'd been out of his mind whenever possible for probably two years. Did Alex message him?
Michael suddenly fumbled to find his phone and enable Skype. Messages from several months ago appeared. "Shit, god dammit, no."
xX_Alex_Xx (1834): hell
xX_Alex_Xx (1836): i probably shouldnt be on right now,, u probably hate me anyway and i am
xX_Alex_Xx (1837): sooooo fucking high on painkillers right now
xX_Alex_Xx (1838): on painkillers
xX_Alex_Xx (1840): i already said that
xX_Alex_Xx (1841): i just
xX_Alex_Xx (1842): fuck i miss u guerin
xX_Alex_Xx (1843): probably more than im gonna miss the half of my leg thats getting amputated
xX_Alex_Xx (1844): wait
xX_Alex_Xx (1845): i just checked its already gone,, surgery was . . .
xX_Alex_Xx (1845): yesterday?
xX_Alex_Xx (1846): pour one out 4 my right shin foot
xX_Alex_Xx (1846): i mean most of it was all ready shot to shit
xX_Alex_Xx (1847): i think the back of my leg is on the front now
xX_Alex_Xx (1847): fucky
xX_Alex_Xx (1850): well u said u wanted to know if i got hurt but i just noticed skype says u havent logged in in in like 876 days
xX_Alex_Xx (1851): i kinda wanna go find ur phone number now
xX_Alex_Xx (1852): but i dont think u wanna talk to me tho
xX_Alex_Xx (1854): my dad wont FUCK OFF
xX_Alex_Xx (1856): i hate this!! i hate this,,, i need u 2 know that i hate this
xX_Alex_Xx (1857): mmmorephine
xX_Alex_Xx (1901): thats more morphine,, its a portman2.like noble
xX_Alex_Xx (1902): ''alex has a purple heart now a mong a fuckdozen other acco lades such a decorated air man u must be sooo p ro ud of ur s o n''
xX_Alex_Xx (1903): i actually hard someone say that while they thot i was asleep
xX_Alex_Xx (1904): (in reality hes disappointed i disnt come back in a box)
xX_Alex_Xx (1905): lol
xX_Alex_Xx (1908): didnt*
xX_Alex_Xx (1910): i am so tired guerin
xX_Alex_Xx (1911): my arm is at a weird angle
xX_Alex_Xx (1912): and im all twisted up
xX_Alex_Xx (1913): this lady keeps telling me to sleep
xX_Alex_Xx (1915): oh shes a nurse. should,,, probably listen
xX_Alex_Xx (1916): good night guerin
xX_Alex_Xx (1307): hi im Alex im 26 (i think) and i never learned how to fucking read
xX_Alex_Xx (1308): what part of u disabled skype did i not understand ? ?
xX_Alex_Xx (1310): i guess the part where i lost the ability to talk to you
xX_Alex_Xx (1311): so stupid
xX_Alex_Xx (1312): me, not you
xX_Alex_Xx (1316): ivam so
xX_Alex_Xx (1319): i guess theres not really any point 2 me writing all this if u arent gonna see it
xX_Alex_Xx (1321): no point in saying it wasnt like, my mom or my squad mates i was thinking of while i was bleeding out in the desert
xX_Alex_Xx (1324): was typing always so exhausting ?
xX_Alex_Xx (1325): im gonna stop
xX_Alex_Xx (1326): theres a different guy telling me to rest
xX_Alex_Xx (1327): i hope im better before i see you again
xX_Alex_Xx (1328): put s kind of a dent n my plans 4 justice or w/e
xX_Alex_Xx (1330): sorry
xX_Alex_Xx (1330): bye guerin
"God dammit, god dammit."
He started to type out a message, erased it, typed another, realized that Alex's status was still "DOPED UP", meaning he hadn't been back on after the drugs wore off, since there was no way he'd have left that up if he was in his right mind.
Michael found his open bottle of nail polish remover and downed what was left of it. Alex was alive. That was a reason to be happy, not angry.
Angry was-- angry was making sure Max didn't ruin their little alien lives after twenty years of secrets. He could deal with the Air Force bullshit later.
Maybe Alex would be at the reunion, and he could tell him he didn't hate him then.
Yeah. But first, he had to protect his siblings from Liz Ortecho.