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Indecision is truly, a type of self-made torture.
Two choices; take action or don't. Their distinctive pathways veering so sharply away from one another, the mind has no choice but to question both options. It tears at your calm, turns every almost-decision into tangled nets of what-ifs and before you know it, you've gone five steps forward and nine back. You start again, determined to find a solution and the threads end up even more knotted, and eventually you're desperate for this cycle to end.
Of course the answer is painfully simple. Choose one option and stick with it.
Simple, but deceptive, because even after you finally take that step, indecision returns like a bird of prey diving through the clouds, spearing through the skies for another attack.
Again, the crossroads. Again, a decision. Again, the path must be followed or else indecision will return, and with it the probability of buyer's regret afterward. But that was later and Michael Guerrin could deal with the fallout of 'later', if he could just find the right option now.
....If he found the right words and he was pretty sure that Alex would forgive him.
So Michael made one small decision after hours of agonizing, and grasped it with both hands. He drove across town, refusing to let procrastination or self-doubt stop him, and only realized when he was parking his truck, that he had no plan.
There was no anger, nothing righteous or bitter in his heart. Only fear and a heavy dose of barely controlled panic, because something in his soul said that Alex was in trouble.
Now the nondescript front door mocked silently, only meters away and it felt like continents. A flimsy barrier between one world and the far wider one, an island surrounded by the sea of humanity going about their daily lives.
The house itself was neither bold enough to truly stand out, or allowed in any way to seem run down. It fitted in with its neighbors without comment or seam. No one living in this nice neighborhood had the time or the interest to look too closely and that was what Alex liked, considering the sheer number of secrets he was hiding behind those plain stucco walls.
Michael was reasonably sure that Alex knew far more about them, than they ever would about him. His left neighbor was a fireman, married to a trauma nurse. His right neighbor was a retired elementary school teacher, who could barely see Alex's house behind the large tree. Little facts that Alex had offered as non-incendiary pieces of information in some conversation months ago and he hadn't even been telling Michael at the time, but he had tucked those words into his chest as he did with everything Alex said.
There was a storage trunk in his head and heart, filled with pieces of Alex. Memories, cherished and well-worn, postcards of the past. Everything Alex had ever said to him was folded like love notes, some them sharp enough to cut, like a blade swiped across his fingers, others sweet, precious to him. Moments strung on a long chain, treasured often despite himself. Some were just conversations overheard and it was the cadence of that beloved voice, the smooth soft dulcet tones he loved.
If he was honest, he would have admit that he didn't remember the same details about other people, not even his siblings. But everything about Alex was important, seared into his memory and carefully catalogued. So Michael looked at the houses on this row and knew neither side would remember when they saw Alex last.
Like them, he left this house and disappeared for most of the day or night. Nothing to remark on. He would wave if they did, chat if they stopped. No one would be invited in. Alex guarded his privacy, hard fought for, harder still to maintain.
Michael stared at the door as the sun set behind him, his hands resting on the steering wheel of his truck. He was parked directly in front of Alex's house, steeped in indecision, his eyes fixed on the copper-colored paint like it held all the answers.
Had Alex as child or teenager, before meeting Michael, before the Shed and before their first kiss - had he ever considered where in Roswell he might one day live? No, Michael thought with aching fondness. Alex's dark eyes had been focused beyond the city limits.
And it said something about them today, how different things were, that Michael could think of that question and embrace its answer with fondness and no bitterness. Alex Manes had been gone for ten years, but he was back, living here with a eye for permanency, not the temporary home that Michael had suspected. Trust was no longer fragile.
Which was why Michael was here.
Two days ago, Alex was supposed to meet him for their date. A public date that Alex had finally pushed for, with a hopeful look in those warm dark eyes and one that Michael had been waiting to share with the man, for around twelve years. The anticipation had thrummed in both of them, so long delayed, so often thought impossible, it was a tantalizing, massive step for both of them. A real date as a real couple, out and proud in Roswell with all its bigots and homophobic assholes.
This time they were going to do it. This time, they would hold hands and Michael would get see Alex laugh over dinner, in the safe, comfortable space of the Crashdown, like they never got to do as teenagers. Alex would dip his fries into his milkshake and Michael would get to tangle their feet together....
And his airman had spectacularly failed to show up.
At first, Michael had waited, hours longer than he should have, trying to text Alex for answers. Concern, turning to annoyance then disappointment and anger. Eventually he had left for home, seething and more than a little worried. Every attempt at communication was ignored and Michael had gone to sleep that night, torn between a strange grief that perhaps they hadn't progressed far enough, and hurt that Alex had forgotten.
Surely he had lost track of time, as he had before. Pulling a late-night session, lost in his computers and endless meetings. It wasn't the end of the world, Michael had decided. They could try again. It was not like the previous times. They were different.
They had to be, or else Michael wasn't sure what would become of them. He couldn't survive Alex breaking his heart again.
Every other public date had been a failure. Alex a no-show. It was depressingly familiar and self-loathing had reared its head, throwing doubt on their promises, their commitment. But when Alex didn't show up the following morning at the Airstream, with that strained expression and some explanation that Michael could understand or forgive, the hurt began to morph slowly into fear.
What if Alex was in trouble? Had argued with his bosses and was currently in a cell? What if his follow-up attempt with the machine after their phone conversation, had gone wrong and Alex was unconscious? It wasn't like Alex, with his stubborn paranoia was likely to have Michael Guerrin on his contact list....or anyone really...which was depressing.
It wasn't like he didn't know the man he loved more than life, was a self-sacrificing hero with zero self-preservation, bottomless guilt and a martyrdom complex, thanks to his family. Michael thought as his stomach clenched and his hands shook, with barely controlled panic.
It wasn't like the time, Alex Manes had been kidnapped and interrogated by his deranged family, the last time Michael hesitated to reach out. It couldn't be. That was a once-in-a-lifetime horror show.
No texts, no calls. By the afternoon, Alex should have appeared and Michael was forced to try and subtly ask around their circle of friends, including Kyle Valenti for answers. Nothing. The cabin was empty, the motion detectors and advanced security system offering no clues. The bunker below its smooth wooden floor was undisturbed, the bank of computers still working, decoding something on three screens, while the fourth seemed to be running addresses.
Which left this house in the middle of suburban Roswell.
Alex would have contacted him by now, Michael knew this and perhaps only months ago, he would have been furious, ready to accept that Alex was abandoning him again. This time Michael had plenty of reasons to assume that the love of his love was in trouble. Alex was working for a covert organization involving aliens. He was the only reason Project Shepard had been destroyed. He held vast amounts of sensitive information, with hard copy data to back it up. And to top it off, he was also involved with the decryption of technology that had sent every one of his predecessors to their graves.
Something was wrong. Alex would not deny Michael communication, when he had given his word. Promises from Alex were rare after all, and Michael despite everything trusted Alex Manes more than anyone.
Michael took a long deep breath and bit his lip.
Giving in to what he wanted to do, Michael left indecision in the truck and opened his door. Something was wrong and Michael needed answers. Surely it was a good thing to check up on your missing boyfriend? Surely he had just cause since Alex had stood him up?
The last time he had been in this situation...fear coiled tighter.
Decision made, Michael strode confidently up to the door and rang the bell. Then knocked loudly. Nothing.
Before he could talk himself out of this, Michael blew out a breath and unlocked the door telekinectically, swiftly switching off Alex's top of the line security system at the same time. Then turned the door handle, letting a shaft of light from the street lamps above to shine onto the bare wall beside the doorway and felt like a thief.
Opening the door wide felt wrong, so he lingered, one boot on the threshold, unease settling in his spine.
"This isn't a violation of trust!" He called loudly. "I'm breaking and entering out of concern for you!" Hearing nothing in response, worry had him gently pushing the door open all the way, the terrible creaking sound Alex used as another alarm setting his teeth on edge.
But as he stepped inside his foot knocked the Crashdown take-out bag, he had slid inside the door two days ago. Staring at the white bag, now illuminated by the street lights, he took in the scattered leaflets and mail on the floor.
Alex hates mess, Michael thought with rising fear. His father had ensured that he does. Disorder of any kind was a perfectly good excuse to break his son's ribs, whether the mess was Alex's fault or not. Plus, with his prosthetic leg, Alex couldn't afford to risk slipping in his own doorway.
He had been wrong. This was exactly like the time Alex had been kidnapped.
====
Finding the right mysterious military base outside of Roswell, was not actually that difficult. It took a lot longer than Michael would have preferred, but he had to offset this plan with exhausting all other avenues.
He is an alien and Deep Sky had been set up as the mirror to Project Shepard. A covert paramilitary organization researching aliens.
Running there first might be the last thing he does, so he needs to be sure and he needs to be prepared.
No one has seen Alex in days, nor have they heard from him, not by text or the odd phone call. No one besides Michael seemed panicked by this and chalked it up to Alex's usual secretive, workaholic ways, or had assumed Alex was with Michael.
He had checked with Gregory that he wasn't by some miracle on the Rez. He had checked the Project Shepard bunker, the turquoise mines where Alex often checked the security he had rigged, doubled back to the Airstream...and each time had come up with nothing.
It was now past midnight and officially, Alex had been missing for two days.
This place was the last known location, an obscure military base some distance from Roswell.
Like Alex's suburban house, it operated on the basis of seeming unimportant and thrived in subtlety. But while the house kept secrets, this base he knew was protected by a lot more than a security system. Once inside, he might not be allowed to leave.
Strange then, how marching up to the security camera was far less unsettling that considering breaking into Alex's house, when this place literally studied aliens. Could very easily take him captive and trap him in a cell to be tortured and experimented on like his mother had been in Caulfield. Trampling on Alex's privacy was not lethal. What he was about to do, could be.
But the fear churning in Michael's chest had no room for the terror that should have been present. All he had was Alex's assurances that Eduardo Valenti was a good man and his own unbreakable faith in Alex Manes.
The man he loved was living a crusade to protect Michael and his family. To undo the wrongs, the atrocities committed by the Manes family over generations. There was no chance, he would work for someone he thought could hurt Michael.
He would have destroyed them by now, at the slightest hint of a threat.
His soldier took no prisoners.
Time was running out, the dread sitting like a stone in his chest, drove him to a reckless abandon that would have terrified Alex.
So he didn't hesitate as he parked his truck and refused to the let the military vehicles and absence of any security disturb him. Alex was his focus.
He unbuttoned his outer shirt and spread his feet, planting his boots into the dry earth as he looked up into the camera. The message he had scrawled on his own t-shirt, was brief but desperate. The fact that it only took three minutes for the main door to open and a flood of military personnel to stream out and surround him, really should have had his pulse racing. Instead, he felt a dark satisfaction.
He didn't have time to wait around.
Hell he didn't even know if the guy was on the premises, considering the hour, but there was one way to find out and if he had to cause enough trouble to get him out of bed and back here...well Michael had done worse things.
Just hang on Alex. Wherever the hell you are, I'm coming.
===
As it turned out, Eduardo Valenti was on-site and a night-owl.
They showed him to a rather small office with an expensive computer set-up and Michael found it in himself to be relieved they hadn't handcuffed him and instead let him walk, heavily escorted along studiously boring hallways that tried to distract from there being no windows, with law office decor and decent commercial carpet.
Eduardo Valenti sat behind his desk with a perturbed expression, reminiscent of his nephew and stared at Michael as if waiting for him do something theatrical, or showcase his abilities. It wasn't fear in his eyes or even discrimination. It was a a bizarre kind of shock. His casual suit failed to detract from his military posture and the calm, assessing way he watched Michael button up his shirt.
There were hints and reflections of Kyle, but Michael didn't trust that familiarity, refused to put faith in it.
His dark eyes widened when Michael spoke, as if the idea of an alien, real and undeniable speaking to him was beyond all imagining. '...I was rather hoping we could skip the awkward staring," He gestured to the computer on the desk, "And get to the part where we help Alex."
'Let's not forget you've violated several government laws and legally you can never see the sun again." Eduardo Valenti replied sternly, his expression intent, lifting his hand in a very Kyle gesture.
"Mmh." Michael said lifting his eyes skyward, "Let's not forget, you don't exactly have a doorbell."
The sharp reply, like with Kyle Valenti, stalled any comeback for a second, allowing Michael to continue, "And I went to Alex's house and found out that he hadn't been there in two days."
The realization that Michael had come here for Alex glittered in that gaze, but it was the concern that followed it that had relief filtering through his tight defenses. The same expression took over his controlled face, that often graced his nephew's features when someone was injured. Without questioning Michael or hesitating, the older man leaned forward and accessed his computer.
He typed several commands and then said tightly, "Alex locked away the machine two days ago." Valenti glanced up at Michael, the concern still there. "He logged out of the office."
Did the man have any idea who he was employing? The skills that Alex possessed?
The discovery that Alex was on camera locking away the machine with no human witnesses was not as comforting as Valenti expected it to be. The dread was still there, the burning need to find Alex had not receded in the slightest.
"Yes, you're all trustful of each other I know," Michael said exasperated, emphasizing his drawl. "But considering he's one of the best hackers in the world, maybe he broke protocol to work on the machine that has a built in siren song."
He expected the man to demand how he knew that, but he didn't even seem surprised that Michael was naming their precious device, a machine his own mother had built. Had he been counting on Alex reaching out to Michael?
More than a little disturbed, Michael stared at Eduardo Valenti and willed him to listen, but he also had to think ahead. He didn't want Alex court marshaled or...imprisoned....or shot because they both broke the rules. Defying a covert operation run by the government, usually ended in a body bag he was sure. After everything that Michael had experienced so far, trusting authorities was treacherous ground.
"What if he triggered something? Activated the siren song? What if that machine is controlling him?" Michael demanded. "I figured no one checks on him? No one supervises? You don't have a back-up witness if things go wrong?"
"Alex has been working in small increments of time." Eduardo said defensively.
So no, there was no one checking on Alex while he worked with a homicidal machine. Michael figured Alex wouldn't appreciate a babysitter, but it was a machine with a body count.
Was Alex worth so little? All his years of service, everything he's given for this country, all of his skills and no one cares if he's okay?
'So no one has seen him? He's hasn't apparently come into work? He hasn't contacted you? No updates?" Michael pressed, trying suppress his anger, aiming for a reasonable tone. Surely that was a red flag? Alex worked directly under Valenti if he was reading this right, so he must have to report his findings.
If he could just get him to see that Alex in his right mind would be here, he might have a chance.
"A siren song that causes hallucinations." Michael reminds him.
He didn't add that Alex has PTSD, war trauma, childhood abuse trauma and the possibility that having all of that, could in theory make it easier for the siren song to work. Michael could see it in Eduardo Valenti's eyes, a man who had served to distinction as well, in heavy combat zones. If at certain times your own mind struggled to identify reality, the machine could latch onto that weakness and exploit it?
Still, Valenti clearly didn't want to believe him, but he reached for the phone on the desk. Watching Michael, he ordered, as if daring him to be right, "Run a diagnostic on the security cameras in Sector 2."
"Hurry please. If he's is being controlled that thing could be killing him." Michael said, half a demand, half plea, refusing to consider the possibility that Alex might already be....
No. Until he had proof that Alex was lost to him, his Alex was alive.
The phone rang not a minute later and Eduardo snatched up the receiver. His face paled as he listened, dropping a quiet thank you before replacing it and returning to the computer. "Oh no, he hacked the camera and took the machine." Valenti said urgently.
Michael was already moving at the word 'hacked', darting around the desk to see the footage playing on the screen. A metal storage unit could be seen right in the middle, door open and clearly unsecured.
"That thing whatever it is, has Alex under its control." Michael said in horror, his voice hushed.
Valenti nodded and started typing, looking through logs and checking other camera feeds.
Michael shifted back and stared at him, with dread all but choking him. "Are you telling me that Alex has been exposed to the machine for two days straight?" He asked desperately.
Eduardo's head whipped around to stare at Michael and he rose from his chair immediately, "We need to find him."
...Because Michael hasn't been trying to do that for at least a day. Wasn't in fact here in Deep Sky's offices, trying to force a search party in the first place. No, he was just here on a scenic tour, Michael thought sarcastically, but held his tongue.
Terror was living in his cells and sparking in his blood, but Michael forced himself to focus. Panicking wasn't going to find and save Alex. "Wait."
Valenti paused at the door, mystified. "What? You said it yourself, Alex has been exposed for two days."
Michael held onto his temper by a thread. "The machine is controlling him, making him hallucinate. He's not operating like he usually would, but he knows this set-up...these... sectors. If the machine wants him to keep connecting to it, like a phone and is using the mind-whammy to do that...where would he take it?"
Valenti stared at him, weighing his words.
"He's in deep enough that he's forgotten everything else. Protocol, the danger, the ties to his life." Michael said forcefully. Alex forgot their date, forgot to call Michael, check in with Eduardo, all uncharacteristic things. "Where? A place that guarantees access to the things he needs and no interruptions? An interruption could break the machine's hold on him, distract him away from it."
"You think this machine wants to...be connected? And is controlling Alex to get him to do something?" Valenti asked, sounding as disturbed as Michael felt.
"Its a phone right? An alien phone built to connect to aliens." Michael snapped. "Not sure if you know this, but aliens like me have abilities, pisonic abilities that humans do not have. It might connect differently to me, with the whole hallucinations thing being a horrible side-effect for humans! I don't know. But if it is, then its purpose is to stay connected. It will want to keep Alex on the line or hold onto his mind to get him to do something."
His sister had remarkable mental gifts, sliding into other people's minds like water. Michael himself had to acknowledge, at least here and silently, that his abilities to mentally and emotionally manipulate were far more advanced, even if he refused to use them. Why would a device built by an telepathic alien engineer not involve telepathic communication? It was ludicrous not to think so, but apparently everyone else was laboring under the pretext that it didn't.
"None of his predecessors survived this machine." Valenti admits, one hand on the door.
Which is why you let Alex work on its unsupervised. Michael thinks viciously, anger stirring again. Swallowing he forced the words out, "Alex is stubborn and the strongest man I know." Because it was true. No matter how damaged Alex was, how much trauma he had endured, Alex Manes was both a hero and a survivor.
"The workspace Alex was using is in Sector 2. Its a different facility. We need to get there." Valenti said, command settling in his tone, in his body language. This was a commander, readying himself for battle.
===
Sector 2 turned out to be some way from whatever Sector Michael had entered, or wherever he had been taken for his meeting with Valenti.
Every second of the route getting closer to Alex was an eternity of anxiety-fueled fear. Corridors and offices passed in a blur, the car ride to the other facility was both gratifyingly quick and still taking too long, when Alex's life was on the line.
The white-capped peaks of the Sierra Blanca always to the east of Roswell, loomed closer, a deep blue lightening to the color of air force dress uniforms as the dawn crept closer still. The desert below was a dark shadow of scrub-land and telephone poles, the road stretching out into the horizon.
Once they were there, a larger facility built into the base of a mountain, Eduardo led the way through this second building, the air colder at this elevation. Another maze of corridors and carpet, but Michael moved faster, overtaking a surprised Eduardo as he rushed past him as soon as the elevator doors opened.
No one surprisingly stopped him, as he darted along a blind path, every corridor appearing the same until he got to the open door at the end.
He could feel it, the rush of energy that roiled and darted like fish in a pond. It felt familiar and its echo was its own siren call to Michael as he made it into a wide open space with windows staring out onto the mountainous valley below.
Glass doors led into another office and here, Michael could feel it like the beat of his heart.
"Alex!" Michael called as he ripped open the door, panic fueled strength and telekinesis combining to buckle the aluminum. A pin code was not stopping him from entering the room.
Inside were desks and a wide table fit for a conference room in a corporate building. There were laptops open on its surface, cables and various modules scattered around, like those he had seen before inside Alex's bunker. In the center was a machine like no other.
At first glance it looked like a clock or a old-fashioned radio, dials spinning and he could hear a faint humming coming from it. It washed over Michael's skin, battering suddenly at his mental shields like fists against a door.
Gritting his teeth Michael pushed the sensation way, denying its invasion of his mind. The energy he had felt before luring him here, strengthened and he felt it sending out a pulse.
One blink and he turned his head, straight out the window to his worst nightmare.
Alex Manes on the ledge of the concrete balcony.
===
"Alex!"
The shout was ripped from his throat as he raced to the open glass door. Glass shattered, panic causing him to lose some of his usually tight control and the icy winds of the mountain rolled over his skin as he hurtled forward.
Alex slipped, grey boots unsteady on the narrow ledge.
"Alex! No! Alex!" Every fiber of Michael's being focused entirely on Alex, his powers responding as his heart lurched, hands desperately outstretched. In the second before Alex plummeted, Michael wrapped him in a telekinetic bubble and wrenched him down from the ledge, so he started to fall backwards - into Michael.
For a moment, Alex seemed to fight the pull back to safety and Michael tightened his grip even more.
Valenti gasped and called "Alex, no!" As he stumbled in behind Michael.
Michael's hand reached for Alex's as he landed, his other arm curling protectively around his waist. Falling almost limply, his body exhausted, Alex dropped like a stone into Michael's hold. "I got you. I got you." Michael chanted as he wrapped his arms tightly around his body.
They landed in a heap on the ground and Alex was gasping as if he had run for miles, his skin icy. But he was alive and heavy in Michael's arms.
Alex clutched Michael's hand, his grip shaky but desperate. He pressed his face into Michael's neck, and choked out, "M...Michael."
"I got you." Michael breathed into his windswept hair, kissing his temple and tucked him even further into his embrace. "I always got you."
==
Alex was semi-conscious when they had moved him to the on-site medical wing, emotionally and physically drained. Michael had guided him onto the stretcher, Eduardo had called to the office, convincing him in hushed tones to just lie back. It was difficult. Alex was caught in the ebbing tide of panic himself, exhausted and confused.
Thankfully, he believed that Michael was real. Or he wanted to believe that, overriding doubt by choosing to believe. Indecision conquered again. To be honest, Michael wasn't sure how to react, how to soothe and console, but his gentle tone and physical touches seemed to be helping.
"Can you keep him calm?" The medic asked, in quiet firm tones. Michael looked at him and saw the no-nonsense stance of someone who had seen the inside of hell and carried others out of there.
He could but try. Alex finally agreed to lie on stretcher, eyes locked onto Michael, his hands wrapped around Michael's wrist. Those beautiful dark eyes were not fully aware, filled with fear and hope. He brushed his free hand over Alex's windswept hair, "I'll keep him calm."
Figuring Alex was going to panic when they tried moving him and he had already proven he was an alien, Michael hoped fervently that Alex wasn't going to remember this. Flicking his free hand, the stretcher lifted with no assistance, rising to the height of Michael's hip.
There was absolute silence on the balcony and Alex's eyes drifted shut, turning his face into Michael's palm, when he cupped his cheek. "Come on darling, let's get you checked out." He whispered, then lifting his head asked caustically, "Well? Someone want to show me the way? Alex is cold."
Eduardo snapped back into focus and ushered Michael back through the office, the medics trailing behind their patient, shooting Michael nervous looks which he ignored.
Alex remained calm, as long as Michael was touching him and talking quietly, his rapid pulse slowing to something more normal, his breath unsteady but easier now. When they got to the medical wing, Michael lifted Alex off the stretcher with his telekinesis, gently lowering him to the waiting bed.
Alex's eyes snapped open and he tensed as he took in the new location. "Its alright darling," Michael crooned softly.
His bloodshot dark eyes darted around the small room, his face pinched with all the signs of a headache, his hands shaking.
Michael missed the name of the doctor too focused on Alex, fretting over his unsteady breathing and how much pain he must be in, after keeping his prosthetic on for two days straight. They swooped in and Alex's entire body tensed as if for a fight, "Its alright, they're just checking you over. I'm here. You're safe Alex. It will be okay."
And it was for a few minutes, except Alex was distressed every time Michael shifted away to make rooms for the medics, or when he felt their joined hands move. "Don't leave. Michael. Don't." Alex had pleaded with him, his voice soft and vulnerable, his eyes fervent. "You have to be real. Please be real."
Michael had gathered him in his arms and held on, kissing his hair. "I'm not going anywhere Private. We just gotta get through this and then we can go." Home he didn't say because where was that for them? "Just a little longer."
After seeing up close the unguarded wince as his bad leg was moved, Michael figured things would just be easier if he removed the prosthesis, so still holding Alex's hand, he reached for his leg with his mind. He ignored the medical people, lifted Alex smoothly an inch or two off the bed and took off Alex's jeans, while talking to him, telling him about an engine he had been fixing, then undid the prosthesis.
It was bad.
His residual limb had been chafed raw, the skin between the scars bleeding, the stump itself swollen. He was dehydrated, exhausted and hazy on a lot of details. It was, reminiscent of crashing when a drug wore off, Michael thought.
They didn't want to sedate him, unsure of the effects, but when they forced them apart to run a number of scans, Alex had fought. Even in his exhausted state, his prosthetic removed from his now injured right leg, Alex had tried to get off the bed and it had taken Michael catching him, to get him to settle again.
A compromise of Michael remaining in his line of sight pacified Alex enough for the main scans, his dark eyes suspicious and afraid. He was trying to rein all reaction in, his default mode where his armor hid almost everything he was thinking, but he was too shaken and Michael thought, in too much pain to think clearly.
Michael's heart already ripped to shreds, broke somehow further seeing that look in his soulmate's eyes.
"You're real." Alex said, a question lurking in the background, his eyes bright with unshed tears, lips compressed as he fought himself.
"Real." Michael replied gently, "I'm real. You're safe Alex. I'm right. I got you."
The doctor tried to get Alex to focus on him, and asked a series of questions. His name, rank, date of birth, the name of the state and President. All standard questions for a suspected concussion and Alex answered all of then correctly. At Michael's prompting he admitted that his head was throbbing and his leg was cramping, the confused haze lifting. Michael could see it, something like the usual sharpness returning to Alex's gaze, his grip on Michael more for support than a lifeline to sanity.
But Michael kept talking and stood his ground by Alex's bed, keeping his attention on him more than the doctors. It was helping Michael stay calm, reassuring himself that Alex was here.
When he was calmer, Eduardo had demanded an explanation. It was said softly and still had Michael's hackles rising.
Alex had explained, that he had attached the machine to a piece of turquoise and that had triggered the mechanism within the machine itself. He revealed that Project Shepard, or one of his predecessors maybe, had inserted man-made technology into the center and he presumed this was what had corrupted the system.
He claimed that he had been shutting everything down, to report to Eduardo his findings, when the machine had changed its frequency. "Next thing I know, its talking to me."
He told them that it was as if he was in a dreamlike state at first, nothing real and time had slipped away.
At some point he gained more awareness and that was the hallucinations began in earnest. The machine had basically wanted Alex to fix it, but Alex couldn't understand what it wanted exactly, when the hallucinations started. It wouldn't let him leave, increasing the power of the hallucination, until he couldn't tell reality from lies.
He did reluctantly admit though, that the machine seemed to understand his connection to Michael. "It wanted me to take it to Michael."
And Alex had clearly fought tooth and nail against this idea. Michael himself had no idea what to think. Calling Michael would have solved the problem really, but had Alex been too far out of his mind to think of that? Trying to bring it to Michael might have ended up with Alex dying in a car crash or wandering around the desert stoned. He might have ended up imprisoned for stealing the machine, or shot when he resisted. But...he would not have been alone on a ledge though.
"I wasn't suicidal. I didn't know what reality was." Alex had admitted and didn't really understand how he had ended up on the ledge. He had been trying to push the hallucinations out of his head, he said. Trying to get away.
That hit Michael like a punch to the solar plexus.
Valenti had accepted this, clearly worried about Alex. The doctors confirmed that Alex needed recovery, but his vitals were stable and that there didn't seem to be any side-effects. Naturally Alex wanted to go home and as reluctant as they were, a few hours later, Michael had been allowed to not only leave the building, but take Alex home with him.
He wanted to bury his face in that perfect juncture where that strong neck, met the slope of shoulder, where he could hide his burning eyes in Alex's hair.
With crutches, Alex had powered his way to the car waiting to take them back to the first facility. He had leaned into Michael as they had driven along the same road, that was going to haunt Michael's dreams for years to come and then, reluctantly accepting assistance had moved to Michael's truck. Three minutes into the ride, he had fallen asleep on the passenger door, barely rousing when Michael had tried hauling him out of the seat.
Michael had spent the entire car ride trying not to give into the need to just clutch Alex Manes in his arms, because his soldier was eying the driver with that steel-edged gaze of distrust.
Then when they back safely in his truck, he spent the time alternating between watching the road and glancing at Alex every few minutes. Every sense was trained on Alex, his telekinesis almost without thought cushioning Alex's body as he slipped further into the passenger door, and into restless sleep. Just a little further and Alex would be safe in his own home.
He didn't hesitate to follow him inside. He practically had to carry him and Alex was out of it enough, that he didn't really fight. That stubborn streak of pure independence muted, to a half-hearted protest.
Food was pasta he found in the back of Alex's cupboards and a jar of sauce that was getting a little close to expiry. But Alex smiled at him like he had done something remarkable, his focus slipping along with his fork, jerking upright painfully and reaching for Michael, with that hint of distress Michael hated.
He'd fight any battle for Alex, loved every single part of the man, but damn he wished he could go back in time and stop Alex from leaving his house or use his abilities to vanquish every demon in Alex's head. Or more truthfully Jesse Manes. Eradicate him from Alex's memories.
He couldn't and comforting Alex was an art form he as still learning. Too much and Alex would retreat. Too little and it did nothing to soothe his pain. So he kept close and made noise as they ate, and Alex relaxed slowly, his smile so ragged but still stunning.
The shower was harder and involved Michael carefully supporting Alex with telekinesis when he stubbornly insisted he could manage, half asleep and now jumpy. His love was out again, after his dose of pills before Michael had even finished checking the bandage wrapped around his stump for signs the bleeding had restarted. Their fingers tangled in the ocean of sheets separating them, Alex's body sinking into the mattress, turned to face Michael who was perched at the foot of the bed, fretting over Alex's leg.
It took no time at all to choose to follow the promise of that tight hold on his hand and slide into the space next to Alex.
And something in him, a wound he hadn't even realized was bleeding, started to heal as Alex mumbled his name and tumbled into his embrace as soon as Michael settled. He buried his head in Michael's chest and finally, he could breathe, gathering Alex to him so his weight was almost pinning Michael down, his arms looping around his back. But sleep never came.
===
Michael watched as the edges of the curtains began to glow with the vivid orange and pink hues of a desert sunset. His body was purposefully lax, a boneless sprawl and careful even breaths, ensuring that the precious man curled into his side, remained blissfully unaware in what he hoped was pleasant nothingness or the sweet comfort of good dreams.
It was drug induced admittedly, the prescribed post-IED sleeping tablets that Alex usually avoided, afraid of becoming dependent. He hated the cotton-ball taste in his mouth and the weird hangover he felt the following day, but it was when the drug trapped him in bad dreams he hated it the most. Admitting this to Michael in a hushed tone, as if confessing a terrible secret.
But, even drugs couldn't erase the easy-to-disrupt patterns of his sleep, military related threats Michael didn't want to imagine and the trauma etched too deeply on his soul for smooth rest.
For as long as Michael remained beside him, in this sweet languid haze, Alex would rest. If he moved too much, or if he left the bed, he was sure that Alex would notice, and the steady sleep would draw closer to distress, nightmares swooping in to trap him.
Considering Alex had been trapped in an hallucination not seven hours ago, Michael was not risking it. He shuddered remembering it again.
Dust motes catch the fine shafts of light that the blackout blinds can't block, each one seeming to ignite for a brief second before vanishing. Like the half life of a radioactive particle. Seconds, Michael thinks. That was all he had. Seconds to be there at the right time and any one moment where he had stalled or paused, even to take a single breath, could have meant the entire end of his world.
Because caught in the vortex of corrupted technology, in a cycle of confused self-loathing, hallucinating and exhausted, the core of his world, the reason he even wanted to keep breathing himself, had nearly plummeted to the bottom of a ravine.
Alex had very nearly killed himself.
The breath in his lungs stuttered as he made himself think of this. Actually use the words and connect it to Alex.
In 2019, there were over six thousand veteran suicides, four hundred fewer than in 2018. A statistic he had read during his private exploration of prosthetics and PTSD. One he had never applied to the love of his life, never thought to.
Alex. His Alex. His hope and his soldier. His heartbreak inducing addiction. His reason for staying on this planet.
The love that burned in his heart for this troubled soul, this precious, stubborn man born into chaos and made to survive rather than live, it was consuming and endless. It eclipsed and always had, the love he even had for his family, self-preservation and in these arms, he found his safe haven. Their love was tested and hallowed, unbroken chains despite the war they had waged for and against each other. The crusades and the agony of loss. The specter and very real threat of Jesse Manes, that had lingered and prowled at the fringes of their life, until once again hurting everything in his path.
From the moment, Alex had left for the Air Force, body hurting from his father's fists and his heart broken by hatred, Michael had lived with fear. That one day, someone was going to mention offhanded and uncaring, that the youngest Manes boy had died overseas. That he was going to walk into the Wild Pony and Maria was going to be shattered, his own heart obliterated the moment the aching terror that lived in his bones became reality.
'Three quarters of one.'
Glib and faintly defensive, Alex rapping his knuckles on the steel body of his prosthesis when he had first returned, announcing his pain so loudly and so subtly, it had twisted a hot knife in Michael's ribs with the ringing truth that his worst fear had nearly become reality, while he had remained oblivious. The reality that Alex had not come back in one piece, sending him to his knees the privacy of his Airstream.
That night, with tequila as his witness, he had sworn to himself that if Alex ever gave him another chance, he would never let the man think that Michael loved him less for it.
Alex had nearly been killed.
Seven hours, five minutes and forty one seconds ago, Alex had again nearly died and if he hadn't been so worried for the man, willing to push and pray that Alex wouldn't mind too much if he checked on him...if they hadn't reconciled...if they were still separate entities orbiting the same space or each other really...Alex might be dead and he would be fucking oblivious until someone called to tell him Alex was dead. And they might not know that would be killing Michael the moment those words became indelible fact.
Would his heart just stop, a seizure and ending of all vital functions if someone told him Alex was dead? Would he deny it, vehemently until he was made to look, to lay his hand on what was left of Alex's broken body on a morgue table? Would he have followed Alex over that ledge?
Michael had accepted years ago, that a world without Alex Manes, wasn't one worth remaining on. Now, in Alex's arms, there was a place of belonging. To lose that, would kill him.
A callused hand shifted from Michael's upper abs to his sternum, dark brows twitching as Alex dreamed, pulling his focus from his waking nightmare, to the vision tucked safety into his side. Alex was alive. He reminded himself firmly. Alex was fine. He had passed a full series of scans and tests. All he needed was sleep and monitoring. Both of which, when added to food and a shower, Michael could easily achieve. Rest and love. Alex was going to be fine.
So he took a deep breath and Alex's foot flexed where it was pressed to Michael's calf in some kind of reaction, so he quickly stroked a hand gently through Alex's hair, relieved when that gorgeous face relaxed, body turned fractionally deeper into Michael's arms. Alex was fine. Upset.But fine.
Mostly lying on his left side as was his habit after years of sleeping in the trailer, Alex was tucked into the curve of his body, his nose brushing Michael's chin. Michael gently swept his hand up Alex's spine, ghosting over muscle to play with chain of his dog-tags and the soft ends of his dark hair.
Having a near perfect memory was ostensibly a useful tool, an advantage he had once been proud of. Proof of his superiority. Useful right until, it becomes your own torment. The flow of events, the potential differences and the sharpness of the what-ifs, the data he obsessively hoarded and kept secret. The sheer amount of knowledge he had accumulated on the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, prostheses and recovery.
Right now though, it was replaying that moment of Alex slipping...boots struggling to find purchase on the icy concrete.
Seconds to pull Alex from that ledge. Seconds to run the length of that corridor, wasted time convincing Kyle's uncle and every decision and delay he had faced up to that point, crashed into his mind.
"Is it morning?" Alex's voice rasped from its place in his collarbone and Michael gently eased back to look at Alex.
Dark eyes heavy with sleep watched him, a warm faintly amused expression in the chocolate depths he loved. Two days of stubble graced his jaw and his hair was beautifully tousled.
This face, perfect and beloved, was the vision Michael had wanted to wake up to every day since he was seventeen and figuring out what love meant.
"Hey you." Michael said, his voice hushed, voice light as simple joy lit his heart. Alex was awake and coherent as he responded to Michael. "How's your head?'
The question was left field apparently because Alex frowned thinking. Then he turned those dark eyes back to him, now wide with upset and vulnerable as he only ever was with Michael. "I missed our date didn't I?" He rasped. "It was night and now its morning and I,"
"Two days late." Michael said mildly, running his fingers along his shoulder. Gestures of affection for them were a new thing, this permission to just touch whenever he felt like it, heady on the average day. It was a revelation, being able to just stroke his fingers along Alex's jaw, hold his hand, kiss the side of head because he wanted to...annoyingly simply gestures that every other couple on the planet used to convey love. He feared pushing it too far, but Alex seemed to soak up the affection. "And its sunset darlin."
Alex paused, eyes flicking to the curtains, taking in the fading light and then staring at him, gratifyingly horrified. "Two days?"
"Yep. " He ran his knuckles over Alex's jaw, loving the stubble that he knew was going to be dealt with as soon as Alex looked in the mirror. "Two days, seven hours and eleven minutes."
Alex stared and repeated slowly, "Eleven minutes?"
"Coming up for twelve now." Michael said placidly.
"Why...?" Alex tried, his eyes desperately searching Michael's.
Here we go.
"I'm going to pretend that question is something along the lines of, 'why does that machine cause hallucinations like LSD? ' The answer is, because you and all your predecessors are human and its an alien phone." Michael said flatly. "Because the other answer is so obvious you wouldn't think to ask me that. Because you went MIA and scared the hell outta me. I literally found you on a fricking ledge Alex." The tears he had been holding back for hours, blurred his vision obscuring those precious features. He angrily blinked them away and long fingers appeared stroking along his cheekbone.
The threat to Alex was over. There were no homicidal machines, or secret labs here in this one story house in this nice neighborhood. Here curled up beneath the soft white sheets and the sunset orange blanket, this is a safe haven. There were no ledges or mountains, the demons that haunted them quiet for once. Alex was sleep warm and tense, but he was alive, beautiful and lying as close to Michael as he possibly could. Here, he could let go. There was nowhere to fall.
"Alex." He said helplessly, the word spilling from the torn edges of his heart. "Alex. I had seconds and I was nearly too late and I looked everywhere and you were gone and,"
"Hey," Alex shifted even closer, kissing Michael sweetly who clutched him close. "I'm alive. You saved me. I remember that."
"Yeah only took me two days." Michael said wetly, trying to aim for levity.
"I'm so sorry Michael." Alex said stroking a hand through his curls. The apology was heartfelt, misery in Alex's eyes and guilt. "Don't cry Baby. I'm not leaving you."
I'd have brought you back like Max did with Rosa. Or joined you. Michael thought, but only shook his head and kissed Alex. Heat built and Alex's response reached frantic quickly. He would love to take this further, to shower Alex in pleasure and drive away those demons with the sheer force of his adoration, his love. But the doctors had advised he rest, and Michael was going to make damn sure he did.
So he eased back the throttle on the kiss and eventually pulled back to tuck his face into Alex's neck. Alex's arms immediately appeared to wrap around him, a kiss pressed to his curls. Like a switch was flipped Alex went from combustion to comforting, running his hand down Michael's spine in one long sweet caress.
"How much of what you told your boss was true?" Michael asked quietly, figuring Alex might be more open if he wasn't looking at Michael..
Alex sighed miserably, almost a sob, but didn't stop touching him, stroking his hair, his fingers caressing his temple down to his ear. "Almost all of it."
"And the fake part?"
"The part where I was going to him, to give him a report of my findings." Alex answered promptly.
Michael absorbed that and kissed Alex's throat.
"I wanted to fix this for you," Alex says solemnly, as if expecting condemnation from Michael, or explosive anger. "I wanted to clear it up, so..."
He was going to throw himself in the fire, uncaring of his own safety, to carve out answers. Alex never gave up, and he wouldn't, not even for Michael. Partly, because he was doing this for Michael and seemed incapable of considering how little all his sacrifices are going to mean, if Michael is left with Alex's body on a morgue table.
But shouting didn't help. And Michael didn't have the strength right now for long discussions and protracted, often bitter arguments about Alex's need to avenge Michael's family, and make up for all the atrocities committed by his own.
"Yeah," Michael said softly, irony heavy in his voice, "So we could live a normal picket-fence life."
The breath stilled in Alex's chest for a second there and it had Michael's head lifting, arms tightening their grip on Alex. He met pain filled dark eyes and stroked his cheek tenderly. "Alex, any way you slice it, our picket fenced yard is gonna hold aliens."
Amusement glittered in Alex's eyes, a soft expression of hope.
"But Alex, these two days....you nearly died." Michael told him, the tears restarting. "Nothing is worth that. I can't lose you Alex."
Alex swallowed, a lone tear tracing down one sculpted cheek. "I never wanted to hurt you."
Michael pressed his finger to his lips, sealing away the apologies and the echoes of the past that were going to be thrust back into the light of day. Pieces of the past, like knives for Alex to cut himself with, salt to rub in Michael's healing wounds. "You were fighting for us." Michael interrupted him, "I know that. But you ended fighting a homicidal machine and nearly sent us both to an early grave."
Alex winced, hearing the word 'homicidal' and clearly just realizing what Michael had figured out."I shouldn't have..."
"Avoided mentioning the homicidal part?" Michael suggested. "Because I gotta say, when Valenti just came out and said that it this thing has killed all your predecessors - I didn't get a warm fuzzy feeling Alex."
"I thought I was taking every precaution, that I would decode something that might help you...but I didn't want you to worry." Alex admitted, shame and misery in his gaze again. "But then...the machine showed me my fears."
Now he sounded defeated and Michael leaned up on one elbow to brush his free hand along Alex's chest, in comfort. Alex's life had involved trauma from childhood up. His mother had walked out on him and his brothers, leaving them in an abusive home. He had served three tours overseas in an active war zone, lost part of his right leg, several friends and had been cruelly hurt by his own father, bullied endlessly for being gay. He battled with his own self-loathing and self-sabotaging, had in fact struggled to find himself outside of uniform, trying to reconnect with that emo rebel he had been in high school. Fears, said in that soft, defeated tone, could mean anything.
"I guess I just couldn't get the fear of the rocky path ahead of us out of my mind." Alex admitted. "All of it kind of exploded in that hallucination."
Michael hummed and leaned forward to kiss Alex's forehead. So the machine had targeted anxieties? He thought, but kept the words silent on his tongue. "I spoke to Sanders about the same thing." He told him instead, a smile curving his lips as he took in Alex's surprise.
"He said, you don't walk away from a broken engine. You find a way to make it purr again."
Alex played with his curls, wrapping one around his fingers and then letting it spring free. "You know,...um...I'm not sure just because of the you know, mass hallucinations, but when I was working on the machine, before all the,"
"Walking off a ledge?' Michael said hurting at the very reminder.
"That." Alex agreed, his eyes intent. "When I working on the machine, I opened it enough to see that a piece of tech from Project Shepard made it inside."
Worried by the look in Alex's eyes, Michael said earnestly, "You're saying that my Mom would have built it for something good, and your Dad figured out a way to mess with it?"
"Yeah. I think the phone idea is solid and the communication method is probably telepathic." Alex mused and Dear Lord, he loves this man.
"I kept thinking that if I was being held prisoner, by an enemy threatening to kill my family and they had proven more than capable of doing exactly that," Alex began nervously, 'And I had this golden opportunity to build something under their noses, or right in front of them...surely what I made would be to benefit my family?"
"You think my Mom designed it to send...a message?" Michael could see it, the idea of it taking flight.
"The enemy would activate it. They don't understand it and you know they'll keeping trying." Alex added. "For over thirty years various people have been trying to activate it."
"If we work together...if we remove the tech, then maybe we can find a way to make it purr?" Alex said hopefully.
Make it right, was what Alex was saying. Find answers, but make it right. Help me make it right.
Michael leaned in and brushed his nose against Alex's. "Well they let me in once, and I proved that the machine had no effect on me. It stopped transmitting as soon as I blocked it."
Alex's hand tightened in his hair and Michael kissed his forehead, "And you know, solving a seventy-five year old mystery, seems like a pretty good first date."
Alex smiled and it lit the darkening room, like the morning sun. His eyes cleared of shadows and recriminations, they were dancing with sharp intelligence and an sweet joy. "I think so too." He murmured and tugged Michael closer, claiming his lips in a searing kiss.
They would forge their own path, Michael thought and take control of their future, by righting the wrongs of the past and giving life to his mother's sacrifice.
With Alex by his side, anything was possible.
