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The Answer Book

Reply to Michelle K. or visit her website

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list January 15, 2002

Title: The Answer Book (1/1)
Author: Michelle K. (CageyGrl@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13
Site: http://www.envy.nu/wwfic
Archive: List archives. Anyone else ask.
Spoilers: Up to 'Behind the Music'
Pairing: Maria/Liz
Summary: "There should be books for things like this."
Disclaimer: Characters from "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, UPN, etc. None of these people are me. You have been warned.
Notes: Written in Maria's POV. First in the "Revelations" trilogy.



        There should be books for things like this. Well, I'm sure there are books for things *kinda* like this. 'How Do I Know I'm Gay,' 'Coming to Terms with Your Sexuality,' and the like.

        But I'm looking for a more specific book. Something like 'What It Means When A Previously One-Hundred Percent Heterosexual Finds Herself Thinking About Kissing Her Female Best Friend. Thinking About It a Lot.'

        Have you seen that one at your local bookstore? Maybe in the specialty section?

        Nah. Didn't think so. I guess I'm out of luck in that department.

        When did this start, you ask? Maybe after I broke up with Michael? Maybe it's all just coming out of a need for comfort - and, who better to comfort you than your best friend?

        Sounds good, right?

        Except it's not true. My thoughts...oh, they were there before the great break-up of the latter part of two thousand and one. It's been about three months, maybe. I've been waiting for the thoughts to go away, waiting for them to just disappear into the great abyss of my mind.

        They haven't.

        It makes no sense, really.

        Why Liz?

        Hell, why *any* girl?

        It's not like I don't like guys. I like Michael. Breaking up with him doesn't mean I don't care about him. And the sex...without getting into inappropriate details, the sex was very nice indeed.

        So, why?

        You see, this is why I need that book. I need somebody to explain to me why I would think of Liz at night. Why I would think of kissing her, touching her. Why, a few days ago when we were lying in bed together having a little girl talk session, I couldn't help but think how nice it would be if we were both naked under the covers.

        You do see how this is a problem, don't you?

        I really need that book, damn it.

        After all, it's not like I can talk to anyone about it.

        Liz is out of the picture, obviously, since she's the object of my...I'm not ready to call it desire...so, she's the object of my...um, interest. Yes, interest.

        I can't tell Michael. I just broke up with him, after all. I can't just call him up and say, "Hey, I know I just left you and everything, but would you like to help me with my sexual identity crisis?"

        And, anyway, I answered 'no' to the bisexual question. There may be some explaining to do there. Although, maybe I'm not technically bisexual, since I haven't acted on the feelings.

        Yes, I know I'm hair splitting. Just let me get on with this.

        No to Max since he's in love with Liz. He certainly won't smile and say, "Go for it!"

        Kyle? Well, it's possible he might be more enlightened with his exploration of Buddhism. But, he is a guy. A mention of girl-on-girl action might put him in some sort of happiness coma, causing him to stare and smile idiotically for years.

        Thus, no advice anyway.

        Can't be Isabel. I'm not that close with her. And Max is her brother. So, I don't think she'll smile and say, "Go for it!"

        I've considered my Mom the most, since she doesn't fall into any of the aforementioned categories. And I do think she's kinda open-minded. Kinda. And she never really liked Michael. Maybe she'd take confused sexuality as a blessing.

        Okay, probably not. So, Mom's out too.

        See? I need this book.

        But there isn't a book. Not *that* book anyway.

        But, according to the 'Maria Deluca Handbook of Common Sense,' I have three options.

        Option Number One: Get a therapist. May cost a lot of money, but she would be impartial and unable to spill my secrets to the mass public.

        Option Number Two: Keep the feelings to myself, forget they even exist, never mention them to anyone. I'm afraid, though, that this option may lead to me leaving my husband for some woman in about thirty years.

        It has happened. Just watch Ricki Lake, Oprah, Sally Jesse, Ananda..... Aw, hell, just watch daytime television.

        Option Number Three: Tell Liz what I've been feeling, risk the possibility that she might freak out - leading to a lot of awkwardness in an otherwise close and easy friendship.

        Which to choose? Maybe I need a guidebook for the handbook.

        Or maybe I should just choose number three. It's less expensive than number one, more honest than number two.

        Yes. Number three.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Liz looks great in that uniform.

        That's another thought I've been having lately. Or more specifically, right now.

        Because, well, she does look great. Her legs are just...

        I shouldn't get myself worked up too much, or I may look like some sex-crazed freak when I tell her about what's been going on.

        And, if I want her to be cool with this, I can't go with sex-crazed freak. (Something else from the handbook.)

        And I am going to tell her about this. In about five minutes.

        No, not five minutes. Now. Right now.

        "Hey," I say casually, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

        "Sure," Liz says with a smile.

        Damn. Why did she have to smile? I can't speak for a moment, and she looks alarmed.

        God, she's adorable when she's concerned about me.

        She puts her hand on my arm. That feels a lot nicer than it should. "Maria, are you okay?"

        "Yeah, I'm..." I clear my throat. "...fine. I just need to talk. In private."

        "Of course."

        She follows me into the back. And now, we're finally alone. It should be easy to tell her.

        Easy, easy, easy.

        So, why am I still silent?

        "What is it?" She pauses. "You know you can tell me anything."

        "Of course I do."

        So, in all actuality, I should've told her about this months ago. But I haven't.

        And I can't. My voice catches in my throat again, almost like some mystic force is keeping me quiet.

        Of course, it's just fear. But mystic force sounds more interesting.

        "It's Michael. I miss him so much, but I know we're just not right together."

        Thin, but it's the first thing I thought of.

        She puts her arms around me. And I start crying. I don't know why.

        She keeps holding me. And I cry harder.

        And that's where I stay for a long time, pressed against her, feeling inexplicably like hell.

        Until Mr. Parker walks in.

        "What are you two--" he begins, until he sees us. From the way he's staring at me, I can assume I probably look like hell too. "Maria, are you okay?"

        "I'm fine," I reply. I think the fact that I'm still sniffling gives the opposite impression.

        Liz pulls away from me a little. "Dad, could you just give us a couple of minutes?"

        "Sure," he says as he walks out.

        She looks at me. "It'll be okay," she assures me.

        She talks about all the reasons I broke up Michael, why I needed to get away from him to follow my dream.

        I nod, I agree, since it is me who made these points. And I do agree with them. I just wish I had the guts to tell her Michael isn't my problem.

        "Look," she says after her speech. "I should go out there."

        "Yeah. I'll just clean myself up."

        "We'll talk more about this later."

        I can only nod.

        She pats me on the arm reassuringly before walking away.

        It's when I'm wiping my tears away that I realize why I was crying.

        Because I will never be able to tell my best friend about something very important.

        That I'm in love with her.

        Because, even if I never find a book that explains why it happened, that's what it is.

        Love.

        And I can't tell her.

        So, going back to my handbook, I have two options left. Either save up for that shrink, or deny everything to myself.

        Hmm. I wonder who will be hosting talk shows in thirty years.

        Or I could just gain some guts and go back to option three. Because, honestly, I don't like shrinks or talk shows all that much.

        So, I'm going with option three.

        Maybe.

        Damn, I really wish I had that book. I'm going to go find a huge Barnes and Noble and make sure it doesn't actually exist.

        Then, I'm coming back here and telling Liz everything.

        In about a week.

        What? Guts don't grow on trees, you know.

        THE END

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