RSA Main Fiction by Title Fiction by Author Fiction by Partners Slash Subplots Familiar Faces Links

Behind Blue Eyes

Reply to Bennie or visit her website

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive May 10, 2001

Behind Blue Eyes
Author: Bennie
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell.
Summary: Liz POV; Songfic
Author's Notes: Inspired by: Behind Blue Eyes (a coincidence, I assure you) by The Who

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

        I stopped when I saw her.

        She was standing outside an electronics store, looking in the window. No, looking at the window, at her reflection. She looked almost ... hypnotized.

        I took a step closer, trying to see what had her so captivated. All I saw were televisions, VCRs and stereos stacked artfully along walls and in eye-catching displays.

        But they hadn't caught her attention; I realized. It was her eyes - she was looking into her own eyes.

        As I watched, they flickered, and I knew she saw me. But she didn't move. So I joined her at the window and looked into the gaze of her pale reflection, and soon she looked into mine, into my brown eyes.

        "What are you doing?" I asked, trying not to sound accusatory. Trying to sound like I cared as a friend, not because she played such an important role in my life. Trying not to let on how I watched her sometimes, trying to figure her out.

        But I don't know her. I'm not sure I ever could.

No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling lonely lies

        "Listen," she whispered, and I did. I heard the sounds of traffic, the odd whispers of conversations around us, the tinkling of a nearby wind chime in the breeze.

        "The music," she said.

        I listened, and froze. There was a speaker over the doorway, and they were playing an old song that I'd heard my dad play sometimes when I was a kid. Some band that was famous for breaking stuff onstage. I knew this song, and now that I stood here, I couldn't believe that I'd never associated it with the girl standing next to me.

        It told her story.

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

        I listened with her until the song ended, and waited for her to speak.

        "I ... I have to go home now," she said, and I could hear the tears she was trying to repress.

        "Wait," I asked her, and went inside the store without looking to see if she did.

        When I stepped outside, I thought she'd left. Something in my stomach shifted. But then I saw her, standing off a little, watching me.

        I walked over.

        "Let's go," I said, and without protesting she led me over to the Sheriff's SUV. I knew he leant it to her sometimes because Kyle complained a lot about what an imposition aliens are in human lives.

        I wondered if Kyle knows that he smiles when he complains about Tess.

        When we got there we headed for his old room, where I know she lives now.

        I put the CD on, setting one track on repeat before joining her on the bed.

No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings
Like I do - and I blame you
No one bites back as hard on their anger
None of my pain and woe can show through

        I didn't sit next to her, or close to her. She sat at the head, leaning against pillows and wall. I sat at the foot, propped against the narrow edge of a bookshelf.

        We looked at each other as we listened to the song.

        "It's your song," I said.

        She looked at me for a moment, and nodded.

        "Some of it's your song too," she said, holding up a finger for quiet. I listened to the verse that was playing then, and nodded myself.

        "I do but I don't, you know." She seemed surprised to have spoken out loud.

        "Blame me?" I clarified, although I thought I understood.

        She nodded. I got a funny image in my mind then, of the two of us as puppets, marionettes bobbing and nodding while someone behind the false backdrop pulled the strings. But it didn't make me want to laugh.

        "Me too," I answer. She knows what I mean; we both blame someone who isn't really to blame. Sometimes it's the only thing you can do.

        Railing against destiny is futile.

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

        The song finished and began again. We listened to it all the way through this time in silence, and let it slip into a third playing.

        Partway through there was a knock at the door.

        "Tess?" It was Kyle. He sounded a little concerned.

        "Are you in there? What's going on?"

        Neither of us responded.

        After a moment the knob turned and he stepped in a little.

        "Tess?" he asked again, the worry more pronounced in his tone now.

        He saw us both at the same time and stopped, trying to understand.

        "You okay?" he asked her first, and I liked him for it.

        She nodded, tilting her head in invitation.

        He paused for a moment to study me. He didn't know what to make of my presence in his - her - room, that much was clear. Finally he entered completely and closed the door behind him, choosing to stand against the wall opposite the bed as the three of us listen.

        I watched him, and the way he reacted to the song. He recognized it, I could tell. I decided to say something then.

        "It's our song," I said.

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

        He grinned then, a broken smile that hurt to see.

        "My mom used to listen to this a lot before she left," he said. "Afterwards, I listened to it a lot too."

        We nodded. It's that kind of song.

        It ended and began again.

        "I don't want to do it anymore," Tess said suddenly.

        "Do what?" I asked.

        "This," and she gestured to the stereo, where green numbers showed 58 seconds remaining.

        "Tell me," I insisted. Kyle just watched.

        She looked at me then, struggling to find the words.

        "To ... to be on edge all the time. To be on the outside. To hate myself for wanting something I'm never going to have. To not know if I ever wanted it. To pretend like everything's okay, like everything's going to be okay, when I don't think it will."

        She inhaled then, a deep wet-sounding gasp that brought tears to my eyes.

        "Me too," I said, and she looked at me, and I thought that maybe she saw me, and that I saw her.

        And something inside me broke and healed all at once.

And if I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
And if I shiver please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

        We heard him at the same time.

        Kyle had slumped to the floor. His head was buried in his arms, which rested on drawn-up knees. The way his shoulders hitched, I could tell he was crying, and trying to hide it.

        We stood then and she pulled her quilt off the bed.

        We settled its warmth around him as best as we could, then sat on either side, trying to share our warmth too, needing comfort ourselves as we listened to the song again.

        Kyle quieted soon, hiccupping once or twice as he sniffed.

        "This floor is really hard," he said finally, and I smiled.

        I'm sure he could hear it in my voice. "C'mon," I urged, and looked to get Tess's approval. She nodded, and together we stood and pulled him up after us.

        The three of us cuddled on her bed. I was the last to get in, drawing the quilt over us to hold in our warmth.

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man,
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

        I looked at her. "I do," I said. "I know."

        She looked at me then, and I was amazed at how expressive blue eyes could be. How they lit up when she smiled. "I know."

        And then, quietly, she asked, "Can you turn it off now? I don't need to hear it anymore."

        I nodded gladly and slipped out from under the blanket to reach for the right button.

        The silence seemed really loud, until I crawled back onto the bed and into welcoming arms. And then it was peaceful.

        Kyle was already breathing evenly when she spoke again.

        "Thanks, Liz."

        And with a smile on my lips I slept, deeply, contentedly, blamelessly.

        I hope she did too.

        The End

Return to Top