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Reply to Debbie or visit her websiteAdded to the Roswell Slash Archive May 10, 2001
Disclaimer: I own a house. I don't own Roswell.
Distribution: Guilty Pleasures and the RSA. All others please ask first.
Author's Note/Summary: Companion/sequel to "Unexpected Gifts" - Kyle thinks about Alex after CYN.
Feedback: Yes please. Even short notes mean a lot to me. I accept constructive as well as positive remarks.
Liz was right. Alex couldn't have committed suicide. He loved living too much.
I know. He was the one who taught me to appreciate life.
Not that I was ready to take myself out or anything, but I wasn't happy about getting involved with the Martians. And there he was, totally cheerful about the way they'd interfered with his life. He was actually happy about it -- said he'd rather know something that amazing, something no one else in the world knew, than be clueless.
How could someone that appreciative be suicidal? No way.
All that time we were down in the cave, talking because there was nothing else to do, I realized I'd never seen someone so full of life before. He treated every little thing like it was an amazing, unexpected gift. Oh, he was calm enough when he said he'd rather die knowing about aliens than live in ignorance, but I knew that he wanted to live just as much as I did. And you should have seen the relief on his face when we finally got out of there.
Not the look of a man who wanted to snuff himself out.
But even if I hadn't seen his face, if the blue gunk had somehow blinded me, I still would have known he wasn't the type to do such a thing. If you had told me a year ago that the person I would know best in the world would be Alex, I would have asked what you were smoking. But that's exactly what happened that day in the cave. I got to know him. We talked about everything, and I mean *everything*. For all I knew, it was going to be my last conversation ever, so out came the embarrassing stories and the "what do you wanna be if you grow up" stories and stuff I hadn't ever told anyone. And he did the same. And amazingly enough, we had a lot in common. We connected on a level so deep it just about blew me away. If it wasn't unbelievably corny, I'd say I saw into his soul, and I could feel him touch mine. So trust me, when I say I knew Alex, I *knew* Alex. Yeah, that kind of "knew" too.
We never made a big issue out of that, afterwards. What we did was necessary -- it somehow solidified our connection. But it wasn't necessary to flip out about. Not for either of us. Contrary to what some aliens might think, a bond doesn't have to involve deathless love for it to be important. So I wouldn't go so far as to say I loved him, because that wasn't it. But I knew him -- and he knew me -- inside and out, in ways that went beyond words.
And I knew and still know that he would never voluntarily leave.
So why am I here, feeling sick and angry and alone, holding back tears that haven't made an appearance since my mom left?
I don't know if it was just an accident or if, as Liz says, it was murder. Those issues matter about as much as the distinction my dad tried to make about Alex dying "yesterday" and not "today". Not a hell of a lot.
All that matters is he's gone. And now I have to live without him.
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