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He Who Fights With Monsters

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Posted on the Roswell Slash Archive October 18, 2000

Title: "He Who Fights With Monsters"
Author: Mala
Rating/Classification: PG-13, Max POV, slash, angst
Disclaimer: I don't own Max OR the rampant intolerance that inspired this fic.
Summary: Max does some contemplating about his identity.

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
--Friedrich Nietsche

He take a deep breath, closes his eyes, and leaps into the abyss.

He knows he had to make the jump. He had no other choice.

It appears that the pulsing darkness is where he belongs. That he doesn't belong in the light.

From where he stands, he can see them.

They are making love. Fiery, desperate consummation. Male and female. Joining parts in slick heat. They are gasping. They are crying out. They don't seem to realize he is standing on the other side of a transparent wall...his fingers splayed against the invisible barrier as he drowns in their synchronicity.

Who does he wish to be with? Her? Or Him?

A lifetime ago, the answer was her. Now...? Now, he is not so sure. Now all he knows is that bright blue eyes make him stumble. That the smooth outline of muscles under a tight-shirt haunt him more than anything soft and sweet and curved.

The abyss is dark. It is lonely. It chokes him like the bitter wetness of bile at the back of his throat. He wants to reach out. He wants to climb out, to shatter the tenuous wall that separates him from the world at large. That separates him from what he wants. From who he is.

He is Max Evans.

He is an alien.

He is supposed to be a leader.

And he is in love with a man.

They are still now...clenched together as if captured in a photograph. Stuck in that beautiful place where flesh and soul meet and everything is blindingly bright. Their heartbeats are slowing. They murmur things to each other...quiet comfort, post-coital endearments. And he listens. He listens as the barrier grows thicker and thicker.

He wants to pound his fists against it.

He wants to call their names...make them look...make them see.

But he is caught.

He is held apart.

He is not allowed the simple grace of walking in the light with his head up.

His forehead rests against the wall. His body is limp. Dry of tears, of rage, of anything that might be an emotion.

He is Max Evans.

He is an alien.

He is supposed to be a leader.

He is in love with a man.

And he cannot admit it to anyone save himself.

"I'm gay," he whispers, dully. "I'm gay and I love you, Kyle Valenti. I love you more than anything."

No one hears the confession. No one wants to.

The abyss, his only sanctuary, closes in tight.

He is Max Evans.

He is an alien.

He is supposed to be a leader.

He is love with a man.

And he is alone.


October 2000.

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