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A New Plan, Part One
Reply to Maude M. or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list August 10, 2001
TITLE: A New Plan
AUTHOR/E-MAIL: Maude M.
ARCHIVE: List archive, all other please just tell me where it's going.
SPOILERS: The Departure
NOTES/SUMMARY: Kyle is having some issues walking the eightfold path-- he keeps tripping over the third precept.
DISCLAIMER: All is owned by the WB, Jason Katims and Melinda Metz, etc., etc., amen.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please-- firstname.lastname@example.org
NOTES: Many, many thanks to Aunty Mib and Jen for the beta reads. You both deserve much Pez.
Some people call it pretending. I call it lying. There's really nothing else that I could call it, considering that every day, with every one of them, every minute we're together, I am telling a lie in some way or another. Right now, I see him, I watch him put his arms around her, and kiss the top of her head and I pretend like I don't care. Like I don't even see. I'm coming to a full understanding of life being pain, I really am.
When she asked me to pretend to sleep with her, I thought that would be it. Maybe they could just keep their hands away from each other until we all graduated and got the hell out of here. But they're together again, and I'm back to lying through my teeth. I need a new plan.
I guess it's wrong to think of her like that, being my ex and all, but I want her to drop off the face of the planet. Okay, maybe not like Tess did, but maybe safely tucked away at some fancy school an ocean away where I won't ever have to see another kiss, another not-so-accidental brush of the arm, another knowing glance. When he was with Tess, I didn't worry. With Liz, I worry.
I can almost taste him, when I try.
There he is, kissing the top of her head again. She laughs with her whole body; she doesn't care who sees her, she's all eyelashes and glossy lips. She doesn't hold a thing back.
He holds everything back.
I know what that's like.
Nope! Can't take it anymore. I slap a bill down on the table. "Okay, you kids be good."
"Oh, Kyle!" Liz whines at me. "Don't go now!"
I smile at her. She's a good person. She wants everybody to be happy when she's happy. "I have to get home. Told my dad I'd help him clean out the garage today." More lies. Not pretending: lies.
"Oh... okay. Well, bye." She turns back to the alien draping his arms around her shoulders.
I'm turning to leave, and he looks at me. Square in the eyes with that dark, needy look that makes me want to... do things that guys like me are really not supposed to want to do to other guys. But he looks at me, and I look at him, and time slows down, and I'm stuck. Just staring, swimming in the space between us. I don't need to touch him at that moment. It's a moment where no one thing is separate from any other thing, and it feels like perfection. Everything is the same, but entirely unique, and I don't know if he's doing that to me, or I'm doing that to him, but time starts again, as time often does, and I'm walking back out that door.
Liz has her flashes. This is what I have. These perfect moments of nothingness and everythingness when he looks at me. She can keep her flashes.
This is why I pretend. I pretend because I can't push away the person who gives me complete peace with a single look. Maybe Buddha didn't meditate. Maybe he had his own alien with dark eyes that seemed to know everything.
I go home. I don't have to help my dad clean the garage. In fact, he's not even around when I arrive. No one is there. Even Tess is gone now, and I'm all alone. It's okay. Maybe I can find myself a girlfriend and have lots of teenager sex. There was good old what's-her-name from way back when. Take a guy's mind of his unhealthy infatuation with a male of an entirely different species.
There's knocking at the door. I throw it wide open without bothering to see who's there. "Max."
I look at him for a moment. Try to get him to turn those serious dark eyes up at me. He won't. "Why are you here?" My heart is about to pound its way out of my chest. What possible reason could there be?
"Yeah, I just wanted to say I'm sorry," he mumbles in typical Max Evans fashion.
Sorry? He's sorry? What for? For all those crazy moments that we have that keep my stomach tied up in knots? For the PDA's with Liz that make me want to smash a hole in the wall, despite my laid-back Buddhist world-view? For making me wonder what it would be like to taste those lips, to run my tongue over... Crap. Can he read my thoughts? That's an alien thing, right? "Um, what? Sorry about what, Evans?"
He looks me in the eye now. No Zen moment. He's searching. He's... angry? "I'm sorry if Liz and me being together makes you uncomfortable."
He knows. For a second I think he knows, and it's a beautiful second, full of questions and hope, and in the next, I realize what he means. "Get a life, Max. I am really over that."
"Are you, Kyle? Are you sure? You ran off pretty fast from the Crashdown."
"Look, if you're trying to start something, then forget it. I'm not going to let you bait me," I shrug nonchalantly, offended that after all we've been through, he can't just let this go.
"You're taking me all wrong. I'm here because I want to make things right with you. I've treated you... really badly, because of... the thing with Liz. And I'm sorry. I want us to be friends." He looks back to his shoes.
I feel bad for assuming he's Mr. Alien Attitude. But friends? "No. I don't think we can be friends, Max." And you'll never know why, because I can't tell you. Lies, lies, lies.
He shrugs. "I'm sorry for bothering you, then. I'll just go."
"Later, Evans." I'm cool. I'm not running after him asking if he could just look at me again, make me feel... no. I'm not doing that. Slam the door shut before I change my mind.
I didn't lie. We can't be friends. At least there's one thing I couldn't lie about. If we were friends... I can just imagine. What would keep me from just picking up the phone and dialing his number and listening to his voice for hours? What would keep me from finding ways to sit near him, to accidentally touch skin against skin, just to get that sensation of dark warmth that emanates from him? What's to keep me from one day just crushing my mouth against his, mumble little words against his lips, tell him I've needed him like oxygen since the day he healed me?
Okay, see, this is the kind of thinking that is going to get me in real trouble. I can stop this. I can keep telling myself that everyone who Max Evans heals probably falls... This is his fault, damn it.
Continue to Part Two
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