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Resolve, Part Two

Reply to Maude M. or visit her website

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list September 12, 2001

TITLE: Resolve
AUTHOR: Maude M.
FEEDBACK: Please :) maudelin@angelfire.com
WEBSITE: A New Plan and Zeno's Paradox can be found at my website http://www.popslash.net
DISTRIBUTION: List Archive. Others, I would be honored. Just let me know where.
PAIRING: Kyle/Max
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: The Departure
DISCLAIMER: Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, et al. They definitely aren't mine.
SUMMARY: Sequel to A New Plan/Zeno's Paradox. Kyle gets tired of hiding.
NOTES: Big-time thanks to Aunty Mib for the beta.



        Stupid resolution. What is so damn good about having things resolved, anyway? I mean, it wasn't that hard to watch him fawn over her every damn day and then take what I could get of him at night. Not *really* hard. I mean, not so hard that this could be worth it.

        Crap. Meditating is not helping me a bit. I get up from my bedroom floor and wander into the living room, throw myself down onto the couch and turn on the television. Nothing but crap. Okay, there's cartoons, but they're really violent and that's in direct opposition to the eightfold path... Damn. I'm starting to bore myself. Just watch Bugs tie a bow in the end of Elmer's gun and blow him up. Again. Damn, why are they still showing the same cartoons I watched when I was five? They're probably still the same cartoons from when my dad was five. Jesus.

        And speaking of my dad, here's the man himself. "Hey, son. Oh, I love that episode. Bugs ties a bow in the barrel of Elmer Fudd's gun."

        "Yeah. Good gag."

        He sits down on the couch, the opposite end from me, and lets out a tired breath. "Well, I helped Mrs. Johnson get that fence of hers fixed."

        "Mmm hmm. Good," I mutter. What did I care about stupid fences?

        "How was school?"

        I shrug. "The same."

        "No football practice today?"

        "Didn't feel like going."

        "Are you sick?"

        I jump off of the couch. I am so tired of all these 'normal' conversations, and 'normal' questions, and nothing seems 'normal' anymore. "No, I am not sick. Sometimes, I just don't want to play football, dad. Sometimes, football seems a little stupid compared to important things."

        I say this and leave my stunned father in the living room as I stomp off down the hall to my bedroom. I know. This is just such a teenager moment. But I don't feel like a regular teenager. I'm not fighting with my *girl*friend. I'm not having a tantrum about not getting to borrow the car. My *alien*... *boyfriend*, I guess, just chose his *girlfriend* over me, and I feel like the world is going to end.

        And if only it would. That would be the easy route. Things end with the alien-king, and Marvin-fucking-Martian pulls out his little red missile and blows up the earth. But, no. I have to walk around for... *ever* pretending that everything is just dandy, and that I don't care if I see them together, and maybe I'll have to find someone else, and *she* won't have his black eyes and those crazy ears, and she definitely won't take me on mind-blowing trips through space and time. She'll probably make *me* drive if we decide to go to Padre for spring break. That is so typical, I am just tired of her crap...

        Ahem. That is to say, I don't want anyone else. Maybe I should have just held on, let him do things his way. That way I would be in his arms tonight, rather than watching Looney Tunes with dear old dad...

        ...who is now knocking at my door. I let out the same exhausted sigh he had a few minutes ago. Did I really expect to pull that little attitude trip and get away with it? I open the door, and glare at my father. I'm not mad at him, but I glare. I should expect privacy at a time like this, even though that's really the last thing I want. So I glare. "What?"

        He leans against the doorframe. "Kyle, is everything all right?"

        I flop down on my bed; stare at the ceiling. "Just fine dad. Don't worry about football practice. I can make it up."

        "I'm not worried about football, son. I'm worried about you. You haven't been quite yourself lately."

        "I'm fine."

        "Is it Max?"

        I sit straight up. "Max? What do you mean, dad?"

        "Well, is there anything going on that I should know about? Things have been unusually quiet..."

        *Oh*. I get it. I lay back down. "No, no Close Encounters of any kind lately."

        "Is there a girl?"

        Why, oh why, do they always think it's a girl? "No, dad. No girl."

        "How's Liz?"

        "Please. This is not about Liz."

        "I didn't say it was. I just asked how she was."

        Oh, good god. Now he's trying to trip me up. This is ridiculous. "Listen, dad. I'm glad that you are concerned, but really, I'm fine. I'm just tired."

        He crosses the room and sits next to me on the bed. "I think I have a pretty good idea of what this is about."

        "You couldn't possibly."

        "It's about Tess. You miss her, don't you?"

        The girl turned my brain into peanut butter. I am *so* glad she's gone. Of course, she was carrying Max's child at the time, but... well, maybe that makes me gladder. Oh, man. I am a jerk. "Yeah. That's it. I miss her."

        "So do I, despite all she did. It was nice to have her around."

        "Yeah."

        "Well, listen, if you want to talk about it, let me know."

        "Thanks dad," I say, waiting to hear my door click shut as he leaves my room.

Continue to Part Three

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