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Fire and Ice

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Posted to the Roswell Slash list September 8,2000

Title: Fire and Ice
Author: Minnie
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
Scenario: Post-Destiny
Summary: Michael has an unsettling encounter with Pierce
Author's Note: Michael POV

Dead eyes. That's the first thing I see. A pair of cold, dead eyes against the backdrop of an acid-white room.

Hello, Michael. A voice cuts through the silence.


A smirk crosses his face. He comes towards me slowly, seeming to savor every step.

What the hell do you want? I yell at him.

He says nothing. An unnerving quiet stretches.

I turn from him, intending to walk away, to leave his unsettling eyes behind.

And find myself shoved into and pinned up against the wall.

He locks my body into place with his and grabs at my throat.

His fingers press down hard, cutting off my oxygen. The air in my lungs trap. My warm breath comes out in short gasps, fanning his cold hands.

I lash out, trying to break free. I concentrate hard, trying to draw out those powers that once saved the lives of my friends.

But it is useless. My powers desert me.

His strength seems otherworldly, overpowering me. I feel like a worm, squirming on a hook.

A cold darkness seeps through me.

I struggle more.

A chill invades my bones. No air passes through my nostrils. It is almost inevitable now ... the sound of death marching upon me.

Just as oblivion beckons, the pressure drops.

I fall down, gasping for air.

Pierce hovers above me, looking at my slowly recovering body on the floor.

Now you know how it feels. Well, almost, he tells me cryptically.

He extends a hand to help me up.

I look at it suspiciously.

Still don't trust anyone, do you, he asks me.

No! I tell him. Especially not you.

He bends down, seemingly to force me back up to my feet.

I push myself off the floor and put some distance between us.

I stare at him

He gives me a smile that unnerves me.

A smile on a dead face. The face that last saw mine.

I jerk my eyes open.

Water. I need some warm water.

I get up, restlessly padding to the kitchen.

The sink flows and I douse my face with the wet liquid.

I sit on the couch, grabbing a long discarded pingpong ball and start twirling it between my fingers.

Minutes, maybe even hours pass and my eyelids feel heavy.


Don't go there.

But my body pays no mind to my wishes.

I am back again. Back in that room.

He is there too.

You can't run away, Michael. Not from me.

What the hell do you want from me? I ask him again.

You see this? He motions to the room and the all encompassing blackness that surrounds it.

This is my world now. This is the world you sent me to, he says sharply.

I stare at him, uncomprehending.

That day, the day you killed me. All I found after that that was this, nothing else but this.

Do you what it's like to feel trapped? To know that nothing you can do will bring you out of a cold prison? He rages.

No, you don't. You have no idea what it's like, he continues.

He turns on me, a grimace marring his face. I brace myself for another attack.

But it doesn't come.

It's so cold here. There is nothing but cold and dark here, he laments.

He stares at me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles.

He saunters toward me.

I brace myself again.

This time the attack comes ... in the form of a kiss.

He slams my back against the wall like before. But no hands press down my throat.

Instead a pair of cold lips assault mine with a wet kiss.

I jerk around helplessly, trying to avoid his mouth.

He doesn't let go. He doesn't let up.

He grabs my face, my chin, forcing my mouth to receive even more of his.

As his tongue invades, a coldness shoots through me.

And warmth radiates back onto him. The warmth from my mouth.

It seems to spur him, to feed him.

He enjoys my little struggles.

Shots of ice crawls seep within me, scary and invigorating at the same time.

A moan escapes. Was that from me or him?

Over and over again his lips slant over mine, his tongue pushing at mine, plunging it into submission.

The iciness invading my body starts to feel familiar, comforting, to a certain degree.

Was this the chill he felt?

It is hypnotic. Almost irresistible.

Or is it him that is those things?

That scares me.

I gather some remnants of strength and push him away.

Our mouths part company and I breath in ragged breaths.

My heart beats erratically.

He closes the short distance I place between us.

I stare at him, unconsciously licking my lips.

And finding the icy taste of him there.

Our eyes lock, mine with disbelief, his with a quiet light burning.

He smiles.

I jerk awake again. And trace my fingers to the outline of my lips.

A coldness has set in them.

It's still dark outside. The dawn has not yet arrived.

I do not want to rest. I do not want those images ... him ... again.

Yet as much as I struggle against it, they come back.

He comes back. The room echoes around him in silence.

Go away! I scream at him.

I felt something Michael, he says to me.

Didn't you?

All I felt was cold clamminess. That became strangely familiar. Hypnotic even..

No! I rasp out, denying any feeling.

I bring myself face to face with him. To tell him that I felt nothing.

But no words come.

He stares at me. Somehow his eyes don't seem as cold anymore.

They mesmerize me.

Softly he places his lips next to mine.

Hesitantly he nudges at my firmly pursed lips.

My lips open slightly, almost involuntarily

He swoops in, gliding his tongue over my lips, my teeth.

Why am I letting him do this?

Why am I letting this happen?

Am I trying to assuage the guilt I felt for killing him and consigning him to a cold prison by letting his mouth meld with mine?


I know about cold prisons. I lived in one my whole life.

I know about feeling trapped. I've felt that way my whole life.

Warmth, any warmth at all was a welcome balm in that cruel world.

Was that how he felt?

Is that why he kissed me? Why he's still kissing me?

To feel something again, to feel human again, to feel alive again? In this, the most inhuman of rooms?

Despite the resonant cold seeping in my bones, my tongue actively duels with his now.

I push all thoughts aside and simply revel in this moment.

This one moment where the only real thing is him ... and me.

Coldness and heat.

Ice and fire.

The numbness is wearing me down. The only thing that holds me up is the wetness of his mouth.

I sag onto him.

He holds me tightly, perhaps trying to lend some of his strength to me.

I grip him tighter.

His body feels like a raging inferno now. Mine feels like an iceberg.

My legs give way and I fall onto the cold tile floor.

He falls with me.

A meager gasp escapes my lips as his form covers mine.

The tile floor no longer seems cold. It no longer feels like anything.

Perhaps because I am starting to become like it.

No fire, no warmth fills me anymore. It's all with him.

I stare at him unblinking.

Panic fills his eyes.

No! he screams.

Frantically he opens my mouth, kissing me hard, trying to breathe life back into me. He shoves his tongue halfway down my throat.


I feel nothing. No cold, no heat, just an emptiness.

He strips his shirt off and frantically rips mine away.

His chest is trim, no ounce of fat hangs on them. Perhaps a product of strenuous gym workouts.

My solid bulk seems beefy compared to his.

He tucks his head under my chin and rubs his chest on mine, trying to merge back the heat from his body onto me.

His head lifts, trying to see if his gyrations have any effect on me.

Still nothing. I feel myself floating away, almost cloudlike. I stare at him, seemingly watching his efforts from afar.

No, dammit! You can't do this to me, he calls out in fear.

He slides his hands all over me ... rubbing his palms over my arms, my chest, my legs, my thighs. Trying to bring back warmth in them.

I know this because I see it. But I cannot feel it.

I cannot feel his hands. If they were rough or soft. Strong or timid.

He lays his head down on my chest, trying to listen to a beat, any heart beat. Then places his palm over my heart. A slight rub here and there.

My heart, seemingly in a deep freeze, kick starts again.

Feeling pours back into me. Heat. Fire.

He sees the warmth filling me. And smiles.

I see coldness creep back into his eyes.

He pushes himself away from me and stands slowly.

I stand too.

It's not going to work, he says bitterly.

What isn't going to work? I ask.

I wanted vengeance. I wanted you to suffer, he tells me.

Then I just wanted to be warm, to feel warm, to feel something, anything. I wanted to live again. But I can't. Not without sacrificing you. And I can't do that. Without you, there would be no me.

I glance at him, trying to reconcile his last statement.

If you die, then I disappear, he explains.

Die? How can I die? This is all a dream, I tell him.

Is it? He smiles, a bit ironically.

Isn't it? I ask him.

A sad look flits through his face.

Goodbye, Michael.

He vanishes.

I wake up. It's light outside. The dawn finally gave way to the bright sun.

I tell myself, Yeah, it was all a dream.


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