RSA Main Fiction by Title Fiction by Author Fiction by Partners Slash Subplots Familiar Faces Links


Reply to Trixie or visit her website

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list September 23, 2001

Title: Spiral
Author: trixie
Disclaimer: Jason owns them. Besides, like we'd ever be so lucky as to have this happen on the show
Rating: NC 17
Author's Notes: I saw the promo pics for the new season and thought of this fic. Why does Liz suddenly look so sexy? And why does Is have that new hair? My answer...
Summary: Liz and Isabel take off...
Dedication: to the few Lizizards out there
Cate: L/I with many overtones for other couples
Muzak: "Wild Horses" - the Rolling Stones, "Fly Away from Here" - Aerosmith

        The night after Tess left was when Isabel and I took off.

        It wasn't really a conscious decision. I was planning a safe and sweet summer with Max. I already had visions of sugary kisses and chocolate promises and I kept asking myself why I felt so sick... but there were no answers.

        I was sitting on the balcony when she ascended the ladder. I thought it was Max for a split second and breathed in sharply- wondering if he was going to slide his hands over my skin and taste the coppery insides of my thighs--- but it was Isabel. Her hair hung like a golden river down her back and hid part of her face as she whispered, "I'm going to scream."

        I stared at her for a moment and then said, "What do you want me to do, Isabel?"

        Her head snapped up and she shrugged. Cold and haughty Isabel. I always hated her more than I liked her. But in that moment, I felt such empathy that I shuddered.

        "That's get out of here," she murmured decidedly.

        "What do you mean? Like, go get some ice cream or something?"

        She smirked, I remember that. "No. I mean out of town. We'll take the Jetta. Maria'll be spending all summer in bed with Michael. She doesn't need it."

        "What about Mrs. DeLuca?" I protested, not even sure why I was discussing this.

        "She's away at that buying show for the next few weeks, remember?" Isabel answered calmly, and her voice was brittle. "Get your things. Don't bring much. Leave a note."

        "What do I tell Max?" I whispered, and her eyes were tiny pinpricks of cold light as she shook her head.

        "We're not telling my brother anything. Just get your stuff together, Liz."


        The truth was, I wanted to leave Roswell just as much as she did. Every time I breathed, I coughed. The dust had rolled in from the desert, and it was too much to even move. Every where I looked, I saw Tess and no one would talk about her. Max held me as the world exploded and she split the sky, and he talked to me about futures I used to envision when he and I were golden and innocent. But he never mentioned blonde curls and those tiny hands and I felt as if I'd throw up from all the blank stares on the car ride home.

        So as Isabel and I drove out of town, and I watched it recede into the blur of distance, I was strangely relieved. Her hands held the steering wheel, and she didn't look back. Her face was set, and when I remember- I think that was when I began to love her, but I didn't know it yet.


        We drove for days. We'd sleep in the back with the seats pushed down- with our flannel sleeping bags and our eyes drawn irresistibly to the stars. I thought I was a masochist those nights- when all I could do was see Tess in those burning balls of gas. Imagining her laughing at me and my fragile little hands- too small to hold onto Max- too small to rip her eyes out for killing my sweet Alex- too small to do much of anything.

        But I had done something, I would remind myself. I had run away. That was enough.

        But I still hated myself. I didn't want to be Liz Parker anymore. Or I didn't want to be *Max's* Liz Parker.

        Isabel didn't treat me like someone else's Liz. She didn't talk much at first. I couldn't tell what she was feeling- her emotions were too much for me to see. I told myself I didn't want to know what went on her head- it seemed too complicated, too messy for me to deal with. I like things to be neat- everyone knows that.

        She was never neat.

        She was blurry and dizzy.

        We went to McDonalds and bought hamburgers that came in bags stained with orange grease. We ate them outside, sitting on the grass, our legs curled up underneath us. Ketchup dripped down her chin and she laughed when I giggled in disgust. The fries burned my fingers and I felt the cool fizz of the cola swirl down my throat. She stared at me as I ate and I didn't mind. I imagined that she liked the way my teeth tore at the meat, the way the barbecue sauce wet my lips, the way my throat worked as I swallowed the drink and crunched the ice.

        I imagined a lot of things in my life. But right then- I thought maybe I wasn't dreaming. Maybe Isabel did think those things when she watched me. I wasn't sure- but I liked her eyes on my face and skin. It made me feel hungry. For what, I didn't know.


        One night we stopped at a bar alongside the highway. It was large, packed, and cheap and sold beer and cigarettes. We bought an ample supply of both and I closed my mouth around the nicotine and alcohol as if it was going to fill me. I was always hungry now.

        Music pumped from the speakers and it smelled like sweat. Isabel pulled me with her strong hands onto the floor and we danced. My hair stuck to the back of my neck as we whirled and clung, our skin sticking together in the smoldering heat. I remember the way her eyes held me, and the way her hips felt against mine. All the men in the bar watched her, craved her- but she only danced with me.

        I drank and smoked so much that when we got back to the car, I puked all over the side of the road and Isabel held my hair back, giggling in the soft way she did. She rubbed my forehead afterward, listening to my incoherent moans and complaints as she stared stoically into the night sky. Did she see Tess too? Did she remember blonde curls and tiny hands?

        Or was I the only one?


        It all went into a spiral the night she decided to cut her hair. We were at some dive outside of the Grand Canyon and the night air was sticky. She kept pushing the heavy weight of her hair out of her face until she finally shrieked, "I can't take this anymore! I'm cutting it off."

        We got scissors and even some hair dye. She was tired of it all, she said to me. The blonde, the shininess, the looks guys gave her. "I hate it," she whispered, and handed me the silver instrument.

        I was hesitant at first. I had always been envious of Isabel Evans' hair, and slicing it off seemed like sacrilege. But she wanted me to do it, and so I would. I would have done anything for her, already.

        My hands delved into the mass of strands as I snipped and sheared, and I could see the silent tears waiting in her eyes. She wanted this, she wanted this shedding of the skin- but I knew, somehow- she pitied the girl she once was.

        When I was done, we dyed it. My fingers were stained dark, and it looked as if I'd been bathing in thick red blood. She touched my hands, their palms slick with the liquid, and she raised my thumb to her lips.

        "Kiss me, Liz," she demanded, and I leaned forward, my breath warm on her mouth as I brushed those lips with my tongue. Her fingers held onto my hair as she lowered me to the bed, and it's cushiony feel pillowed my back.

        I blushed when she took off my shirt, her hands skimming my skin as she breathed against my breasts, my nipples throbbing painfully as they were exposed to the heat of her tongue. I don't know why I blushed. I had known the moment was coming. It was inevitable- like death or Tess... or the stars. She kissed my heart, her tears dripping down my breastbone as she helped me shimmy out of my shorts and underwear.

        "Isabel..." I whispered, and she brought her bittersweet mouth back to mine.

        "Shush, Lizzie..." she murmured, her teeth biting me. "I'm going to fuck you."

        I didn't blush this time. I felt the wetness spill onto my thighs and opened my legs wide. "Please," I said.

        She smiled, and slid down my body until she reached my knees, gripping them with her nails, laughing quietly as I jerked. Her mouth was so hot. I never knew a mouth could be so hot. Her fingers inside me were too good. And when I drank from her later I knew why I'd been so hungry for all that time.

        The next morning my flesh was stained dark in places from the dripping dye and sheaf's of blonde hair were stuck to our skin. I woke up to her watching me sleep. Her fingers touched my lips and I kissed them with a tenderness I never knew I possessed.

        "Do you want to go home, Liz?" she inquired.

        "No," I answered, turning over and drawing her close. Her flesh was warm, golden. She was beautiful- even with the almost boyish crop of hair. Her palms pressed into my hips hard.

        "Are we ever going home, Liz?" she asked.

        I thought for a moment. I loved her. I was still sore from her fingers and teeth.

        "No," I responded, and kissed her.

        End. Feedback? So nice! This could turn into a small series, if you guys like it:)

       Send comments to the author

Return to Top