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It's almost four months to the day when Alex steps off of the bus from base, and into the baking heat of midsummer Roswell.
The past months have been long and tedious, cleaning up after his father's mess and jumping every time a commanding officer barks an order. Frankly, Alex is glad his service is over now; he's done being a Manes Man, and ready to figure out who he is again.
Right now, that starts with reuniting with his waiting boyfriend, who hauls him in for a hug and mostly-chaste kiss as soon as Alex is in arm's reach. It's the kind of display of affection Alex has always wanted, and it's good, even if there's a little part of him that he has to throttle back.
It's the same part that recognizes Michael Guerin's black cowboy hat disappearing down an alley at the other end of the street, that feels disappointed he didn't come up and interrupt Alex's reunion with Forrest.
Alex doesn't give that part any time to try to take over, focusing back on Forrest, who's reaching for his hand and leading him to a waiting car, already listing off plans for the day - most of which involve either his kitchen or the bed, both of which Alex is absolutely on board with.
Forrest's plans are extensive; by the time they finally catch their breath, night has long-since fallen, and they make a cursory effort at cleaning up before they fall asleep. In the morning, there's more sex - in the shower this time, which is an interesting challenge, but they make it work - followed by more food, and Alex can't help but grin as Forrest brings two heavily-laden plates to the table. "Maybe I should consider signing on for one more round," he says, faux-thoughtful as he takes one plate from Forrest. "General Williams did mention something about some assignments I wouldn't even have to leave base for."
Forrest laughs. "You'd be too bored with a desk job," he says. "And you'd miss me too much."
"I suppose that's true," Alex concedes. "Especially the cooking."
"Oh, yeah," Forrest says, smirking. "That's definitely why."
Alex returns Forrest's smirk with a grin of his own, and tucks into his food. "So, how have things been in Roswell since I left?"
Forrest fills him in on the things he's missed, but honestly, it isn't a lot. Roswell is still a sleepy town with very little going on when there isn't any alien drama to talk about - which is probably a good thing. The gossip has well and truly run dry by the time they finish eating, and Forrest dumps their plates in the sink for now and draws Alex over to the couch to cuddle. Alex isn't complaining.
"So," Forrest says, "what do you have planned now that you're back in town?"
"Not a lot," Alex hums. "Gonna have to figure out a new job, but I’ve got some recommendations and enough savings to let me take a break. Might do some more songwriting, kinda revisit my youth, y'know?"
"Ooh," Forrest says. "I've gotta say, that night at the Pony? Was so hot."
Alex smirks. "It was, was it?"
"So hot," Forrest confirms. "And I'm not the only one who thought so. I even saw one guy checking his mark, just in case."
Alex touches the edge of the cuff that covers his own blank wrist reflexively. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly looking for someone with a mark," he says.
Forrest smirks. "Lucky for me."
"Very lucky for you," Alex agrees with a grin, forcing himself to leave the cuff alone. "But back to the point - I'm just going to take some time to figure out who I am again, and how to embrace that."
Forrest hums, and gives him a pointed look. "Maybe you should take that off, then."
Alex blinks, brow furrowing as he looks at Forrest. "What?"
Forrest shrugs, gesturing to his own empty wrist. "You don't have to, obviously," he says. "But I felt a lot freer after I stopped hiding it. If you want to be true to yourself, maybe that's a part of it."
Alex considers the cuff for a long moment. He's never had it off for more than a couple minutes at a time, ever since his mark first appeared a few days after his sixteenth birthday. At first, he'd been terrified of his father seeing it, and then it had been gone, and now...
Well, maybe it's one more thing he shouldn't let his father steal from him even when he's dead and buried. "You're right," Alex decides, reaching for the clasp. "I'm gonna start with this."
Forrest smiles at him, one hand resting warmly on Alex's leg. He doesn't drop his gaze while he slips the cuff off - and when it falls to the couch between them, he leans in to give Alex a soft kiss. "I'm proud of you," he murmurs. "You're so strong - and you're perfect as you are, mark or no mark."
He reaches for Alex's hand, turning his wrist over to look - and immediately drops it like he's been burned.
"Oh, shit."
Alex can't even echo the sentiment, his gaze caught on the same thing that Forrest had seen. In the pale strip of skin around his wrist, in shifting iridescent letters, is a name.
Michael Guerin.
Alex is vaguely aware of a ringing in his ears, but all he can think to say is, "That's not the same name."
"What?"
Alex can't tear his eyes away from what has to be the world's cruelest joke. "When I was a kid, it - I couldn't read the name," he says. "But when I left Roswell, it was blank, I swear. I haven't had a name for a decade, why - why now?"
"I don't think it's me you should be asking that question," Forrest says. His voice is flat, almost cold, and he shifts away from Alex on the couch. "I think maybe we should take a breather."
That finally gets Alex to look away, fumbling to put the cuff back on. “What? No, Forrest, this doesn’t mean - “
But Forrest laughs, harsh and disbelieving. "It definitely does," he says. "Are you really going to sit there and tell me you're not in love with him?"
”He’s not in love with me, so it doesn’t matter,” Alex argues, and ignores the familiar pain of that statement with practiced ease. “He doesn’t have my name, and I’m with you. I chose you.”
Forrest shrugs. "Well, maybe I'm choosing to not be second best," he says.
That brings Alex up short. “So… what?” he asks, and he kind of hates how wounded he sounds. “That’s it? We’re not even going to try, you’re just going to shove me at the guy who I apparently have some sort of fucked-up, unrequited bond with?”
"It's up to you what you do with it," Forrest says. "Talk to him, don't - I don't care. But I'm falling for you, Alex, and I know that I could give you all of me, if you wanted that. This - “ He gestures at Alex’s wrist - “means you'll never be able to do the same."
Alex wants to argue, to insist that he can, but -
But there’s a little piece of him that’s still seventeen, tracing the letters he can’t read under the leather cuff in the dark, staring out his window and wishing.
And that’s not fair to Forrest, that there’s still that part of Alex, that part that’s suddenly grown so much bigger with even a hint that there could be hope. Not when Forrest is ready to be all in, and Alex isn’t sure that he can ever return that. “Okay,” he says, and finally manages to get the cuff back into place, pushing himself to his feet. “You deserve better than that - than this. I’m… I’m sorry, Forrest.”
"Me too," Forrest says, and Alex can see the pain in his eyes. "You don’t have to run out right now; I know this is… a lot. You can stay for a bit, if you need to."
Alex’s smile feels tight even on his own face. “I’m just gonna go back to the cabin, get it aired out,” he says. “Thanks, though.”
Forrest just nods. "No problem."
Alex resolves not to freak out when he gets back to his cabin. It could be a fluke, a one-off. It could be a crazy shared hallucination. It could be gone by morning. He should at least wait to see if it's gone by morning.
But by the time last call at the Pony rolls around, Alex has worked himself into a real state. He clings to the shreds of his sanity for the last half hour before he knows Maria will kick out any lingering customers, and then he picks up his phone.
He lets go of those shreds when she answers. "Hey, handsome," she says brightly. "I thought you'd still be holed up in lover boy's bed. Guerin said you two looked pretty cosy yesterday."
”Forrest broke up with me this morning because my fucking soulmark is back,” Alex says in a near-intelligble rush, unable to keep the words in any longer.
He actually hears Maria set whatever bottle she's holding down on the bar with a thunk. "Holy shit," she says. "But wait, your soulmark was gibberish - why did he break up with you?"
”Because it’s not gibberish this time,” Alex says, and he feels vaguely hysterical. “It’s - It’s fucking Guerin. I've got Michael Guerin’s name on my wrist and I have no idea when it showed up.”
Maria makes a noise like she's been punched in the throat. "You have Michael Guerin's name on you," she repeats. "Oh my god. What do you mean you don't know when it showed up, don't you shower?"
”I had a literal rainbow soulmark while I was living with my fucking father, Maria,” Alex snaps. “And then it was blank. I never take that damn cuff off, you know that.”
"I know, I know," Maria says. "I'm just freaking the fuck out. What if Michael was my boyfriend while you were walking around with his name on your arm? Oh my god."
Alex runs a hand through his hair. “I know,” he whines. “I don’t think it was there, but.” He resists the urge to faceplant dramatically onto his couch; he’s not actually a teenager anymore. “Maria - He doesn’t have my name.”
"How do you know?" Maria asks. "He wears a cuff like everyone else - I've never seen it. Have you?"
”He would’ve said something,” Alex insists. “When we were seventeen, or - or when I came back. He had plenty of opportunities, and I never told him my wrist was blank.”
Maria blows out a breath. "I don't know," she says. "We both knew we weren't each other's soulmates when we started dating, but he never told me who his was, and I never told him about mine."
Alex can’t deal with the hope trying to grow from her words. ”I don’t - I don’t know what to do,” Alex confesses, and finally lets himself drop heavily onto the couch; not quite a faceplant, but he can’t keep pacing. “I can’t just. Tell him about this. Can I?”
"Well, why not?" Maria asks. "What have you got to lose at this point, honestly?"
”The last bit of my sanity?” Alex suggests. He bites his lip, and it feels like a confession when he adds, “And maybe the last unbroken part of my heart. If he doesn't have my name, if he doesn't love me - ”
"Manes, why the hell do you think we broke up?"
"I don't know, Maria, I was kind of trying to not think too much about your relationship," Alex bitches.
"No shit," Maria says. "Because he's your fucking soulmate. And whether or not you're his, he was far too hung up on you for my tastes."
"He didn't even stay for the song, Maria," Alex whispers, swallowing against the tears that prick his eyes, slumping against the back of the couch. "He walked in, heard me singing that and - and he fucking turned around and left."
"I... can't explain that," Maria admits. "But you didn't see his face when he saw you up there. He wasn't as unaffected as you might think."
"He didn't stick around, he didn't call or text once the whole time I was gone," Alex argues. "That doesn't exactly scream 'affected.'"
"Then explain to me why he spent the whole night getting white girl wasted in here, the night you got back," Maria challenges. "I'm telling you, Alex, maybe it's not your name on his arm, but he cares about you a lot."
"Well, it'd be great if he'd act like it to my face," Alex grumbles. "I don't... I don't think I have another big gesture in me, Maria."
"Maybe not," Maria says. "But you can't ignore this, honey. It changes everything."
Alex lets out a shaky breath. “Maybe, but I - I can’t… God, Maria, I won’t survive him breaking my heart again. Not with this.”
"You're going to end up with a broken heart either way," Maria points out, not unkindly. "You'll both get hurt if you don't say anything "
Alex swears under his breath. “I hate your logic.”
"You know I'm right," Maria says.
Alex grumbles some more - but he doesn’t argue.
Alex makes himself get in the car the next morning and drive out to the junkyard. He goes back and forth half a dozen times for every mile he drives, sure he’s going to turn around - or that he’s going to continue. The only thing that keeps him going is the thought of Maria’s disappointed look - inherited from Mimi, and surprisingly effective for all that Alex and Maria are almost the same age - and the lecture she’ll give him if she finds out he didn’t go talk to Michael today.
By the time he pulls up next to Michael’s truck, it’s going on ten o’clock, and Alex can feel the ulcer developing, but he makes himself get out anyway, letting the door shut a little harder than usual, and moving towards the mechanic’s shop, where he can see Michael bent over the hood of another car. “Guerin?”
There's a clang, and Michael says, "Fuck!" He doesn't straighten up. "Don't come too close, I broke a line earlier and spilled shit all over the floor."
Alex stops in his tracks; he's spent enough time around Michael and the mechanics on base to know he doesn't want anything from the inside of a car on him or his shoes. "You okay?"
"Peachy," Michael says. He does stand up, then, a wrench in one hand, and wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of the other. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you around here so soon."
”Yeah, it’s - kind of a last-minute decision,” Alex says - Christ, was it always that attractive, seeing Michael in jeans and a tank top with a bit of grease on his arms, his hair flying every which-way? “Was hoping I could talk to you.”
"Well, I am working," Michael says, a smile playing about his lips. "But I'm all ears."
Alex swallows and has to resist the urge to touch the cuff around his wrist. “I got back the day before yesterday, and was talking with Forrest about what I’m going to do now that I’m back for good,” he starts, shifting his weight on his feet. “And we started talking about - “
The words die in his throat when the door to Michael's Airstream opens, and a very attractive man with damp hair climbs out. "Hey, Michael," he calls. "I'm heading out now, but thanks for the shirt." He grins. "I usually bring a change of clothes if I know I'm going to get so messy."
Michael turned his back to Alex to look at the stranger when he spoke, so Alex doesn't know what Michael's face is doing. He raises one hand in a familiar little wave. "You're welcome to it," he says. "You've got my number, right?"
"Oh, yeah," the guy says with a cheeky little smile as he saunters over to his car. "I'll give you a call if anything comes up."
Michael chuckles. "You do that."
Alex… might be having a heart attack. Is this what it feels like, with the shortness of breath and the sense of impending doom? Whatever it is, it takes him far too long to make his throat work again. “New friend?” he asks, and his voice sounds weird even to himself.
"Uhh, yeah, I guess," Michael says. "His name's Josh, I think." He watches as Josh pulls out of the lot, and then produces a rag that was tucked into his belt and wipes his hands off as he turns back to Alex. "Sorry, you were saying?"
Alex's hand flexes, the cuff suddenly feeling tighter than it has in years. "Forrest and I got to talking about..." He hesitates, looking at Michael, the words on the tip of his tongue, Maria's voice in his head - "... my car."
Whatever Michael was expecting him to say, it clearly wasn't this. "Your... car," he says, frowning.
"Yeah, it - I haven't driven it in a couple of months, so I wanted to get it looked at, and it - It was making a weird noise on the way over." Fuck, Alex has been here before, using his car to cover for the real reason he came over, why he wants to talk - but this is bigger than seeing if they could start again. Some random guy just walked out of the Airstream, wearing Michael's shirt and talking about a mess and looking at Michael like that. He knew this wasn't gonna go his way and he let Maria convince him otherwise, but now he has to cover his ass and get the hell out before he can hole up to lick his wounds.
Michael blows out a breath, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "All right," he says. "Sure. I can take a look at it. You got time now?"
Fuck, if he looks at the car then Alex has to stay here. "I - Actually, I have some errands I need to run, and you're clearly busy, so I can just come back." Never.
"What, this?" Michael asks, gesturing with his wrench towards the car he was just working on. "She's gonna be with me for a couple days. I've got time, and I don't want you driving around in a car that's not safe."
Goddammit. Alex swears he feels Michael's name on his wrist pulse, a sudden influx of warmth that almost makes him reach for his wrist, check and make sure it isn't actually catching on fire or something. "Are... you sure?" he asks, not having to play at the reluctant tone, because now he's dug himself a damn hole.
"Yeah, of course," Michael says, completely oblivious to Alex's turmoil. "Pop the hood and I'll take a look. Where did it sound like the noise was coming from?"
Michael tinkers with his car for almost an hour, but shockingly, he can't find the source of the noise Alex mentioned or figure out how to recreate it, so eventually he lets him go with a simple tune-up that he refuses to charge Alex for. Alex goes home to lick his wounds and not call Maria, and finds someone waiting for him outside of his cabin with an offer that's going to be very difficult to refuse.
He spends that night struggling to sleep, kept awake by thoughts of Michael and Eduardo Ramos and the mark still burning like a brand beneath the cuff he can't bring himself to take off again. He finally gives up trying at dawn, but loses more hours staring at the ceiling. When he finally does get out of bed, his body hates him for it, and he opts to take a break from the prosthetic today.
He's at least gotten dressed by midday, a black hooded sweatshirt and grey sweatpants with the right leg knotted below the knee, and he's sitting on his front porch when he hears the rumble of a vehicle approaching. He sits up, reaching for the crutch propped up beside him, but falls back in shock when Guerin's truck pulls into view.
He still hasn't managed to make himself move by the time Michael steps out of the truck, which is probably just as well. Jesus, has Michael always worn jeans that well? His shirt doesn't have any visible grease stains, at least not where it's showing from under his dark denim jacket, and really, it's stupid that he can pull off denim-on-denim. Alex manages to wrench his mind off of that topic with great difficulty and makes himself look at Michael with a raised brow, affecting nonchalance. "Something I can help you with, Guerin?"
"Hopefully something I can help you with," Michael says, walking around to the passenger side so he can pull a tool kit out of the footwell. "I've been thinking about that noise you mentioned, and I had another idea of what it might be."
"I haven't heard it again," Alex offers, because it's partially true and he doesn't want Michael to figure out he lied about the noise. "So, you can take a look, but..." He hesitates, debating - this probably isn't a smart idea, but when has that ever stopped him? "Do you wanna come in? Instead of wasting your time with that."
But Michael hesitates too, looking between Alex and the car and the house and the tool kit he's holding. "You look like you're having a cosy Saturday," he says after a moment, the words slow and careful. "If you really don't think the car needs looking at, I can just go. I wouldn't want to intrude."
”You’re not intruding,” Alex says, getting up out of the chair. “I think I’ve still got coffee, if you want a cup?”
Michael still looks unsure, but then he shrugs, and throws the tool kit back into the truck. "What the hell?" he says, mostly to himself. "Coffee sounds good."
Alex nods and heads inside, leaving the door open for Michael to follow him inside. “Boots off, Guerin,” he calls over his shoulder, heading into the kitchen. “How do you want your coffee?”
"Black, like my soul," Michael calls back.
Alex pauses, has to swallow back the wave of want that comes with the flash of imagining a time where Alex could tease, could say he has definitive proof that Michael’s soul isn’t that dark, is positively beautiful -
He clears his throat, continues towards the machine. “So, cream and sugar, then?” he says, and is proud when the teasing note is stronger than the fond, wistful one.
Michael barks a surprised laugh, and appears in the kitchen in his socks. "Sweet-talker," he says. He tucks his thumbs into the waist of his jeans and looks around curiously. "So, uhh, where's the boyfriend?"
Alex pauses where he’s pouring the coffee for a moment before he makes himself keep moving. “Who, Forrest? He’s not here.”
"Oh," Michael says, sounding surprised. "Right." He takes the mug that Alex gives him, cradling it between his hands. "Thanks."
Alex puts together another mug for himself, more to have something to do with his hands. "I - I wanted to talk to you about something, actually," he says, turning back around. He leans over to deposit his mug on the table, grateful again that he went with a kitchen just small enough that he can put the coffee maker on one end of the counter and reach the table without having to juggle his crutches on days like today. He takes a moment to sort his crutches out before he moves to his chair, gesturing towards the other one.
Michael makes no move to sit. "Oh?"
"I got a visit from Kyle's uncle," Alex says, toying with the handle of his mug. "He's been trying to track me down for a while, turns out. He's pretty impressed with my work on erasing Project Shepherd."
Now he has Michael's attention. "Okay..." he says, drawing closer. "His dad was one of the good guys in the end, right? What about this guy?"
”I think he’s like Jim,” Alex says slowly. “He definitely knows about aliens, and.” Alex grimaces, but he can’t hide this from Michael. “He knows about you, Max, and Isobel. He knows a lot, actually. Including what my dad was going to do at CrashCon.”
Michael's eyes widen. "Fuck."
”Yeah,” Alex says sympathetically. “He didn’t come to make threats yesterday, though. He actually… had a job offer.”
"What kind of job offer?"
”The kind that means I go to work for a secret not-government agency,” Alex says. “Working with alien artifacts, was what he heavily implied, because of my ‘history and personal stakes.’”
"This sounds dodgy as shit," Michael says doubtfully. "What the hell is this place?"
Alex takes a deep breath. Here comes the hard part. “Deep Sky.”
"What?" Michael demands. "Fuck no."
"I know," Alex says, his mouth twisting. "Trust me, I know - but Eduardo apologized for that whole thing. And I did some digging after he left yesterday. It’s American-based, paramilitary but not government money, as far as I can tell, and seems like they’ve got deep pockets and a long reach. International, even.”
"Who gives a shit?" Michael asks. He steps up to the table, setting down his mug and sitting across from Alex. "Tell him to fuck off. Run, if you think he won't take no for an answer. We can all run. You can't get involved with these people."
God, the intensity in Michael's face and voice is doing things to Alex, making his wrist almost physically hurt. "I think I should," he says. "Deep Sky already knows everything Project Shepherd knew - and more, and they haven’t done anything to any of us. What happened with Jenna and Charlie shows there's no running, anyway. And I-I think there's more benefit to working with them than not."
"Are you insane?" Michael spits, leaning over the table towards him. "No. Fuck no, Alex, please."
Alex has to force himself not to actually be bowled over by that. When's the last time Michael said please to anyone, much less to Alex? "Deep Sky has been around a long time - longer than Project Shepherd," he says, leaning forward, trying to explain himself. "They've got things Project Shepherd could never get their hands on, bits and pieces from the '47 crash - and older, Eduardo said. That crash isn't the first time your people have been on this planet, Michael. This is another chance to find answers without resorting to an alien torture facility."
Michael's flinch is almost imperceptible, but this close Alex sees it. Even still, his conviction doesn't waver. "I don't care about that," he's insists. "I don't want you getting any more involved in this than you already are. It's too dangerous, and it's not-- it's not worth it."
"Whether or not it's worth it is my decision," Alex snaps before he can think better of it. "He - Eduardo promised there were a lot of benefits. Not just the intel, but." One hand falls from the table to his knee, bunching in the fabric above the residual limb. "They've got some of the best engineers in the world working for them."
"So he's offered you a new prosthetic," Michael says. "You know I could have made you one, or upgraded the one you've got?"
God damn it, why does Michael keep saying shit like that, like it's the most natural thing in the world? "No offense, Michael, but you don't have access to the resources they do," Alex points out. "And I..." He sighs, his gaze dropping to Michael's left hand, healed by Max more than a year ago, now. Alex can still see it wrapped in a homemade splint, can still hear - "It's my turn to protect you," he says quietly. "I couldn't protect you from my father and his bullshit, but I can do something about other threats to your safety if I join Deep Sky."
Michael's left hand twitches beneath the weight of Alex's gaze. "You don't need to protect me," he says, drawing Alex's attention back up to his face. His eyes are wide and earnest. "I don't need that; I just need you to not put yourself directly in the line of fire, here. Alex, I'm begging you, don't do this."
That sparks an angry fire in Alex's breast. "No," he snaps, sitting up straight, glowering at Michael. "You gave up the right to beg me about life decisions right around the time you got yourself locked up for stealing fucking hub caps instead of talking to me."
Michael's expression shutters, and he sits back, the corners of his mouth tugging down into something almost cruel. "Yeah, well," he says roughly. "It would have made about as much difference then as it's making now. You've always done whatever the hell you want, and damn the rest of us, right?"
Alex blows out a rough breath, his grip tightening on his coffee mug. He'd always suspected that had done that on purpose; it shouldn't hurt so much to have it confirmed. "Guess we'll never know if it would've made a difference back then," he says, keeping his voice flat with great effort. "But right now, this is the smart move. We know Deep Sky already knows about you - I'm not willing to just let them lurk in the shadows if it means a chance to be better prepared for the next crisis."
Michael shakes his head. "Whatever," he says. "I'll be here to pick up the pieces when it goes to shit."
Alex scoffs. "You sure about that?"
Michael shrugs, his gaze piercing. "If you get hurt again because of me?" he asks. "Yeah. I'm sure."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Alex says, voice flat.
Michael sighs. "Whatever," he says again, and gets to his feet. "Thanks for the coffee, Manes. I'll see you later."
Alex watches him go, and wonders if it hurt Michael just as much every time Alex walked away.
Around dinner time, he sends a text to Maria, asking if she can come over. He’s spent the day stewing in his own thoughts, and he needs to talk to someone who knows the whole story. She promises she’ll be over after last call, and Alex texts back an affirmative - and then has nothing else to do but wait. He tries to distract himself with different things, with research and with mindless scrolling on his phone, but he keeps hearing Michael’s voice saying please - I’m begging you, over and over again.
By the time Maria lets herself in, Alex is burrowed into a blanket on the couch, a bottle of whiskey in reach on the coffee table, a glass in hand and another waiting for Maria if she wants it. Maria pauses in the doorway, and when Alex catches sight of the look on her face, he sighs and gestures to the couch. “I know,” he says. “I’m a mess.”
"What the hell happened, Manes?" Maria demands, throwing her bag onto the coffee table as she marches over to sit with Alex on the couch. "I thought for sure when I didn't hear from you that you'd be holed up with--"
Alex cuts her off with a sharp laugh, bitter and utterly humorless. “I wish,” he mutters. “No.”
Maria slides her hand over Alex's thigh, leaning closer. "Baby, what happened?"
”I went to go talk to him yesterday,” Alex says, gaze focused on the glass in one hand. “He was working on a car, which I figured - That’s his job, right? And there was another one there, and I thought the same thing for that. But then…” He swallows, and the words cut like razor blades on their way out of his throat. “A guy came out of his trailer. Just showered, wearing one of his shirts, and talking about…”
"About what?" Maria asks, too gentle.
”About getting messy,” Alex spits. “And the way he looked at Michael, it - “ The words stick in his throat, and Alex takes a gulp of whiskey.
"Jesus," Maria sighs. "That-- that asshole! What is he thinking?"
”I don’t know,” Alex says, lips twisted in a grimace. “I didn’t tell him I have his name, made up some excuse about my car. And when I got back here, Kyle’s uncle was standing on my front porch, so I got distracted before I could tell you.”
"Okay, this is a wild ride," Maria says. She reaches for the other whiskey glass and curls her feet up underneath her on the couch. "I drove here, obviously, so more than one of these and you're the big spoon tonight. What did Kyle's uncle want?"
"To offer me a job," Alex says. "Working for Deep Sky."
Maria's eyes go wide. "Are you going to take it?"
Alex nods. "I am," he says, because he'd already decided he was going to before Michael showed up this morning. "But Michael's not happy about it."
"Why not?"
"Because they were part of all that shit with Jenna and Charlie and my dad at CrashCon," Alex says. "I mean, they were just after Charlie, but." He grimaces. "They wanted me for the division that works with alien artifacts, considering my family history and..." He makes a vague gesture.
"So what?" Maria asks. "He thinks you're going to sell him out?"
"I don't know," Alex admits. "He didn't say that. He said..." He hesitates. "He said he didn't want me putting myself directly in the line of fire."
Maria scoffs at that, shakes her head. "Oh, I could wring that boy's neck," she spits. "I should give him a piece of my mind."
"I already did," Alex assures her. "Did you know he actually tried to beg me? Told him he gave up any right to beg me about life decisions when he stole Kyle's hubcaps the day I left for basic."
"Oh, damn," Maria says, impressed. "The claws were out."
Alex's mouth twists. "Just like always," he says, downing the rest of his whiskey and reaching for the bottle. "We can never just talk, Maria. How the hell can he be my soulmate?"
Maria sighs heavily. "I don't know," she says. "You're both great at hurting each other, but I know you love him. Maybe someone just needs to shake him."
"Love isn't always enough. He's my soulmate, but I'm not his," Alex reminds her, tone morose. "He's probably got some alien's name, and he'll find them when he goes back."
Maria's nose wrinkles. "You really think that?"
Alex groans, dragging his free hand down his face. "I don't know what to think," he admits. "But he can't have my name; wouldn't it be - I don't know, easier? You and Rosa..."
"Rosa and I knew as soon as our marks showed up," Maria concedes with a nod, "but it's been anything but easy, even before she died." She closes her eyes briefly, takes a deep, even breath. "But I remember what you said to me that summer, about him. Do you not remember what it was like between you?"
Alex's eyes feel hot as he confesses, "I can't forget. Don't think I ever will."
Maria's expression softens in sympathy. "I don't know what was going on with your mark back then," she admits, "but you two have always had a connection."
"That just means we have history, now," Alex says miserably. "And we can't seem to get past it and even be friends."
Maria gently prises his glass from his hand so she can set both drinks down, and pulls him into a hug. "It's going to be okay," she tells him. "Whatever happens."
Alex wishes he could believe her; instead, he settles for clinging for comfort, just for tonight. Tomorrow, he'll put on his adult pants and get shit done, but tonight...
Tonight, he'll indulge the teen who got his heart broken a dozen times over in one summer, who never got to mourn.
Alex's first day at Deep Sky is two days later. He's spent the time researching Deep Sky and organizing his house for the five hundredth time in a fit of nerves. He's still sure this is the right choice, that it's better to be on Deep Sky's good side the next time shit hits the fan in Roswell, but he's not entirely sure what to expect.
Alex drives to the compound, which looks reassuringly official and vaguely military-like, enough to keep most civilians at bay. He's arrived early, but Eduardo is already waiting for him. "Thought you'd be too eager to wait," he says in response to Alex's unasked question. "Come, follow me."
Eduardo leads Alex into the compound, shows him to the office and workshop that he's being assigned to. "Equipped with the very best, of course," Alex is assured, and he has to admit there is some tech in the workshop that he'd bet good money cost more than the entire town of Roswell. Still, he doesn't have a chance to poke around before Eduardo continues the tour, pointing out the bathroom before leading the way to what looks like the common room in a dorm, equipped with couches and even a small kitchen. "People sometimes work long hours," Eduardo explains. "We keep the kitchen fully stocked, but you're welcome to bring your own food. We have some... famously picky eaters on staff."
Alex opens his mouth just as Eduardo's phone chirps at him, and Eduardo excuses himself after checking that Alex can find his way back to his office. "I'll meet you back there in an hour with your first project," he promises, already lifting the phone to his ear as he leaves.
Alex watches him go with a bemused smile, shaking his head as he turns back towards the kitchenette. He hears Eduardo greet someone, but he's distracted with poking through the cabinets - until he hears a familiar voice behind him.
"--done pulling it all together," the voice says as its owner and someone in heels come into the kitchen. "It should be ready by tomorrow at the latest, but I'm hoping it'll be later this afternoon."
Alex freezes, blinking. That can't be who he thinks it is - but if it is, he's not turning around just yet, because he is not ready to face him again, especially with an audience.
"That's great," the woman's voice says, gently teasing. "Ahead of schedule again. Do you want to do lunch tomorrow?"
"Sure, around one-thirty?"
"Sounds good." The heels walk away, and Alex hears the sound of someone putting together a cup of coffee.
He takes a deep breath before he makes himself turn around. Sure enough, only a couple feet away stands Forrest, attention focused on his coffee. Alex debates whether he can make a quick escape, but the room is just big enough that he doubts he'd be able to get out the door before Forrest noticed him. And, well, his history with Michael aside, Alex doesn't usually run from his problems. So he takes a deep breath, leans back against the counter as casually as he can manage, and says, "Hey, Forrest. Fancy seeing you here."
Forrest starts and looks up, but after the initial shock passes over his face, he laughs. "Oh, shit," he says. "Ramos finally brought you in, huh?"
Whatever Alex was expecting, that wasn't it. "What do you mean, 'finally'?"
Forrest shrugs, but he has the grace to look sheepish. "He's been talking about recruiting you for a while," he admits. "Guess he wanted to wait until things had settled down a little."
Alex pinches the bridge of his nose. "At the risk of sounding like an echo: 'things'? What exactly do you know about the things that have been going on in Roswell?"
Forrest shrugs again, and glances down at the mug in his hands. "A lot," he says. "Mostly from observation, though. I don't have the kind of clearance Eduardo's giving you. But I know that you and your friends stopped an alien serial killer last year."
If Alex had been holding a mug, he's not sure if he would've dropped it or squeezed it so hard it cracked. "You knew about aliens this whole time?" he demands tersely.
"Yeah," Forrest says. "But that's not why I was interested in you, I swear."
"No, that's not what I'm - Why didn't you say anything?"
"I couldn't talk about this place without risking my job," Forrest says. "And I guess..." He takes a breath. "I was waiting to see if you would trust me."
Alex blinks. "That wasn't my secret to trust you with," he says. "The only reason I knew was because of my fucking father."
Forrest nods. "Jesse Manes is kind of a notorious name around here," he says. "Word on the grapevine is that you've been working to dismantle everything he built?"
"You mean all the alien torture and experiments, and labeling aliens as terrorists, everything he inherited from a discontinued military op that he used family money to keep running?" Alex asks dryly. "Yeah, I've been tearing that all down."
"That's good," Forrest says. "That's why Eduardo wanted you. That, and you're crazy smart. We could use someone like you on our side."
"I think he used that exact phrase," Alex snorts.
"Probably," Forrest says. He smiles, but it's a little strained, like he feels just as uncomfortable as Alex does. "Well. I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah, see you," Alex says, and watches Forrest leave.
Luckily, the rest of his first day with Deep Sky isn't anywhere near as awkward. Eduardo shows him a radio that they confiscated from Project Shepherd sometime in the ‘80s, and Alex quickly loses himself in the mystery of it. He has to practically drag himself away from the paperwork at the end of the day in order to leave at a reasonable time, but he'd promised Greg he'd meet him at their old house to start going through the last of Jesse Manes' things.
Neither of them are really looking forward to it, judging by the expression on Greg’s face that Alex knows matches his own as he pulls into the driveway, parking behind Greg’s truck. “Never thought I’d willingly set foot on this property again,” Alex muses, getting out of his car.
"You sure you're okay with it?" Greg asks. He's leaning against the side of his truck with his hands in his pockets, clearly in no hurry to approach the house himself. "I can probably handle it."
”I’m sure,” Alex says determinedly. “I want to make sure it’s all gone, everything he ever tried to build.”
Greg pushes off the truck with a sigh. "Then let's do it," he says. "We'll work until we get bored, and then we'll go for a drink."
”Sounds like a plan,” Alex agrees, falling into step beside his brother, and thankful all over again that at least one of his brothers is worth keeping around; he’d hate to do this alone. “I vote we leave his room for last.”
"You don't just want to get it over with?" Greg asks.
Alex grimaces. “Not really; I want to make sure the rest of the house is clean, first. And…” He hesitates, then sighs. “And maybe I want to avoid it for a little bit longer.”
Greg nods. "Okay," he says. "Whatever you want to do."
They start in the living room, and work room-by-room. It’s… decidedly weird, Alex decides, walking through his childhood home and the site of his first war, looking over his father’s now-dusty knickknacks and curios and mementos and figuring out what they can toss and what they can donate or sell. Clay has washed his hands of the whole affair, and neither Alex nor Greg really want to keep any of this; Flint might, but Flint’s still recovering from CrashCon, and Alex isn’t about to let him become their father. He and Greg set aside a few things for Flint to decide if he wants to keep or not, but it’s still going to be a while before he’ll be let out of the medical wing on base, much less allowed off base, considering his involvement with their father’s unsanctioned plots.
Alex isn’t surprised to find that Jesse had stripped his old room; anything Alex wanted to keep, he snuck out and into a secure storage unit that only Maria had the key to when he left for basic. It’s gotten a new coat of paint at some point in the last decade, and now looks like a spare bedroom rather than the room of one of Jesse’s sons. Honestly, Alex is just as relieved to not have to dig into his own thorny past any deeper than he already is today.
Eventually, there are no other rooms left to go over, and Alex and Greg pause outside of the door to the master bedroom, the room Jesse had had to himself for almost twenty years. They share a look, and then Alex reaches for the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open -
It’s almost disappointing, that the room is so… ordinary. There’s no scrawled alien hate messages, no right-wing propaganda, just a military-neat bed, a desk against one wall, a dresser next to the closet door, and a few pictures on the wall. There’s one each of Jesse with Clay, Flint and Greg in their uniforms - Alex remembers taking one with him, too, standing straight-backed and uncomfortable, face stony as he stared at the camera, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
Probably thrown out around the time Alex clobbered him with his crutch, if it was ever up there to begin with.
Alex takes a breath and steels himself. “I’ll start looking through the desk,” he decides. “You wanna take the closet?”
"Sounds good," Greg agrees. He pulls a new trash bag off the roll and heads gamely towards the closet. "This shouldn't take too long, at least."
"Hopefully," Alex agrees, already opening the first drawer in the desk. Everything on the desk is fastidiously organized, just like the rest of the bedroom, and the drawers are no different. He works through it as quickly as he can, and finds nothing of interest. Alex doesn't know if he should feel disappointed or relieved when a muffled thunk comes from the vicinity of the closet, followed by a curse.
"Alex? I think I found something."
Alex leaves the desk in favor of coming over to Greg's side. "What's up?"
"There's a false panel in the floor here," Greg says. "Look."
Alex carefully kneels down so he can inspect the spot that Greg’s pointing to, and feels one brow raise when he sees what caught Greg’s attention. “Huh,” he says, tracing the seam. “Wonder what Dad could’ve hidden down here?”
"Only one way to find out," Greg says.
They share a look, and then Greg reaches out to run his fingers along the seam, finding the hidden catch and digging his fingernails in. Alex holds his breath, body wound tight with uncertainty and expectation -
Only to let it out in a sigh when he catches sight of the sealed plastic tub that looks like it holds some books. “Of course he hid his journals,” Alex mutters, rolling his eyes.
"What do you want to do?" Greg asks. "I can look through them if you want - or we can just burn them."
”We might as well go through them,” Alex says. “There’s probably nothing useful, but I’d rather be thorough.”
"Sure," Greg agrees. He pulls the box out of the floor, turning it over in his hands. "Doesn't look like it's been touched for a long while. You sure you want to do this?"
Alex nods. "Not like I'm gonna read anything in these that I didn't already know he thought about me," he says dryly.
"Then let's do it together," Greg says. He gets to his feet. "We could order pizza?"
"Sure," Alex agrees, following a little more slowly. "You still the weird one who likes pineapple on his pizza?"
Greg laughs. "You know it."
They finish bagging up the other shit in Jesse's room while they wait for the pizza to arrive, and they don't look at the journals again until after they've eaten. It feels kind of irreverent to go through Jesse Manes' diaries with fingers that are still vaguely greasy, and Alex gets a sick thrill out of it as he picks one of them up. Except they're not Jesse's journals. Once they figure out that they actually belonged to Tripp Manes, Alex gets up to wash his hands. And then they just sit there in the living room of their childhood home, a journal each, and read.
It isn't long before Greg speaks up. "I think he had a fucking alien girlfriend," he says, something like awe in his voice. "Her name was Nora."
Alex swallows. "Yeah," he says, eyes tracing over the way Tripp is describing the day he took Nora to a lake for the first time. "Yeah, it - It looks like it."
The way she laughs is my favorite sound; like there's nothing wrong with the world, if she can find something good at all. She laughed when the fish came to her feet, and I swear I felt -
Alex shuts the journal carefully, taking a slow breath. "I don't think we should be the ones reading these," he says after a moment.
Greg looks up, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Nora was one of the aliens at Caulfield," Alex says. "She was... She was Michael's mother."
"Oh, shit," Greg says, with feeling.
Alex swallows. "Yeah. So - I think we should give him these journals. He deserves to know her."
"You sure you don't want to vet them first?"
"I trust him," Alex says, shaking his head. "We can check and make sure these are all Tripp's, but. If Michael finds anything, he'll let me know."
Greg shrugs. "Okay," he says, "whatever you want." He looks at Alex for a long moment, like he's debating whether to say more, and then he says, "How are things with you two, anyway?"
Alex has to force himself not to reach for his wrist. "It's... okay," he says. "We're working on the whole 'friends' thing."
Greg looks surprised. "Huh. I thought for sure you were getting back together."
That gets a grimace. "Yeah, uh - no. That's... probably not going to happen."
"Oh," Greg says. "That's a real shame, Alex. I liked him for you."
"Uh." Alex blinks, resists the urge to check his ears for wax buildup. "Wait - What?"
Greg gives him a sad smile. "Did you think I didn't know?"
"I don't know," Alex admits. "But I definitely didn't think you'd approve."
Greg shakes his head, takes a breath. "I should have protected you," he says, more than a little bitter. "From him. You deserved better than all of us. I'm sorry, Alex."
"I - Thank you," Alex manages to get out, clearing his throat. "I appreciate it, but that's all in the past, now."
"I know," Greg says. "But that doesn't mean it didn't suck, or that I can't be here for you now."
Alex ducks his head, a small smile curving his lips. "Thanks," he says again, more sincerely this time.
Greg smiles back. "Are we too manly for a hug?" he asks.
That surprises a laugh out of Alex, who sets the journal in his hands aside. "Absolutely not," he says, pushing himself to his feet.
Greg gets up, too, grinning, and pulls Alex into a tight hug.
Alex sits on the journals for two days. He knows he needs to give them to Michael, but he also really doesn't want to face him. He texts with Greg a little over those days, though, and when he admits that he still hasn't handed them over, Greg offers to pick them up and deliver them himself. It's a tempting offer, Alex is ashamed to admit, but it also makes him realise that he needs to just do it. He owes Michael that much, at least.
So he puts them in his car the next morning before he drives to Deep Sky, buried inside a duffel bag filled with gym gear he has no intention of using today, and heads to the junkyard after work. It's going dark when he arrives, but it's still warm enough that Michael is sitting outside of the Airstream with the fire pit going and a beer in hand. He doesn't stand up when Alex gets out of his car, but tips his head back to look at Alex as he's walking over, the firelight casting a warm, flickering glow over his face.
"To what do I owe the honour?" he asks mildly, rather than say hello like a civilised person.
Alex gestures at the tub tucked under his arm. "I found something the other day," he says. "Thought you'd be interested."
That gets Michael's attention. He sits up a little straighter, curious. "What is it?"
Alex draws closer, holds the tub out. "Turns out Uncle Tripp kept a lot of journals," he says. "The one we found was just a snapshot, compared to these."
Michael hesitates, but reaches out to take the tub from Alex. "You're kidding," he says. "Is-- is my mom in these?"
Alex sits in the chair next to him. "I think that's all they're about," he says. "Greg and I looked at a couple, but when I realized what Tripp was writing about..." He shrugs. "I figured you should have them."
"So you didn't read them?"
”We just checked the first page of each one, to make sure that Dad didn’t hide any of his own in there,” Alex explains. “But I think he found those after Tripp disappeared, and just… put them away.”
"Well," Michael says, "thank you, for... thinking of me. I'll let you know if I find anything interesting in them?"
”If you want to. I never knew Tripp, obviously, so this is your family history more than mine.”
"Doesn't mean he won't say anything that might be useful," Michael points out. He sighs, hugging the tub to his chest for a moment. "You want to stay for a drink?"
Alex probably - definitely - shouldn't, but... "Sure," he says, smiling.
Alex’s next day at Deep Sky is spent reading over all of the files he can get his hands on about the radio and anything related to Project Shepard. When it's finally time to go home, Alex finds himself hesitating once he's in his car. He should probably go home, get some rest, but...
But he finds himself taking the turn for Sanders' junkyard instead, pulling in right around dusk. He parks the car and gets out, frowning when he doesn't immediately see - "Guerin? You up here?" The truck is here, but maybe he's down in the bunker and pulled the Airstream over the hatch, in which case Alex will have to hope he has phone signal down there.
There’s no answer, so Alex sighs and pulls out his phone. Michael answers on the fourth or fifth ring, but the line is awful, his voice crackly and distorted. "Alex? --'s up? I'm-- the bunker."
Alex rolls his eyes; of course he is. "Got something to talk about; let me in?"
"What?" Michael asks. "--outside? Ow, sh-- Hang on." The call disconnects, and then the Airstream is sliding back from the entrance to the bunker with a groan and a screech of metal.
Alex tucks the file folders under his arm; by the time he reaches the hatch, it's opening. "Hey, Guerin; got something you might wanna look at. Want me to come down?"
Michael appears at the bottom of the ladder, peering up at him. There's what looks like a grease mark on his forehead. "I can come up if it's better for your leg."
Alex considers that for a moment. "I should probably come down," he decides. "Considering what's in these." He gestures at the folders.
"You have my attention," Michael says. He holds one hand up towards Alex. "You want me to take those off you while you climb down?"
"Sure," Alex says, holding out the files and waiting until there's a tug on them before he lets them go, watching them hover for a moment before dropping down the hatch. He follows a moment later, carefully climbing down the ladder. He hears Michael shut the hatch and pull the Airstream back into place above his head. "Go ahead and take a look," he calls down, watching his step carefully. "This is one of my assignments at Deep Sky; thought you'd be interested."
Michael gamely flips the first folder open, scanning over the summary on the first page. "An alien radio?" he laughs.
”One that gets in people’s heads,” Alex says. “To the point of attempted suicide.”
”Oh, yeah,” Michael snorts, “because working for this place isn’t dangerous at all.”
Alex stomps on the urge to roll his eyes. “There’s a protocol; it doesn’t seem to start affecting people until after half an hour out of containment. But no one can figure out how it works, which is why I brought these files to you. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a certified alien engineer.”
”Well, I’ll take a look,” Michael says, gaze scanning over the page. “Exactly how many people died before your guys figured out the protocol?”
”No one actually died, but there were a couple of incidents, some people who had to take extended leave and can’t work with it anymore,” Alex admits. “You can see why Deep Sky wants to know how it works before someone does die.”
Michael hums. “I’m not really going to know much without getting my hands on it, but I’m guessing that’s out of the question?”
Alex feels his mouth twist. “For now,” he says. “I can’t exactly take it out of the facility, and I didn’t think you’d want to go in. But if you wanted to…”
"No fucking way," Michael says. "Even if they'd let me, I probably wouldn't come out."
Alex winces. "Deep Sky isn’t the best, but it's not Project Shepherd," he says - and then sighs. "But I also don't have the clearance to get you in officially."
Michael shrugs. "Well, I'll get back to you, I guess." He holds up the folders. "Can I keep hold of these?"
"Yeah, just, y'know, don't go papering Town Hall with them."
"Obviously not," Michael laughs. "I’ll give you a call if I figure anything out."
The promise of a call from Michael about a potential alien artifact definitely shouldn't make butterflies swarm in Alex's stomach. "Sounds good," he says, and congratulates himself when it doesn't sound breathless with anticipation.
God, he's so screwed.
"Oh, wow," Maria says when Alex walks into the Pony a few days later and heads straight for the bar. "Are you driving tonight? Because you look like you're in the mood to give Guerin a run for his money."
Alex dangles his keys in front of her. "You can hold onto these, I'll either get a cab or crash on your couch," he sighs. "But yes. I need a goddamn drink."
Maria takes his keys and reaches for a glass. "More boy troubles?" she asks.
"Yes," Alex says miserably.
Maria tuts sympathetically. "What happened, baby?"
"I gave him some files," Alex groans. "And he's being smart. It's stupid. And hot."
Maria laughs at him. "God, you've got it bad."
Alex buries his face in his hands. "If you're gonna make fun of me, can you please get me drunk while you do it?"
Maria pours him two fingers of whiskey and hands the glass over. "Tell me all about it," she says. "I promise I won't be too mean."
Alex downs half his drink before he finds his voice again. “I gave him some files on a project I’m working on for my new boss,” he says. “Figured Michael could help. And he said he’d call me after he looked them over, and then he did, and he was talking about a lot… Well, some of it went over my head, it was all mechanical, but he’s so fucking smart, Maria.”
"And we're... thirsty about this?" Maria asks.
Alex whines. "Of course we are," he groans, gulping down the rest of his whiskey. "We've always been thirsty over his fucking brain."
"And the rest of him."
"And the rest of him," Alex sighs, pushing his glass back towards Maria. "But that's always been a given."
Maria pours. "So then why is it fucking you up so much now?"
"I don't know." Alex grimaces, and corrects himself. "Because of... you know." He makes a vague gesture towards his wrist.
"You need to talk to him," Maria sighs. "You're torturing yourself."
"I can't, Maria," Alex groans. "It's bad enough now, but if he knew I have his name..."
"What?" Maria asks. "You really think he's going to be a dick about it?"
"I think he'd be nice about it - and that'd be worse."
Maria shakes her head. "I'm telling you," she says, "I think you're selling him short."
"Yeah, how so?" Alex asks, a little viciously. "You think he'd, what, pity fuck me? Forget all about whoever the hell is on his wrist?"
Maria winces. "I told you that we didn't talk about his mark when we were together," she offers. "We established that it wasn't me, and that he wasn't mine, and that was it. You don't know that he's found whoever it is, or that it's not a platonic bond. But you do know he cares about you."
”We cared about each other before,” Alex says morosely. “That’s not always enough, and you know it.” He gives her own wrist a pointed look.
Maria is not impressed. "That's different," she says - and lowers her voice. "Rosa and I are platonic, first of all - and secondly, we literally can't embrace the bond now because everyone thinks she's dead. I thought she was dead for ten years. I lost my mark too, Alex. But the situation we're in isn't by choice."
Chastened, Alex grimaces. “Sorry,” he says. “I know it’s not the same. But I still just… We have so much history, things we did to each other.” He hesitates, then admits, “Things I did to him. I don’t know if we can get past it.”
Maria reaches across the bar to touch his hand. "You're never going to find out if you don't try," she says. "But it's up to you to decide if you can live with that."
Alex just sighs, and nudges his glass towards her in a wordless request.
Alex spends the next day nursing one hell of a hangover, and the day after that, he’s busy at Deep Sky working on the radio. He doesn’t make much progress with it, but Eduardo’s not expecting miracles, so Alex doesn’t feel too bad. As he leaves Deep Sky, Alex hesitates for a moment before texting Michael, asking if he’d read the journals Alex and Greg had found. Michael admits he hasn’t, and before Alex knows it, he’s offering to pick up a couple of six packs and read them with Michael.
What’s even more surprising than Alex offering, is Michael accepting.
So Alex makes a detour in town to the grocery store, picks up a case of the beers he and Michael prefer, and heads for the junkyard. He finds Michael waiting for him by the firepit, and holds up the case in offering. “Think it might be a little too cold out here tonight, but we should be fine in the Airstream,” he says. “Or we could get a fire going, sit out here and talk about nothing, if you’ve changed your mind.”
Michael shakes his head, rising to his feet and taking the case from Alex. "Inside is good," he says. "You still sure about this?"
"I'm sure," Alex says. "Not gonna lie, I’m kind of curious about them myself."
Michael shakes his head, a laugh on his lips. "Then let's get started."
They get set up quickly, each of them propped up on one end of the bed, the case of beer between them and the still-closed plastic tub of journals next to it. "So," Alex says, feeling a little awkward. "Rock-paper-scissors for who picks the first one?"
Michael does look like he's considering it, but he shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "I've been putting it off long enough." He opens the tub and pulls out the first journal.
Alex picks up the one next to it, and settles in to read. This journal picks up shortly after Tripp tracked Nora and Louise to the Long ranch, and describes one of the first times he actually has a conversation with Nora. He talks about feeling drawn to her, like he could listen to her talk for hours, even when she’s talking about things that go way over his head, or being outright suspicious of him.
The journals seem to go roughly in chronological order, and Alex and Michael work their way steadily through journals and beer alike. Alex is definitely buzzed when he comes across a passage that steals the breath from his lungs. He has to clear his throat to make his voice work. “Hey; listen to this:
”Nora invited me to stay for dinner tonight. First time she’s invited me, not Louise or Walt. I about tripped over my own tongue trying to say ‘yes.’ Think she was laughing at me when she told me to make sure Walt cleans up after our adventure in the mud pond out in the far field this afternoon. I don’t mind, though; I love her laugh, even when she’s laughing at me. Walt complained the whole time he was cleaning up, but he did it, and exactly how Nora wanted him to, too. Guess I’m not the only one who’d do whatever she asked if it meant she’d smile at me, maybe ruffle my hair or touch my shoulder.
”Christ, I better hide these journals good. Maybe I should burn ‘em; if Harlan ever finds these… He’s been asking about the crash, about my search for the ‘hidden’ threats. I’m never gonna give Nora or Louise up, though, and Harlan can fucking choke on his gun.
”Dinner wasn’t anything fancy, being made and served out in a barn that the Longs haven’t used in years, but it was good. Might’ve been the company that made it good. Walt’s a bright kid, eager to learn about the world, and he’s absolutely gone on Nora and Louise, and they dote on him, too. Louise and Roy are so damn sweet it makes my teeth ache to look at them, and Nora feels the same, if the looks she was giving me while they were busy feeding each other mean anything.
”We had apple pie for dessert, but I think it would’ve been sweeter if it’d come from Nora’s plate.”
"Wow," Michael says when he's finished. "Uncle Tripp was a poet." He shakes his head, looking down at the journal in his own hands. "He really cared about her, didn't he?"
Alex wets his lips. "Yeah," he says, absently running his thumb over that last line. "He... He really did."
Michael nods, almost to himself. "I'm glad," he says at last. "I know how it ends, but... I'm glad, that she had this."
Alex hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should say anything, but eventually he offers, "Good memories can make... all the difference, when things are shit."
Michael gives him an unreadable look. "Yeah," he says, "you're right."
They fall back into silence while they read on, providing occasional commentary when the mood strikes. Alex loses himself in his journal, in the beautiful way that Tripp describes his interactions with Nora. Their romance seems sweet, almost innocent. He clearly adored her - her sharp wit, her kind heart, her intelligence. Alex can relate.
But then, a few more beers and more than half the journal later, Michael makes a sound like he's been punched. "Holy shit."
Alex lowers his journal, looking at Michael in concern. "What?" he demands. "What'd you find?"
"I'll read it to you," Michael says, and does just that: "Nora showed me her arm today. It seems that her people get soulmarks too, though she told me that hers didn't show up until she made the decision to travel to Earth, and she didn't understand it until Roy took her in. It's my name. Right there on her skin. 'Tripp Manes'. I couldn't believe it.
"She told me that Louise and Roy share their marks, but that she's been scared to tell me about hers, because she's sure that I don't have her name. It broke my heart to disappoint her, but I showed her my mark. God, the look on her face took my breath away.
"I've never let anyone see my mark before. From the moment it appeared, I've kept it hidden. It's not natural. I've never seen anything like it; I've always been embarrassed by it. But it felt important to be honest with her, after she'd been honest with me. And thank God I was. The mark is in her language - and it's her name, her real name.
"She laughed when she told me. She cried. I cried. And she kissed me. I know for sure now that I was right to keep my mark hidden, but I'll never be ashamed of it again."
Michael looks up at him, his eyes shining, and turns the journal around so that Alex can see the page. "He drew it. He drew his mark. Look."
Alex carefully sets the journal in his hand aside, scooting closer until he can see the sketch on the page. It’s reminiscent of the bits of alien language that he’s seen before, flowing and connecting in a way he’s never seen before. It looks beautiful, honestly -
And it looks familiar.
It’s not exactly the same as what was on Alex’s wrist when he was younger, back before the mark disappeared, but it’s close enough that it makes Alex’s heart thump in his chest, makes him look up with wide eyes to meet Michael’s gaze. “It’s - It’s gorgeous,” he says.
"It's her name," Michael says again, his voice shaking with emotion. "In her-- in our language. They were fucking soulmates, Alex."
His voice isn’t the only thing that’s shaking; his hands are trembling, making the journal shake, and Alex slides closer, until the length of his thigh is pressed against Michael’s. He reaches up, covers Michael’s hands with his own to still them, and ducks his head to catch Michael’s eye. “They were,” he says, quiet, a little wondering. “They were soulmates.” It’s really possible, he thinks, but doesn’t say, too preoccupied watching Michael.
Michael lets out a soft sigh, his gaze dropping briefly to Alex's mouth. "Alex," he breathes. "I--"
Alex is moving before his brain has a chance to tell him it’s a bad idea. He catches Michael’s lips with his in a kiss that’s gentle for all the intensity behind it. Michael gasps into his mouth, and then melts against him. He drops the journal between them, one hand clinging to Alex’s, the other coming up to grip his shoulder, keep him close.
The kiss breaks a moment later when they need to breathe, and Alex finds himself sucking in lungfuls of air like he's back in basic running miles and miles for training. "Fuck," he gasps, realizes his hands are still tangled with one of Michael's, that Michael's using his free hand to clutch at Alex's shirt almost tight enough to rip. "Michael - "
"Alex," Michael says again, and it sounds like a prayer, like a fucking benediction. This time, it's Michael who closes the distance between them, kissing him once more.
Alex falls into the kiss for a long moment, drugged with the feeling of Michael’s mouth under his, Michael’s hands on him -
And then reality catches up with him, his wrist all but burning under the leather cuff, and Alex…
Alex rips himself away, swearing. “Shit, I - “ He catches sight of Michael blinking, and his legs move without his input as he scrambles off of the bed, away from Michael. “Guerin…” He pauses, torn, feeling like he’s practically vibrating between the desire to run and the desire to crawl right into Michael’s lap, into his arms, and never come out, and damn the consequences. He’s genuinely not sure which way he’ll break, staring at Michael with his breath caught in his chest, feeling like his eyes are too wide for his face.
Michael doesn't seem to share his indecision. He sways closer, his hand slipping up to Alex's wrist in an effort to draw him back in. His fingers brush the cuff.
Alex breaks.
He bolts, ripping his wrist from Michael’s hand, and by the time Michael finds his voice, Alex’s hand is on the door. Alex is in his car by the time Michael gets to the door of the Airstream, and then he’s gone, the dust in his wake obscuring his view of the junkyard in his rearview mirror.
Alex drives, his mind whirling, stomach churning, for more than a mile before he has to pull over because he can’t blink back the tears any more, can’t swallow back the urge to cry. The car shudders around him, rocking with the sudden stop, and Alex barely has the wherewithal to hit the emergency lights before he’s sobbing, burying his face in his arms on the steering wheel. God, this was all such a stupid idea; he let Maria get in his head, let her convince him to try again, but what are the fucking odds that he and Michael are as lucky as Nora and Tripp? And even if they are, look at how that ended - Tripp’s own brother betrayed him, captured his soulmate and locked her up to torture her for seventy years, and killed Tripp.
How is that worth it? How could Alex and Michael ever be better? They’re already off to a shit start, they’ve got so much pain and history between them that Alex feels like he’s drowning in it every time he looks at Michael.
Alex has no idea how long he stays on the side of the road. He just knows that by the time he’s finally cried himself out, his whole goddamn face hurts and he’s sober, the last of his buzz gone. It still takes him several minutes to get the car moving, to track down a couple of fast food napkins to wipe at his face and blow his nose.
Alex is careful to keep his mind blank for the rest of the drive home. When he finally drags himself into his bed, he deletes the texts from Michael without reading them and turns his phone off before he finally lets himself fall asleep.
"You're playing with your cuff a lot lately," Kyle says as he slides into the booth Alex is currently haunting at the Wild Pony, startling him into pulling his hand away from the cuff in question. "That got something to do with the fact that your mark came back?"
It's a good thing Alex doesn't have anything in his mouth, because he nearly chokes on his own tongue. "How did you hear about that?" he hisses.
"From Liz and Maria," Kyle says, like he hasn't apparently been gossiping about Alex behind his back with his best friends. "They're worried about you."
Alex scowls. "They need to mind their own business," he grumbles.
"Well, it's clearly bothering you, and they said that you won't do anything about it," Kyle says. "Have you talked to him yet?"
Alex cuts him a look. "Who the hell do you think it is?"
Kyle scoffs like the question is ludicrous, leaning back in his seat. "I know who it is," he says. "It's Guerin."
"Oh yeah, Liz and Maria tell you that too?" Alex scoffs, betrayal stinging.
Kyle's expression softens. "No," he says. "But it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out. The only question is why you're in here drinking alone instead of riding that cowboy into the sunset."
"Did you just - " Alex cuts himself off, because he doesn't actually want to know if Kyle Valenti made a gay sex joke. He blows out a breath, shakes his head. "He doesn't have my name," he settles on saying. "So it's a moot point."
"What?" Kyle splutters, laughing. "That's bullshit. There's no way."
Alex sits back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks at Kyle with a raised brow. "Really? You think you know better than me?"
"Have you seen it?" Kyle counters. "Have you asked him?"
Alex rolls his eyes and catches sight of Michael ducking through the door as someone else leaves. He quickly focuses back on Kyle before Michael can catch him looking. "I don't need to," he says. "I know him, Kyle."
"So do I," Kyle says. "Not as well, maybe, but well enough. And he is obsessed with you." Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watches Michael approach the bar, leaning against it like he hasn't a care in the world. It would be believable if it weren't for the way he tilts his head slightly in their direction. Surely he can't hear them. Why did Alex have to pick the booth closest to the bar, anyway? "All I'm saying," Kyle goes on, oblivious with his back to Michael, "is you should show him your mark. You have nothing to lose."
"No offense, Kyle, but you don't know that," he says, giving Kyle's cuff-free wrist a pointed look.
Kyle just shrugs, unbothered. "Maybe I don't know shit about having a soulmate," he says, "but I'd have to be blind to not see how he looks at you."
Alex huffs, rolling his eyes again, and changes the subject; he didn't come here to spend his night talking about his soulmate.
Once they get on another topic, Kyle's good company, and when Alex finally heads out almost two hours later, he's got a pleasant, mild buzz going thanks to a couple drinks soaked up by plenty of fries and wings. It's enough that he doesn't realize right away that he's being followed. Honestly, his trainers back in the Air Force would be ashamed if they knew Alex didn't realize Michael was behind him until he caught sight of Michael's reflection in the window of a car. He startles, whirling, and gives Michael a heavy frown. "Are you stalking me now, Guerin?" he asks, sharper than he intended.
Michael seems to shrink in on himself, but only for a moment, and in the dim light of the parking lot Alex wonders if he imagined it. "No," Michael says, drawing closer. "I just wanted to talk to you."
Apprehension makes his stomach flip, but Alex's voice is steady as he asks, "About what?"
"The other night," Michael says, his gaze dark and intense. "I wanted to apologise."
That's... not what Alex was expecting. "For what?" he asks, cautious.
Michael's lips curve into a rueful smile. "I may not have the best moral compass," he says, "but I do know that you have a boyfriend."
Alex huffs, lips twitching despite himself. "Pretty sure I was the one who kissed you first," he points out.
Michael nods slowly, moving closer still. "There is an argument to be made for that," he concedes. He stills right in front of Alex, and he wets his lips, working himself up to something. "I, uhh. I overheard you talking to Valenti."
Alex braces himself. "Oh, did you?" he says, trying his best to keep his voice level.
Michael nods again. "Sounded like you finally got your mark."
The last time Alex spent the night with Michael flashes through his mind, and Alex swallows against the urge to run - or throw up. "Yeah, I did," he says, and doesn't say anything about how it's more like he got it back.
"That's great," Michael says softly, and there's something in his eyes that Alex doesn't think he's seen for over ten years. "Who is it?"
Alex's mind goes blank with panic. He opens his mouth, and has no idea what he's going to say -
"It's Forrest," his mouth says without his permission or input. "It showed up when I came back to town."
That look that Alex can't dare to name vanishes in an instant. "Forrest," Michael repeats. He clears his throat, takes a step back. "Of course. That... that's great, Alex."
Alex ducks his head, makes himself smile - but it feels more like a grimace. "Thanks," he says, and digs this new hole deeper. "It was... a hell of a surprise. For both of us."
"I bet," Michael says. There's something else on his face now, a new expression that Alex doesn't think he's ever seen - but he's still backing away, falling into shadow, and Alex can't make himself move to follow. "Well, I'm happy for you," Michael goes on. "He's... perfect for you, honestly. Exactly what you need, I bet." He's leaving, Alex realises, making for his truck. "Anyway, I was just heading out. I'm sorry again, for, you know."
"Don't worry about it; totally forgotten," Alex lies, and he can't stop himself from rocking forward not-quite a step. He also can't stop himself from asking, "What about you? Met your name yet?"
Michael actually laughs, pushing a hand through his curls. "Uh, yeah," he says. "A while ago."
Alex shouldn't be surprised by that, but the ground still rocks unpleasantly beneath his feet. "Oh. Well, are you gonna introduce them to us anytime soon?"
"Nah," Michael says, pulling the driver's door open. "You don't know her, and she's kind of private."
It takes Alex a moment to get his lungs working again. "That's- " He clears his throat. "That's fair; our group can be... kind of a lot. I hope she's good for you, Guerin."
"Yeah," Michael says, "me too." He climbs into the truck and reaches for the door. "Later, Manes."
Alex maybe dissociates just a little, because he doesn't come back to himself until Michael's tail lights are disappearing from view.
Alex throws himself into his work at Deep Sky after that. He doesn’t want to be in his house alone, doesn’t want to take the chance of running into Michael in town, or Liz or Maria tracking him down. Alex just… needs some space to lick his wounds, to recover from losing that last little bit of hope he didn’t even realize he still had.
The extra hours don’t go unnoticed, but Eduardo seems to recognize the haunted look Alex sees in the mirror, because he doesn’t kick Alex out, just bullies him into eating on a semi-regular schedule, up to and including remotely locking his computer. On the upside, Alex is making more progress with the radio than he has to date, but there’s only so much he can do from the outside. He requisitions a small scope camera, and finds a place to cut a hole in the side of the radio just large enough for the scope to fit in.
Eduardo actually delivers the camera himself, and just rolls his eyes when Alex cracks a joke about ‘delivery boy’ being below his paygrade. They carefully drill a hole into the radio, and there’s not much out of the ordinary from the top -
But when they look in the bottom, there’s a small piece of alien glass wired into the inner workings.
Eduardo’s excitement is palpable as they record as much of the inner workings of the radio as they can, the alien glass shimmering the whole time. Alex should be excited, but he’s too worried about the timer ticking closer and closer to the thirty-minute mark.
”Well,” Alex says, carefully retrieving the camera once Eduardo decides they finally have enough images and video for now. “Now we know why that damn thing gives off an alien signal.”
Eduardo hums in agreement. "It still doesn't give us any ideas about why or how it does what it does, though." He gives Alex a smile, his eyes glittering with a challenge. "Where do we go next, Captain Manes?"
Alex takes a deep breath. "I don't know," he admits. "I have some experience with this stuff - but I'm only human, and it's not a lot of experience. We need an alien engineer."
"You're talking about Michael Guerin," Eduardo says.
"I am," Alex agrees, careful to keep his tone level. "He's been working with this kind of tech for years, and, well. He's a genius, and that's not just my opinion. If we want to figure out how either of these things work, we need to bring him on board."
Eduardo hums, considering this. "Do you think he'd be willing to join us?"
"It'll be a hard sell," Alex says honestly. "He's... understandably cautious. But I think he'll want the chance to work with new tech."
Eduardo nods. "What would you need from us?"
"Clearance for him - as high as mine," Alex starts with. "He won't trust anything less; he needs assurance that this isn't Caulfield."
Eduardo nods. "Done."
Alex blinks. "Just like that?"
"If you trust him, so do I," Eduardo says. "We've known about Mr Guerin and the Evans twins for quite some time, Alex. If we wanted them, we'd have them by now. But what we want is for valued members of our team to trust us. We have nothing to hide, from you or from him."
That... makes sense. In a vaguely terrifying way. "Then I'll talk to him," Alex says after a moment. "If you show up, he'll probably just swear at you."
Eduardo smiles. "Let me know the outcome," he says. "I'll make the arrangements on my end."
"Okay," Alex says, and resists the urge to go sit at his desk with his head in his hands for a few hours. What the hell has he just signed himself up for?
He spends the rest of his time at work that day talking himself into going to the junkyard when he leaves, and then the drive back towards town talking himself out of it. He's still not ready to see Michael, doesn't know what it'll do to him if he does. And what if he's not alone? If Michael has found his soulmate, surely it's just luck that Alex hasn't happened upon them together on the other occasions that he's dropped by the Airstream unannounced. Luck always runs out sometime. It's not worth the risk.
So he goes home instead, and he makes himself dinner, and forces himself to do housework that he's been putting off because he's great at being productive if it means he can procrastinate on something worse. He runs out of things to do eventually, though, so he fixes himself a drink, and then he fixes himself another - and then he calls Michael.
"Alex?" Michael sounds tired, not like he's just woken up but like he wasn't far from falling asleep, and - shit, it wasn't early when Alex left Deep Sky, and he's been home for a couple hours. It's almost midnight. "What's wrong?"
”Fuck, I’m - I didn’t look at the time,” Alex swears. This is off to a great start. “It’s not an emergency, I promise. It has to do with that tech you’ve been helping me with.”
"What about it?" Michael asks. "I told you I can't do anything else unless you can smuggle it out of there."
"I know - but what if I could get you in, with the same clearance I have?"
There's a shuffling sound, and when Michael speaks again, he sounds a lot more alert. "What are you talking about?"
"We got a scope in the radio," Alex explains. "There’s definitely alien glass inside, and I told Ramos we can't do anything else without you. He agreed to give you the same clearance I have, let you come and go as you want."
"Would I have to work for him like you do?"
"Not like me, no," Alex says. "You'd be... basically an independent contractor."
"Huh," Michael says. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course," Alex assures him.
"All right," Michael says. "I'll let you know."
"Okay," Alex says. "You have my number, so just... Whenever you make up your mind, text me. Or call me."
"I'll let you know, Alex," Michael says again, somehow managing to sound exasperated and fond all at once. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Alex echoes, covering his face with his hand in embarrassment.
He's still awake, several drinks in and still thinking about it, when his phone buzzes two hours later. It's Michael.
You sure you'd be okay with it?
Alex is vaguely mortified by how quickly he replies. Wouldn't have suggested it to Ramos if I wasn't.
Then yes. Count me in
Alex gets everything set up the next day, and the day after, he meets Michael in the parking lot to escort him in. They exchange some meaningless small talk, and as soon as Michael's inside, Eduardo whisks him away for an 'orientation' session. Alex makes his way towards his own office, detouring by the kitchen for some coffee, and comes face-to-face with the thing he hadn't even realized he'd forgotten:
The fact that Forrest works for Deep Sky, too.
Alex freezes just inside the doorway, and he must make some noise, because Forrest looks up from where he's been making some oatmeal. "Sorry," Alex blurts before Forrest can say anything. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
Forrest gives him a smile. "Hey," he says. "You're not interrupting, I'm just making breakfast." He gestures for Alex to come further into the room. "How's everything going?"
"Hit a dead end," Alex admits, heading for the coffee machine and pulling out two mugs. "Had to bring in some outside help."
Forrest's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh," he says. "What kind of outside help?"
Alex hesitates, and doesn't look at Forrest as he admits, "Guerin's help. The radio has alien tech inside of them, and he's got more experience than me."
There's a moment of silence while Forrest absorbs that, but then he says, "Wow, you guys are working together now. How do you feel about that?"
"It's... a change," Alex says. "Been a while since we've been so close for so long."
Forrest nods, his expression serious. "Well, I wish you both the best," he says. "I mean that, Alex. And good luck with your project, too."
Alex tries to smile, but it feels stiff and awkward. "Thanks," he says as the coffee machine beeps at him. "I better go get the office set up. I'll see you around?"
"Sure," Forrest says easily, turning back to his oatmeal. "Have a good day."
Alex manages to mumble some approximation of a goodbye as he darts from the room. He takes refuge in his office, clearing out a space for him and Michael to work on the artifacts. It's a decent distraction from the panic that wants to break out of its tightly-controlled swirl. Michael is going to be here pretty often, and Forrest is heading out in a few months on a book tour, but until then he's going to be in the facility just as often. And since Alex lied...
Christ, this hole he dug is deeper than he thought. He's just going to have to try to keep Michael busy enough that he doesn't have much opportunity to run into Forrest. Hopefully the tech will do that for Alex; Michael's always been laser-focused when he gets a project.
By the time Eduardo knocks on his doorframe, Alex has reorganized the same bit of workbench almost five times. He almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of the knock, but manages to get his smile under control before turning around. "Hey," he says, aiming for casual. "Done grilling him?"
Eduardo just smiles, and steps back so that Michael can duck into the room. "He's all yours," he says. "I look forward to reading your report at the end of the day."
Alex nods in acknowledgement, turning his attention towards Michael. "That'll be my responsibility," he says. "I know how he wants his reports. So, he didn't scare you off?"
"No," Michael says, still looking warily down the hall after Eduardo. "I'm still not thrilled to be here, but." He shrugs. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't turn me over to be experimented on, so."
"Never," Alex says seriously. "I'd never have brought it up if I thought that was a possibility."
Michael nods, still hovering in the doorway. "I know." He waits until Eduardo's footsteps can no longer be heard in the hall and then closes the office door, but he lingers beside it, like he's unsure where to put himself. "So. What happens now?"
Alex gestures to the workbench, where space has been cleared around the radio. "Now, you have a cup of coffee, and we start working on this thing."
The coffee is apparently an excellent motivator, as it gets Michael across the room in two seconds flat to pick up the mug Alex has left out for him and take a huge gulp. "Right," he says. "Okay." He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, looking at the bench. "I talked to Sanders about my mom."
It's kind of a non sequitur, but it grabs Alex all the same. "Really?" he asks, stomach flipping for some reason he can’t quite decipher. “What’d he say?”
Michael turns the mug between his hands. "He said that she was an engineer," he says, very quietly. "He said that she was always tinkering with stuff, trying to make sense of human technology. So I guess we kind of have that in common, right?”
"Oh," Alex says quietly, chest aching at the thought. "That's... That’s good - finding out more about her, I mean. I’m glad you know."
"Yeah," Michael says. "Thanks.” He takes a breath. “He also said that she was trying to figure out how human and alien tech can work together - maybe that’s what Project Shepherd wanted to do, make it work for them?"
Alex frowns. “Possibly,” he says slowly. “But, well. You read the files I gave you about this thing.”
Michael hums, moving closer for a better look. "They said it can influence people."
"In a bad way," Alex confirms, grimacing at the understatement.
"Has it done anything to you at all?"
Alex shakes his head. "I've been careful not to work with it out of containment too long," he says. "It only starts affecting people after about half an hour in direct line of sight."
Michael pulls a face. "Then why don't you just smash it to pieces, or leave it in storage forever?"
"Because it's not up to me," Alex sighs. "And I think it... protects itself against violence? Last person who tried to dismantle it almost killed themselves; would have, if their lab partner hadn't come back from a smoke break when they did."
Michael's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Are you sure you should be working on this?"
"Until you signed on, I was the only one with any experience with alien tech," Alex points out wryly. "And this was confiscated from Project Shepherd, so... I want to figure it out."
"Right," Michael says. "Well, maybe it responds differently to aliens. I'll take a shot at it."
Alex takes a step back, gesturing Michael forward. "Be my guest."
They work together quite well, it turns out, although Alex should probably have expected that. They tinker with the radio for about twenty minutes at a time, turning their attention to other projects in between. They're no closer to an answer for any of their numerous questions about the radio by the end of the first day, so Alex tells Michael to pack up while he writes a report for Eduardo. They leave separately, and return the next day to do it all over again.
The rest of the week is more of the same, except for Thursday night when Michael decides to keep working on the radio while Alex writes up his report. It's been around thirty-one minutes of direct contact when Michael suddenly goes stiff, and asks Alex very calmly, "Is there someone else in this room?" Alex does him the service of looking around before confirming that no, they're still quite alone, and Michael shoves away from the worktop with a curse, turning his back to the radio and pushing a hand through his curls. "It doesn't respond differently to aliens," he says shortly.
He offers no further detail, and Alex doesn't ask, but they start working on it in timed, fifteen-minute intervals after that.
It's actually not that difficult in the first week to keep Forrest and Michael apart. As Alex predicted, Michael is too absorbed in his work to leave the office even to eat most days - which means that Alex is usually the one venturing into the small kitchen to make coffee or some toast. He's certainly not complaining, because he runs into Forrest himself quite a few times, though their interactions are usually limited to a brief smile and an office-friendly 'hello' in passing.
Of course, he can't always be so lucky. He's making himself some breakfast early on the Monday after Michael started working here when Forrest draws up beside him to fix his own oatmeal right as Alex is finishing up. Alex doesn't look at him, but he feels Forrest's gaze drop to his wrist where he has his sleeves roll up. He waits, and a moment later, Forrest says, "Huh. I thought you'd have that uncovered now."
Alex is pretty sure he blacks out. He has no idea what he says to Forrest, but he doesn't come back to himself until he's back in his office with coffee and toast for him and Michael. He's off for the rest of the day, out of it, distracted. If Michael notices, he doesn't say anything, not even when Alex decides that Eduardo can wait for his daily report until the morning and leaves before Michael. They've been working quite late these days, so it's around eight o'clock by the time he makes it back into town. Still well before closing, but there's only one person he can think to talk to about this who might actually understand.
So he goes to the Crashdown.
"Not that I'm not happy to keep giving you free milkshakes," Liz says mildly as she drops off yet another one, "but do you not have a home to go to? You've been here all night."
Alex lets out a deep sigh, tugging the milkshake closer. "I just... really don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now," he says, and then hesitates. "And - I'm maybe waiting for things to calm down a bit so I can ask you something."
Liz's eyes widen in surprise, and she glances around the diner. It's near to closing, but business is still lively. "Give me fifteen minutes?"
Alex lifts his shake in acknowledgement. "I'll be here."
It takes her twenty minutes, but Alex isn't counting. She slides into the booth opposite him with a milkshake of her own and a warm double-chocolate fudge brownie drizzled with salted caramel sauce that she slides towards him. "You look like you need it," she says when he raises his eyebrows, her own expression concerned. "What's going on?"
Alex sighs, and picks up a fork to take a stab at the brownie. "It's my mark," he says, voice quiet.
Liz's face falls. "If this is about Kyle finding out, I'm really sorry," she says. "Maria was worried about you, and we were talking about it in my lab, and Kyle dropped by and overheard it. We would never betray your trust like that, Alex, I swear."
"I know," Alex assures her. "That's not what this is about. I actually..." He hesitates, then takes a deep breath. "I wanted to ask about yours."
"Oh," Liz says. Whatever she was expecting him to say, this clearly didn't even make the list. "Okay. What about it?"
"Did it ever... change?"
"What do you mean?" Liz asks. "It's always been Max, if that's what you're asking."
"Yeah, but has it ever... shown another language, or disappeared?" Alex presses, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Liz looks at him like he's a complicated equation she wants to solve, and fully intends to. "No," she says slowly. "Has yours?"
Alex resists the urge to fiddle with his cuff, instead taking another bite of his brownie. "A bit. It's... not exactly the same as it was before it disappeared."
"Is it a different person entirely?" Liz asks. "Because that's not unheard of. People change; compatibility isn't always guaranteed." Her expression softens. "You've been through a lot in the last ten years, and so has he."
Alex pauses, considering how to answer. "I don't know," he says. "I couldn't exactly read it, before."
"What does that mean?"
"It wasn't... human," Alex says carefully. "What else could change a mark?"
Liz takes a breath. "A lot of things," she says. "There's not a lot that's truly understood about them, but they seem to have a strong tie to the person's sense of identity? For example, if two soulmates get married and one takes the other's surname, the mark sometimes changes to reflect that. And there are a lot of cases documented where a person's mark reflects the name their soulmate most strongly identifies with - like if someone's trans or something. It's considered more common now, but there's evidence that goes back centuries."
Alex hums, considering that as he pokes at the rest of the brownie, pushing it from one side of the plate to the other. "What about the mark going away and coming back?" he finally asks. "I know Maria and... Well, the same circumstances don't apply to me."
Liz winces. "Obviously we know the marks disappear when our soulmate dies," she says - and she suddenly looks so sad, but not, Alex realises, for Rosa. "It can happen, very rarely, when someone's soulmate completely rejects their side of the bond."
Alex feels his blood run cold. "But there's no coming back from that, is there?"
That look gets worse. "No," she admits - "but that might not be what's happening here. There could be another reason. Alex, we've only begun to scratch the surface of everything that makes a soulmark what it is. Even bonds that form one-sided are written into both parties' DNA. They shouldn't be possible. There's definitely more to them than we understand, and I'm no expert."
Alex has to swallow back the lump in his throat that tastes like fear and heartbreak. "Of course," he mutters, looking back at the nearly-unrecognizable brownie. "But, um. Thanks. Anyway."
Liz reaches out to cover his hands with hers. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry, Alex, I didn't mean to hurt you. And at the risk of losing my head, you're not going to have answers to any of your questions until you talk to him."
Alex yanks his hands away from hers, balling them into fists on his lap as he glares at Liz. The glare loses something for the tears he can feel stinging at the corners of his eyes. "And hear him tell me what?" he demands, tone harsh and voice thick. "He rejected the bond ten years ago and suddenly decided he wants it - me back, when I'm trying to move on?"
"I don't know," Liz says, helpless. "I don't know what he'll tell you. But you don't either - and in the nicest way possible, you clearly aren't moving on."
Alex takes in a breath, hates how it trembles. "I'm trying. He - He told he'd met his name, Liz. Said she was a good match for him."
Liz sucks in a sharp breath. "Oh," she says. "Fuck."
"Yeah. I don't know what the hell the universe is playing at, and I don't want any part of it," Alex sighs. "So no. I'm not gonna talk to him about it."
Liz looks at him for a long moment, clearly torn - but then she nods. "Okay," she says. "I'm going to lock up, and you're going to finish that mess you've made of my best brownie, and I'm going to bring you a drink. A real drink."
Alex huffs, and counts it as a win that it sounds vaguely like a laugh, and not like a sob. “Yes, ma’am.”
Michael clearly knows something’s up; hell, Alex knows that he’s not exactly being subtle, trying to figure out how to balance working with Michael and being… whatever-they-are without crossing any boundaries. Liz and Maria can talk about one-sided bonds and platonic bonds all they want, but Alex knows himself well enough to know that Michael is…
Is not interested in whatever Alex feels about the bond, Alex reminds himself every time he finds his thoughts wandering that path. It’s more often than he wants to admit, even to himself.
Still, Alex is nothing if not good at soldiering on, and so that’s exactly what he does. He and Michael keep working on the radio as much as they can. It’s just as much of an enigma as ever, and just as dangerous; Alex does some more digging in the files while Michael works on the machine itself, and he finds records of the thing tormenting aliens and humans alike at Caulfield. He even digs back far enough to find that the records include more than one autopsy report.
Luckily, it doesn’t seem strong enough to start affecting someone within the fifteen minute timer that Michael and Alex stick to religiously. So while they make progress documenting how the damn thing’s put together, they make approximately zero progress on why it works the way it does, how exactly it works, and how to take it apart.
Once the novelty of the new project wears off, Michael starts wandering, too; he starts volunteering for the coffee and lunch runs, and Alex can’t insist on doing it every time without looking suspicious, so he has to sit and wait, praying that Michael doesn’t run into Forrest.
He maybe abuses his tech skills just a little bit, hacking into the cameras to make sure that Michael isn’t grabbing something from the break room when Forrest is anywhere near.
Still, Alex knows he can’t keep this juggling act going forever. Sooner or later, he’s going to drop one ball, and then the rest will follow, will topple onto his head like a damn pile of bricks, and he’ll have to deal with the fallout. He knows that Liz and Maria and even fucking Kyle are right, that the only way he’ll really be able to move on is to talk to Michael, get everything out in the open -
But Alex isn’t ready to lay his own heart on the sacrificial altar just yet, so he keeps juggling, and losing sleep, and he’s half-convinced he’s found a couple of grey hairs, too.
Then, Michael texts him one morning to say that he won’t be at Deep Sky that day; Sanders took on a big restoration project, needs Michael’s ‘genius brain and muscles to match’ in order to get started. Alex promises to pass the message on to Eduardo, and he’s actually looking forward to spending a day at the workbench on his own.
The morning is pleasant enough; Alex splits his time between poking at the radio and his computer, trying to find any new information about the radio in Project Shepherd’s files, or any sort of record of alien and human technology working together. He makes little progress on either endeavor, but he’s not disheartened by the time he breaks for coffee. He’s even surprised to find himself humming as he walks into the break room -
And almost directly into Forrest.
Forrest spots him before Alex can about-face and flee, and Alex replies on autopilot when Forrest asks how his day’s going. He mentions Michael being out, and when Forrest suggests they eat lunch together since his office buddy is also out for the day, Alex agrees before he can think it through all the way.
It won’t be the end of the world, Alex tells himself as he walks back to his own office, coffee mug hot in his hand. It’ll be fine, if a little awkward, since the last time they actually had a meal together was right before they found out together that Alex’s soulmark was back.
He doesn’t convince himself. Nerves are sparking under his skin as he sets up the workbench, retrieving the radio from containment. Maybe he can channel that nervous energy to something good. Bowing his head, Alex sets to work.
”You’ve been at this a while.”
The voice startles him into dropping the tiny screwdriver, and Alex swears, fumbling until he manages to catch it, looking up to see -
An older man, grey hair on his head, lines around his eyes and mouth. “My, you are dedicated, aren’t you?” he muses, and Alex swallows, taking in the threadbare robe the man is clothed in, his bare feet. “Of course, shouldn’t expect any less of a Manes man.”
Alex sucks in a sharp breath, reaching for the radio, and the man laughs. “Giving up just because of a little spook? What would your father say?”
Alex grits his teeth. “It doesn’t matter, because he’s dead,” he snaps, pushing himself to his feet. He just needs to get the radio back in its box -
”Ah, yes. And you weren’t even the one to pull the trigger, were you? You just stood there and let someone else save you, again.”
Wooden walls with worn posters flash in front of his eyes, and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, bracing against the - wall? “Get out of my head,” he growls, and the hallucination laughs.
It sounds like a horrid mockery of Michael’s scream.
”Run, run, run, as fast as you can, isn’t that always the way, Alex?” the man muses, suddenly closer than before. “Always running, always avoiding, desperate for attention and approval but panicking as soon as you think it might turn bad.”
”Get out of my head,” Alex repeats, harsher than before, eyes snapping open as he whirls -
To face empty air.
He freezes, scanning the room. There’s no one but him here, and all he can hear is the wind on the other side of the door to the balcony. Alex takes a careful step towards the bench.
”I don’t have to be in your head,” the man says; this time, when Alex turns to face him, he’s right next to Alex, and Alex shouts in surprise, stumbling back. He feels cold glass at his back, there and gone, replaced with biting wind. “You think so loudly, little Manes. Always me, me, poor little old me. It’s a wonder more people don’t try to kill you.” The man’s eyes flash, cold and iridescent like alien glass, like the letters on Alex’s wrist.
”Maybe you should save them the trouble.”
Alex shifts, gasps when his foot meets nothing. He flails, fingers catching on the rock of the cliffside his office faces, and when the hell did he get out here? “No - “
”Come on, Alex,” the man says, and Alex can’t help but turn his head and look, see the man standing next to him. He’s aged twenty years, the lines on his face deeper, his hair ragged and thin, eyes still sharp and cold as his voice and the wind that yanks at Alex’s clothes, tugging him forward and back. “Alex, Alex, Al - “
"Alex!" Michael's voice rips through his confusion, and the old man vanishes before his eyes.
Alex sucks in a sharp breath, stinging with cold as it feels like his muscles all unclench at once. He sways, yelps when he pitches forward, towards the open air and away from safety -
But then an invisible force steadies him, pushes him back onto the railing and holds him there, until strong arms wrap around his waist and drag him down and onto the balcony.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Michael is saying, crushing Alex against him and pulling him back into the office. The glass doors slam shut after them, so hard that they rattle. "Fuck, Alex, are you okay? What the hell happened?"
Alex finds himself gasping for breath, hands clinging to Michael without his permission. "I - I was working with - I must've forgot the timer." God, he can still see that old man, can see the hate in his eyes and feel the nothing under his foot.
"Fuck that," Michael says viciously. He doesn't loosen his hold on Alex, doesn't let him turn toward the bench, but a moment later there's a snap and Alex knows that the radio is safely back in its box. Only then does Michael pull back just enough to see Alex's face, his own expression pained. "What did it do to you? Are you hurt?"
Alex shakes his head. "Not hurt, just... I saw..." He hesitates, and movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. He spooks, heart rate spiking as he jumps, turning towards -
Forrest, who's just taken a step forward, his expression anxious and more than a little scared.
"Shit," Alex breathes, heart still thudding in his chest. "I'm sorry, Forrest - "
"You're sorry?" Michael growls. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Here, you should sit down."
Alex doesn't really want to, would rather keep clinging to Michael, but he doesn't say so, just lets Michael help him over to a chair. He sighs as he sits down, makes his hands let go of Michael's jacket -
And Forrest speaks up. "I'm glad you got here when you did, Michael."
Michael turns around so fast it's a wonder he stays upright. "You're glad?" he demands. "You're fucking glad? You were here first, asshole; I walked in and you were just standing there, gawping like a fish. You're lucky he's not dead!"
Forrest rocks back on his feet, but he doesn't back down. "I just got there," he snaps back. "And I had no idea what was going on - and I don't have alien powers, Guerin, I couldn't reach him any faster than you could!"
"Bullshit," Michael snaps, full of contempt. "You think I wouldn't have gone out there after him if I didn't have my powers? You didn't even try. You're a coward, Forrest, and he fucking deserves better."
Forrest's brow furrows, and Alex's stomach drops straight through the floor. He can't make his mouth work before Forrest speaks. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means what the fuck is wrong with you?" Michael spits. "You're supposed to be his soulmate!"
Forrest blinks, and Alex freezes, mind racing -
"No, I'm not. You are."
Michael literally staggers when those words hit him, and Alex can't move as he slowly turns to look at him, his expression bewildered, hurt. "You can't be serious," he tells Alex. "Why haven't you told him?"
"I - " Alex starts, with no idea of what he's going to say.
Forrest laughs, but it's more of a scoff. "He didn't have to tell me," he says. "I've seen it."
Alex sees the moment that sinks in, and Michael goes sheet white, but he doesn't look upset. He looks gutted. "Alex," he says. "Tell me he's lying."
"Why would I lie?" Forrest asks, bewildered. "And why do you think I'm his soulmate?"
"Because that's what he told me," Michael says, without taking his eyes off of Alex. He isn't yelling anymore. Alex thinks maybe that's worse. "He said it was you."
Forrest looks from Alex to Michael and back, and then shakes his head. "I think you two need to talk," he says, backing up towards the door. "I'll lock the door behind me so you aren't disturbed."
He's gone before Alex can do more than open his mouth, and then Alex is alone with Michael. Michael, who looks about five seconds away from bolting, too. Alex swallows, hard, and manages to find his voice. "I'm sorry."
Michael scoffs. "You're sorry?" he asks. "What are you sorry for, Alex?"
"Everything?" Alex tries, and reaches up to push a hand through his hair. "Forgetting to set the damn timer and making you save me again, lying to you about my relationship with Forrest, lying to you about my fucking mark, take your pick, Guerin."
"Who is it?" Michael asks, cutting right to the heart of the matter. "Whose name is under that cuff?"
Alex's stomach is roiling, and he thinks he might be sick, but he makes himself meet Michael's gaze nonetheless as he answers, "Yours."
"Let me see it," Michael says.
Well, Alex can't really tell Michael no at this point, can he? He swallows, and reaches for the cuff; surprisingly, his hand doesn't tremble as he undoes the clasp, letting the worn leather fall away. He doesn't look at Michael's name, the image already branded into his memories; instead, Alex watches Michael's face.
He can't even begin to name all of the emotions he sees cross Michael's expression. Shock, confusion, realisation, anger, a sadness so deep that it steals Alex's breath, and a myriad more, all passing within a matter of seconds before Michael drags his gaze up to meet Alex's. He looks wounded, lost - resigned. "You lied to me," he says, very quietly. "Why?"
”I don’t know when that mark came back,” Alex says, just as quiet. “All I know is, it was gone for ten years. And you walked out when I asked you to stay. I thought that was my answer as to what you wanted from me.”
Michael frowns. "What the hell are you talking about?"
That stings. “Seriously?” Alex demands, hurt. “You don’t remember the time I got up in front of a bar full of cowboys in a small town and sang about us?”
But Michael says, "Of course I remember. You didn't tell me to stay - you told me to go."
Alex gapes at him. “I - Michael, I literally asked you to come home,” he says, unable to keep his voice from cracking. “How did you get ‘leave’ from that?”
"You asked for time," Michael insists, real pain in his voice for the first time. "Time to fight your battles or whatever - 'alone', you literally used the word 'alone'. I thought you were telling me that you weren't ready yet, but that you would be one day. I was waiting for you. But then you told me Forrest was your fucking soulmate, so that kind of burst my bubble."
”I was talking about Project Shepherd, about my goddamn father,” Alex blurts. “About making sure you were safe from him for good. That’s the battle I was fighting alone. And I - “ He scrubs a hand over his face, takes in a breath. “I was asking if we could make it work anyway, if I gave it up, let you in. If I could be enough.”
Michael is staring at him. "Of course you're enough," he says. "You always have been."
”Then why was this - “ Alex gestures at his wrist, mouth twisting “ - missing for a solid decade, Guerin? I went ten years with nothing to suggest you felt that way, and then when I thought maybe I could go out on a limb, maybe you’d - you’d meet me in the middle, you walked away.”
Michael suddenly looks like he's going to cry. "I don't know," he says. "I loved you every second you were gone, and I've loved you every second since. So I don't know what happened to your mark, Alex. From where I'm standing, the fact that you didn't have one before now doesn't say anything about my feelings for you."
”And how the hell am I supposed to believe that?” Alex demands, a little meanly. “The sex is great, we never had a problem with that. But - For God’s sake, Guerin, I was so terrified of you rejecting me that I lied about my mark.” He swallows, drops his gaze. “Not that it matters anyway - not if I’ve got your name and you don’t have mine.”
Michael laughs, though it's completely mirthless. "Yeah, well," he says, rolling up his left sleeve. He unfastens his own cuff, and holds his wrist out for Alex to see. "Guess that makes two of us."
There, written in red so deep it looks like blood, is Alex's name - Alex Manes, unmistakable. Alex feels a bit like he's just been punched. "I don't - I don't understand," he says faintly. "How long has it said that?"
"My whole fucking life, it feels like," Michael says. "Since I was sixteen."
Alex's gaze snaps to Michael's. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"What would you have liked me to say?" Michael asks. "'Hi, we barely know each other and we've only spoken like twice, but I think we're meant for each other'? Okay, we slept together, but everything went to shit right after that. And for that whole summer, I was terrified of what would happen if I told you. You never said anything, so I didn't know if it was one-sided, and..." He hesitates, biting his lip, but then goes on. "And you're not my only soulmate."
Alex's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
Michael sighs, and inexplicably toes off his right boot. He stoops to pull up the leg of his jeans, and there, just above his ankle, is a symbol Alex recognises.
"Is that… Max's tattoo?"
"It's not a tattoo," Michael says, straightening up. "We all have them. Mine appeared at the same time as your name did."
"This - " Christ; Alex's mind is whirling too fast for him to pick out any thoughts. Alex lets out a harsh breath. "This is all a lot to take in, Guerin."
Michael gives him a look like no shit. "Why don't we call it for now," he says. "This is too much, especially after..." He glances at the box that holds the radio. "Will you let me drive you home?"
Alex pushes a hand through his hair - and now it trembles, just a little bit. He grimaces. "That'd be smart," he says, reluctant. "I think I'm about to crash."
"All right," Michael says. He shoves his foot back into his boot, and holds out a hand. "Come on."
Alex hesitates for a moment - but then he takes Michael's hand, uses it to pull himself to his feet. He doesn't let himself hold it for longer than necessary, no matter how much he likes the warmth of Michael's hand in his. They don't talk much on the way out to Michael's truck, and luckily they don't run into anyone. Alex gets himself into the passenger seat, and Michael swings into the driver's seat, starting the truck. The radio breaks up the increasingly-awkward silence between them with some Top 40s that Alex doesn't recognize, and he watches the desert pass by instead of looking at Michael. His mind is whirling, everything he learned in the past hour conflicting with everything he knew - thought he knew - for months, years.
He almost doesn't realize it when Michael turns onto his street, but when Michael pulls into the driveway, Alex reaches for the door handle - and hesitates. He... really doesn't want to be alone right now, but Michael only offered to drive him home. Alex definitely doesn't have the right to assume anything, but can he even ask?
"I can... pick you up in the morning," Michael offers, not looking at Alex. He sounds about as awkward as Alex feels. "Or I can ask Max to come with me to get your car."
Alex's hand flexes against the handle, and when he lets out a breath, it's shaky. "I'll figure something out for the car," he says. "Maybe guilt trip Eduardo into bringing it out for me."
Michael nods. "Sure," he says. "Well. Call me if you need anything."
Alex swallows, makes himself open the door and prepare to step out. "I will," he says, and tries to ignore how that tastes like a lie. His hand tightens on the door, and he glances up. "Thanks for..." He shrugs, offers Michael a smile that feels fake even to him. "Well. Everything."
"Yeah," Michael says, swallowing hard. "Anytime." Alex pops the door, and is halfway out of the truck when Michael looks up. "Wait."
Alex pauses, turns back to Michael so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. "Yeah?"
Michael gives him a sad smile. "Why do I get the feeling that if I let you walk away from me now, I'm going to lose you forever?"
Alex huffs, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Because I have... no idea where we stand," he confesses. "And I - I don't know where we go from here."
"Today has been... a lot," Michael says. "So feel free to tell me to fuck off. But can I please come in?"
This time, it's definitely a relieved laugh that leaves Alex. "Please. I don't want to be alone right now."
"Thank God," Michael says, and kills the engine.
Alex leads the way to the front door, and doesn't even think about complaining when Michael unlocks the door with his powers before Alex can reach for his keys. Alex left his work bag at Deep Sky, so he doesn't have anything to drop off before he veers for the living room, letting himself drop to the couch. He hears Michael head for the kitchen, hears the fridge and a couple of drawers open and shut; a couple moments later, Michael appears in the entryway holding a plate with what looks like a ham-and-cheese sandwich with a pickle on the side. "Thanks," he says, shifting so that he's sitting cross-legged on the couch, reaching for the plate.
Michael hands it over and sits down cautiously in the armchair beside the couch, like he’s not entirely sure of his welcome. “No problem,” he says, rubbing his palms slowly over his jeans. “How are you feeling?”
”Better,” Alex answers, mouth twisting. “Can’t believe I didn’t set the damn timer.”
”I don’t think we should work on it alone anymore,” Michael says solemnly. “Or at all.”
”We still don’t know how it works, or how to stop it,” Alex points out. “We can’t even dismantle it; it’d be stupid to leave something like that just lying around, even in Deep Sky’s vaults.”
”Maybe,” Michael agrees, though he doesn’t look happy about it. “You should still take a break, though. Whatever that thing did to you, it didn’t look like fun.”
”I was hallucinating,” Alex confesses, picking at the crust of his sandwich just to have something to do with his hands. “There was a man - an alien, one of the ‘subjects’ from Caulfield. He was digging in my head, projecting all the worst things I’ve ever thought about myself. So, yeah. Not fun at all.”
”So, a break,” Michael says firmly. “A week off, even. It’s not going anywhere right now, it can wait a few days.”
For once, Alex finds he’s not at all opposed to the idea of putting off work. “A break sounds good,” he sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I still want to figure it out, even if it’s just to make sure nothing like this ever happens again, but…” He trails off, shrugging.
”Yeah,” Michael says. He snorts. “You know, I was kind of thinking that maybe my mom had something to do with building the thing - but now, no. I can’t believe she would create something that would hurt people like that - especially not people I care about.”
Alex feels his ears go hot, and to keep from answering, he picks up half of the sandwich and shoves it in his mouth. He nearly chokes on it, but manages to recover gracefully enough. Once he’s swallowed, Alex changes the subject. "Thanks for the food, by the way; I hadn't even realized I was hungry."
"Well, I kind of interrupted your lunch date with your boyfriend," Michael says, no bite to his words at all, "so I figure I owe you."
Alex grimaces, but keeps eating nonetheless. "So," he says after the next couple of bites, when his stomach is no longer trying to digest itself, "I guess we need to talk."
"Yeah," Michael says. He's not relaxed but he also doesn't look like he's about to bolt, so Alex will take it. "Where do you want to start?"
Alex sighs. "I haven't been with Forrest since I came back to Roswell," he says. "The day after, I still thought my wrist was blank. He convinced me to try leaving the cuff off, and then we saw..." He shrugs. "Well, it wasn't blank anymore."
"And you have no idea when it showed up?"
Alex shakes his head. "The last time I looked at my wrist was a couple weeks before I sang at the Pony," he explains. "It was still blank, so. Guess I was still... hoping."
Michael sighs. "Yeah, you and me both."
Alex hesitates, then takes a breath, and says, "There was a mark, before I left for basic, after high school. I couldn't read it."
Michael frowns. "What do you mean?" he asks.
"You remember the drawing, in Tripp's journal, of what his mark looked like? Mine looked similar, until it disappeared."
Michael huffs out an incredulous laugh. "You've got to be shitting me."
Alex shrugs, giving Michael a rueful smile. "I had no idea what was going on; it was unreadable and in a literal rainbow, all I knew was I couldn't let my dad see it."
"I knew it," Michael says. "The way you reacted when I read that journal - the way you kissed me... I was so sure. But then you told me it was Forrest."
That makes Alex grimace. “I know. I just… panicked. I’d gone back and forth on telling you so many times, but you seemed so casual.” He hesitates, then adds, “And there was that guy, the day I came by after I got back to town. I didn’t know if he was a one-off, but.” He shrugs, a little helpless.
Michael's confusion is plain to see. "What guy are you talking about?"
”The guy who came out of your trailer, obviously just used your shower, and was talking about ‘getting messy’?” Alex says, raising a brow. “I was going to tell you about my mark that day, but then he came out, and he was clearly flirting with you…”
Michael groans. "I didn't fuck him," he says. "I don't even remember his name. He was a customer. I changed his oil and he stuck around to talk shop. I was working on that other car; he was getting a little close, sure, but I broke the coolant hose.”
Alex blinks. “You just said you broke a line and there was shit all over the floor. You didn’t say anything about already getting someone else with it.”
"Well, I'm sorry for not drawing you a flow chart?" Michael screws up his face. "I was working."
”I know, I just…” Alex shrugs. “I leapt to conclusions. And I was so scared of what the actual answer might be that I didn’t just ask you what was going on. I did the same thing after that night at the Pony.”
"I really thought we were on the same page," Michael says. "I even told Iz - it's not our time now, but it will be. I thought you had to figure things out on your own first; I thought you weren't ready, and I didn't want to ruin everything by rushing you."
”I wanted to make you safe,” Alex sighs. “That’s the battle I was fighting - for you. Trying to make sure my father couldn’t hurt you ever again, that you wouldn’t be in any danger from my family, or the government, or - anything like that. But I didn’t know when it’d end, if there was an end, and… Christ, I was the reason you were on my father’s radar in the first place. I’m the reason your hand got fucked up, why you couldn’t leave Roswell, and I wanted to make up for that, however I could.” He realizes he’s picking at the last bit of his sandwich, and sets the plate aside, clasping his hands together in his lap. “But I just… I wanted you. I wanted to be with you, I wanted - I wanted to know if I’d done enough to make up for everything, if you could trust me again like that. And you heard me asking - or, I thought you did - and then you left. I figured that was my answer.”
Michael is on his feet in an instant, and for a horrifying moment Alex thinks he's going to leave - but he just rounds the coffee table and sits beside Alex on the couch, reaching out to pull Alex's hands into his own lap. "No," he says, low and fervent. "That is not your answer. I didn't understand, and I'm sorry - but Alex, you have to know that I've never blamed you for anything. I've never needed you to make up for what happened, or to fight your dad for me, or to earn my trust back. You have my trust. I trust you with my life."
Alex feels his eyes burn, but he can't even make himself be mortified about that; all he's wanted for months - years - is to hear Michael say that he trusts Alex. But there's still - "You didn't tell me about your mark," he says, voice hoarse. "Even after I knew about aliens, after you knew what I did to my own father, that I was on your side, you never said anything. My mark disappeared, and I - I thought maybe whoever it was had died, but then it came back and it was you, and I thought you'd... I thought, after I left Roswell the first time, that you'd rejected it. Me."
"Absolutely not," Michael says. "I have never rejected the bond. I just didn't know what to do with it. I was terrified. I didn't know what your mark said when we were younger, and I knew how I felt about you but it wasn't just my neck on the line. If you didn't have my name, I'd have been fucking broken - but if you did, and we accepted the bond, I didn't know how much you'd have access to Iz and Max as well as me. I still don't know that. But it wasn't my call to make alone. And then you were leaving, and it didn't seem to matter anymore."
Alex swallows thickly. "And when I came back for good?"
Michael's hold tightens briefly on Alex's hands. "Your cuff slipped, the morning after that night we spent in my trailer," he admits. "I saw that you didn't have a mark. And I was still scared. Even after you found out about the alien stuff, everything was still all kinds of fucked up, and your dad was involved and I got my mom blown up and you told me you just wanted to be friends. And then there was Maria and Forrest... It just felt like it was never the right time for us."
Alex lets out a slow breath. "Is there ever going to be a right time?"
"I don't know," Michael says. "It felt like it might be, after you kissed me that night."
"And then I ran. Again. Then I - I lied to you."
"Yeah," Michael says. He sighs. "You really haven't been with Forrest since you got back?"
Alex shakes his head. "The morning after, we got to talking about my plans. I said I wanted to figure out how to be me, and he suggested I could start by trying to keep the cuff off. Embrace the empty wrist, you know?" He shrugs, careful not to tug his hands from Michael's. "I decided to try it, and then..." His gaze drops to the cuff.
"Can I see it again?" Michael asks, voice soft.
He's already seen it, so Alex's pulse shouldn't pick up like this - but it does anyway when he nods. He carefully pulls one hand from Michael’s, tightening his hold with the other hand. He reaches over to pluck at the clasp, letting the leather fall to his lap, and watches Michael's expression carefully with bated breath. He looks gutted, just like he did in Alex's office at Deep Sky, but he also looks awed, and so fucking soft. His touch is soft, too, when he reaches out to cradle Alex's wrist in his hand, his thumb stroking gently over his own name.
"You said it used to look different?" he asks, still looking at the mark. "Like Tripp's mark?"
"Yeah," Alex says quietly. "All I knew was that it wasn't any language I could find on the Internet, whenever I could look at school. Didn't dare try to look it up at home."
"Do you think it was my name?" Michael wonders.
"I don't know," Alex says. "I took a photo of it once. I could... show you?"
"Yeah," Michael says. "Not that I can translate it or anything, but. Yeah, okay."
Alex squeezes Michael's hand, makes himself let go so he can stand up. He hasn't actually opened the book in years, but he knows exactly where his copy of The Knife of Never Letting Go is. He retrieves it from its place in the back of his closet, safe in a tub, wrapped in his old leather vest. Alex is careful as he opens it up, peels back the dust cover to fish out the grainy picture he'd printed on regular paper, too scared to risk getting an actual photo developed at the time. It looks exactly the way he remembers it, and Alex brings both the book and the picture back out to the living room, settling on the couch. "Here," he says. "I never figured out what it was, obviously, but..." He hesitates, then ventures, "Liz said that, sometimes marks can... change, based on how the person identifies themselves."
"And you think that's what happened?" Michael asks.
Alex shrugs. "You’d know better than me - it's your name, your identity."
Michael takes the picture from him for a closer look. His breath catches. "You just said you don't know if it was my name."
”I don’t know for sure, but…” Alex offers Michael a small smile. “You said it yourself - We connected like something cosmic. Who else would it be?”
"I've never known my real name," Michael says. He reaches out with tentative fingers to trace the shapes on the image. "But I guess, back then, I didn't want anything to do with the one I was given. I wanted to go home, to find my people. Max and Isobel had each other, so it wasn't like I had any reason to stay."
Alex gives in to the urge to reach out, to wrap his fingers around Michael's wrist and squeeze gently. "You did," he murmurs. "You had them - and me."
"Not all the time," Michael says, a sad twist to his mouth. "I didn't see Max and Isobel for years after we got separated, and when I got back to Roswell I felt like a spare part. I had you, for a little while, but then everything went to shit, and you left."
Alex feels his brow furrow, trying to put the pieces together. "You said you never rejected the bond, but... Why did my wrist go blank, then? And for so long?"
"You really want to know the answer?" Michael asks.
"I've spent over a decade wondering," Alex reminds him.
Michael shrugs. "If we're going with the identity thing, I guess it's because I didn't have one," he says. "I lost faith in everything after you left. I already didn't care much for the people on this planet, but when I met you I realised that I wouldn't find the answers I needed on a different planet, either. And then the one person who made me want to stay was gone, but I still didn't want to leave." In case you came back, Michael doesn't say, but Alex hears anyway. "I got closer to Isobel, and to Max, kind of, but I still didn't feel like I belonged anywhere."
Alex has to swallow down the lump in his throat before he can speak. "Until when?" he asks. "Because I came back, but the mark didn't, not until after..."
"We don't know exactly when it came back," Michael points out. "But if I had to guess, I'd say after that night in the Pony that I fucked up so spectacularly. I left thinking that we had a future. That I had a future, one where I could actually be happy for the first time in my life."
Alex wets his lips. "You still do," he offers, hesitant. "It'll be... a lot of work - for both of us - but." He takes a deep breath, gathers the rest of his courage, and finally lays all his cards on the table. "I've been in love with you since I was seventeen. That night at the Pony was my big dramatic gesture, but this is me, asking. Can we build a future? Can we just - stop keeping score of everything that happened in the past and move on together?"
Michael sucks in a sharp breath, and releases the photo so that he can grip both of Alex's hands in his own. "Yes," he says. "Alex, that's all I want."
Alex smiles, and it feels soft and shy. "Good," he says. "One more question: What should we do for our first date?"
That surprises a watery laugh out of Michael. "You want to go on a date?"
"I want everything," Alex says, squeezing Michael's hands. "And I want to do things right this time, when we're finally on the same page."
Michael squeezes back, and gives him a smile so full of hope and relief that it makes Alex's heart ache. "Then, yeah," he says. "We'll go on a date. Wherever you want."
"We can sort out the details later," Alex assures him, smiling. God, he feels better than he has in - years.
Michael hums in agreement, and uses his hold on Alex to tug him closer, right into the sweetest kiss Alex thinks they've ever shared.
Michael ends up staying the night; Alex both doesn’t want to be alone, and doesn’t want to let Michael out of his sight now that they’ve finally gotten their shit together. Michael feels the same, apparently; he doesn’t put up any resistance when Alex asks him to stay. They order pizza for dinner, and when they finally go to bed, Michael follows Alex back to his room with only minimal coaxing.
They don’t do anything other than sleep that night, but it’s the best night’s sleep that Alex has had in far too long. He’s always felt safe, wrapped in Michael’s arms, and that feeling is magnified, finally knowing that they belong to each other.
The next day, Michael drives Alex back to Deep Sky to pick up his car. On the way, they finalize the details for their first official date; turns out the drive-in is playing The Matrix that night, and they decide that dinner and a movie is cliche, but also sounds perfect. They both have the day off - Eduardo had even gone so far as to say he’d lock Alex out of the building entirely if he tried to do anything more than grab his car - so Alex heads home to shower and get ready, and try not to work himself into an anxiety attack.
That last part isn’t difficult; he’s too excited. He’s waiting for Michael on the front porch when Michael’s truck pulls up, and when Michael gets out to hustle around the front of the truck and open the door for him, Alex grins. “Such a gentleman,” he teases as he meets Michael at the door, reaching out to tug Michael in for a soft, sweet kiss.
Michael drops him off at the Crashdown to pick up dinner, while he runs to the store to pick up some more ‘adult’ beverages, and Alex is smiling as he walks into the Crashdown. He catches Liz behind the counter, and waves to catch her attention. “Hey; can I get an order of my usual, and Michael’s?”
"And Michael's?" Liz repeats, grinning. "Alex Manes, do you have a date with that boy?"
Alex couldn’t stop the pleased flush from rising to his face if he tried. “I - Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Liz pops over the counter to smack his arm, hard. "Holy shit, Manes! Did you see his mark? Is it you? I knew it was you!"
Alex flinches, theatrically rubbing at his arm. “Yes, yes, you told me,” he concedes. “It is my name. I still can’t really believe it, honestly.”
"Are you fucking kidding me," Liz laughs. "You two were made for each other. It was literally written in the stars."
Alex laughs, too. "Yeah, yeah," he chuckles, shaking his head. "Just get me our food so we can make the movie."
Liz scribbles their order onto a sticky note and pulls it off the pad. "Just one more thing," she says. "Have you accepted the bond yet?"
"Not yet," Alex admits. "I think we're both still... too much in shock, that this is real. We convinced ourselves it couldn't be."
"Oh my god," Liz says. "Call me when you do. Like, the second you've finished screwing like rabbits. It's insane."
Alex blinks, and isn't sure whether he should be amused and worried. "What... do you mean?"
"Let's just say it's not like it is in the textbooks when one half of you is... as special as Michael and Max are," Liz says, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You'll know what I mean when you do it. But don't do it until you're really ready. It takes some getting used to, after."
Well that's not exactly helpful. Still, Alex offers her a grateful smile. "Thanks," he says. "I will keep that in mind."
Liz gives him a wink, and sides into the kitchen to put together their food. It's ready right as Michael pulls up outside, so Alex quickly pays before gathering everything up and making his way outside. The drive-in is only a little ways outside of the main part of town, and they arrive just in time for the first previews to start going up on the big screen. Michael finds them a spot and parks so the bed of the truck is facing the screen, and they hop out. Alex holds onto the food while Michael uses his powers to set up the blankets - after checking that no one is around, of course - and then lets Michael help him up into the bed of the truck.
They eat in a comfortable silence, broken only by some idle chatter about the various previews playing while the rest of the drive-in fills around them. Michael disposes of their trash and fetches snacks as the last preview winds down, and when he returns, Alex wastes no time tucking himself against Michael's side. His stomach is churning with old nerves, driven by the echo of his father's voice, but Alex will be damned before he lets Jesse Manes ruin them a second time.
Alex takes a deep breath, and tucks his arm through Michael's, scooting close enough to tilt his head, resting it against Michael's shoulder.
"Hello," Michael says, surprised but pleased, a smile in his voice. He gives Alex's arm a squeeze and slides a hand over his thigh beneath the blanket covering their legs. "Is this okay?"
Alex hums an affirmative. "Very okay," he murmurs as the movie starts, everyone settling into their cars or on their own blankets around them.
"People can see us, you know," Michael murmurs, and the words might put Alex on the defensive, except that Michael still sounds pleased as punch.
Alex hums again, but it's more thoughtful this time. "I know," he says. "And I don't - Well, no, I do care, but I'm not letting that stop me, because that's my dad talking, not me. And I'm not going to let him take anything else from me. From us."
Michael hums, and presses a kiss to Alex's hair, soft and swift. "I'm certainly not complaining," he teases.
Alex tilts his head, pulling one hand free so he can reach up and thread his fingers into Michael's hair. "Well, I'm complaining; you call that a kiss?" he teases, and does his best to ignore his stomach turning somersaults and making his voice wobble, just a little.
Michael's expression is soft, understanding. "You don’t have to do this," he murmurs. "It's okay."
"I don't have to," Alex agrees, "but I want to."
"Suppose I can't say no to that," Michael says, smiling, and he closes the distance between them to give Alex a real kiss.
Alex lets it linger, chaste and so fucking sweet it almost brings tears to his eyes. This is what they should have had when they were kids. Maybe if they had... Well. Alex is planning to make up for lost time. "I'm gonna kiss you all over this town," he promises when they finally part, though he doesn't go very far.
Michael just smiles, and kisses Alex again, still achingly sweet. "Good," he says, right against Alex's lips. "I can't wait."
They watch the movie just like that, all cuddled up and sharing soft kisses and softer words. It's probably not the most romantic movie they could be watching, but between the blankets and the food and the warm weight of Michael against him, especially once Michael pulls his arm free from Alex's so that he can wrap it around Alex's shoulders instead, let him curl up with his head on Michael's chest, Alex is feeling pretty romanced anyway. It's a perfect mix of the time they used to steal together out in the desert when they were kids and something new, something they've fought and bled for, something they've earned.
Warm and content in Michael's arms, Alex is feeling kind of sleepy when the movie comes to an end. Michael helps him down off the bed of the truck, and he does catch a few people looking at them as they also get ready to make a move, but no one seems anything more than curious, and a few people look pleased. He knows it won't be that easy, that there are people in this town who won't like this at all, but they'll find those people wherever they go and they can deal with that as and when it comes. For now, Alex holds on to Michael's hand until they reach the passenger side of the truck, and Michael just laughs and gives him a squeeze, like he didn't want to let go either. Alex gets his seat belt on while Michael packs away their blankets and gets in on the driver's side, and then Michael picks up his hand again and holds it all the way back to the house.
It's well and truly late by the time they pull up outside the house, and Alex has been debating with himself for the entire ride - but suddenly, he just feels sure. "Hey," he says, giving Michael a small smile, "you wanna come in?"
"Yeah," Michael says, easy as anything. He kills the engine. "Your leg okay?"
Alex considers that for a moment. "Not too bad," he decides. "But it's been a long day."
"Sit tight," Michael says, and gets out of the truck. A moment later, Alex's door is opening, and Michael holds his hand out for him.
Alex grins. "Such a gentleman, Guerin," he teases, taking Michael's hand and letting Michael help him out of the truck.
"Don't get used to it," Michael laughs. "We both know I'm anything but a gentleman."
Alex snickers. "Lucky for you, I don't mind," he says, squeezing Michael's hand as he locks the truck behind them. "Come on, I wanna go lie down in an actual bed."
"If you're wondering if this gentleman puts out after the first date," Michael says, cheerfully unlocking the front door as they reach it with his powers, "the answer is absolutely yes."
"Slow down, cowboy," Alex says wryly, kicking the door shut behind them. "Maybe I just want to cuddle and talk."
Michael shrugs as he takes his jacket off. "I could get behind that."
Alex pauses, looking at Michael, and feels warmth flood his chest as he realizes - "You really mean that, huh?"
Michael shrugs again, a helpless little smile on his face. "Hey, if that's what you want," he says. "I'm done saying no to you."
Well, Alex can't do anything but smile. "Me, too," he says, and squeezes Michael's hand again, tugging Michael towards the hall. "Come on, let's go lie down."
So they take turns in the bathroom, and they get undressed, and they slide between the sheets on Alex's bed in their underwear and nothing else. Michael reaches for Alex immediately, and Alex goes willingly, pressing himself against him and smiling into Michael's chest when Michael kisses the top of his head. "You wanted to talk about something?" he murmurs into Alex's hair.
Alex hums, shifting so he can meet Michael’s gaze. “I wanted to talk about us,” he says. “Tonight was… really, really good.”
Michael nods slowly, his eyes wide and earnest. "It was perfect," he says. "It felt right."
"It did," Alex agrees, smiling. "I want to do it again."
"The date?" Michael asks.
"Mhm. The date, coming home together, telling our friends about us... I want it all," Alex says, giving Michael a soft smile. "And I - I'm excited to do even the most mundane shit with you, because we'll be doing it together."
"Sap," Michael accuses him, dipping in for a tender kiss. "I didn't see any of our friends there tonight?"
"Liz took our dinner order," Alex informs him, smiling. "She was over the moon."
"Oh, really?" Michael asks. "What did she say?"
"Mostly 'I knew it' and 'I told you so,'" Alex snorts. "Maria will probably say the same thing. She also... asked about the bond, if we'd accepted it."
"Oh," Michael says, eyebrows raising with surprise. "I mean, I've been thinking about it."
"Yeah?"
"Haven't you?"
Alex hums. "I used to think about it a lot when I was a kid, before I got my mark. There were all these stories, and I wanted that connection. Seemed like the greatest thing ever, seeing who I lived with." He grimaces. "I tried not to think about it when my wrist was blank. But ever since your name showed back up... Yeah. I've been thinking about it more."
Michael shifts against him, finds Alex's hand and then follows his wrist until he can slide his fingers over his own name. "You'd never be alone again," he murmurs, almost thoughtful. "I'd always be with you."
"And I'd always be with you," Alex murmurs back. "Neither of us would be alone, for the rest of our lives. No matter what happened."
"Even if you got sick of me," Michael points out.
"Oh, I will," Alex promises. "And some days, you'll be sick of me. That's kind of what happens when you decide to spend the rest of your life together. But I think we can work through it, whatever happens."
"Sounds an awful lot like you're asking me to marry you, Manes."
"Maybe I am," Alex says, and ignores the way his stomach flip-flops. "We can have a long engagement. But I've got you now, Michael, and I don't plan to ever let go again."
Michael searches his face for a long moment, but he must find whatever he's looking for, because he gives Alex the most tender smile and says, very softly, "I love you." And then he kisses Alex.
Alex kisses him back, and at first, he thinks the flicker of sensation on his wrist is Michael's touch - but it's deeper. He gasps into Michael's mouth when he realizes that that warmth, that feeling of surety, of love, isn't coming from him, though he feels it, too. It's coming from Michael.
The feeling swells, his own emotions and Michael's mixing in his chest as Alex deepens the kiss, shifts until he can get his other hand free. He reaches up and threads his fingers into Michael's hair, pressing impossibly closer as love-hope-joy threatens to drown him in the best possible way. "I love you," he gasps when they finally part to breathe, though he ducks back in for another kiss right after. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"I love you, too," Michael says, laughing between kisses. "Fuck, I-- I feel you."
"I feel you, too," Alex says, bright and happy. "I can feel you, like you're right in my chest, I - Fuck, Michael." He's helpless to do anything but kiss Michael again, because words - words can't possibly describe how he's feeling right now. How they're feeling.
Luckily for him, they don't need words. Alex can feel exactly how overwhelmed Michael is by being able to feel how overwhelmed Alex is, a constant feedback loop of love and joy and surprise and delight. They keep kissing, hands in each other's hair and on each other's face, unable to bear parting for longer than is needed to draw breath. And then something shifts between them. Alex bites Michael's lower lip, and Michael gasps into his mouth, and by unspoken agreement Alex is already reaching into Michael's boxers when Michael groans, "God, I want you."
"I know, baby," Alex hums, shifting to carefully brace himself on his knees so he can use both hands to work at Michael's boxers as Michael reaches for his own. "I want you, too."
They've always been good at this, at touching each other and moving together in a way that Alex has been unable to recreate with anyone else - but this is somehow even better. Sharing emotions as well as touches means that they can drive each other to distraction without even trying, meeting every need before it becomes so much as a thought. Even so, overwhelmed with the burning need coming from both sides, they don't last long the first time, grinding against each other until they tip over the edge at almost exactly the same time.
They make it last longer the second time, though. Michael knows where the lube is without having to ask, just reaches out a hand until the bottle soars into it from the nightstand, a sight that has Alex's dick taking notice long before it should even be possible for him to get hard again. He takes his time opening Alex up, crooking his fingers in the exact way that Alex needs, and then fucks him slow and deep, Alex's thighs splayed open, his hands on Michael's shoulders, in his hair, keeping him close enough that they don't have to stop kissing for longer than is absolutely necessary.
They come together again, the feedback loop of yes so good more love you enough to have them both falling apart at the same moment. It's all very romantic and lovely, but Alex is too busy passing the fuck out afterwards to tell Michael he thinks so.
The next morning, Alex wakes Michael up with a blow job that he knows is spectacular from more than just Michael's emotions coming through the bond. His hand fisted in Alex's hair, the way his thighs tremble on either side of Alex's head, the desperate pleas falling from his lips - "Holy fuck, don't stop, don't ever stop, Alex, yes--" - would be more than enough evidence on their own, but given that Alex can literally feel how amazing Michael feels... Well. It doesn't last very long for either of them.
"Oh my god," Michael moans, falling back against the pillows, his chest heaving. "I'll get you back in a minute, just. Let me remember how to move."
Alex laughs, a little rueful, as he crawls up the bed to collapse next to Michael. "You don't have to," he says. "It uh... took care of itself."
"Holy shit," Michael laughs, reaching for Alex with weak hands. "Did you even touch yourself?"
"No," he admits, letting Michael gather him close. "It just - Feeling everything you felt was enough."
Alex can feel just how smug that makes Michael. "Fuck," he says. "If it's always going to be like this, I don't know how we're ever going to get out of bed."
"Well, we're gonna have to go to the bathroom eventually," Alex says wryly, reaching for Michael's hand and tangling their fingers together.
Michael hums and squeezes his hand. "Seriously though," he says, "they don’t tell you it's going to be like this in school. An awareness of each other, sure, but I can literally feel how fucking fond you feel about me right now, it's making my teeth hurt."
His words spark a memory, and Alex blinks. “I think… It’s not this intense for most people,” he says slowly. “Liz said something last night about the bond being different than what the textbooks say.”
"What, because I'm an alien?"
"Yeah. She called it 'insane,' and I..." Alex laughs. "I see what she meant, now."
"I can't believe Max didn't tell me," Michael complains, though Alex knows he's not really mad. "Do you think it's always going to be this intense?"
"I have no idea," Alex confesses, using their joined hands to bring Michael's hand to his lips. "I'm not complaining, though."
"No," Michael says, smiling, "I guess not." He leans in to kiss Alex, pulling their hands back to himself when he leans away, and freezes, a spike of shock skittering through the bond. "Oh, shit."
Alex can't stop the way his own heart thuds painfully in his chest. "What?"
But Michael just laughs, and twists their hands so that Alex can see his own wrist. "Guess we're going to have to get married now," he says. "Look."
It takes Alex a moment to realize what Michael is talking about, but then it hits him like a ton of bricks:
On Michael's wrist, Alex's name has changed to Alex Guerin.
"Holy shit," Alex breathes, gaze flicking between his name and Michael's face. "That - " Words fail him, and Alex uses his hold on Michael to haul him in for another kiss. "Yes," he manages to get out. "God, yes. I can't wait to be Alex Guerin for real."
Michael doesn't really say much of anything for a long while after that, but Alex knows exactly how that makes him feel anyway.
