Archive of Our Own

Michael is well on his way to shitfaced when he hears the telltale click of a crutch on the hardwood floor of the Wild Pony. He doesn't look up as Alex passes him, but he does watch him ease himself awkwardly onto a stool at the bar and wait to catch Maria's attention. The shriek she lets out when she finally sees him is enough to make Michael wince even back here in his booth; she runs around the bar and throws herself at him, and he's too far away to hear Alex's grunt, but he sees him grip the bar to steady himself. She pulls back, talking a mile a minute, and when Alex gestures to the crutch and then to his leg, her hands go to her mouth, her eyes wide and watery. So she didn't know about his injury, either. Interesting.

Michael goes back to his whiskey, nursing it slow now that he knows he won't be going back for another. He feels decidedly more sober now, which is a damn shame. He'll need to make more of an effort when he gets back to the beers he left in the Airstream. For now, he watches Alex and Maria catch up, and tries to tell himself he doesn't hate it. He and Alex didn't get a reunion like this. He didn't throw himself into Alex's arms, didn't get to see Alex's smile or hear his warm laughter or stroke his fingers over Alex's palm, like Maria is doing now. He wonders what she sees there, what she's telling him.

Right on cue, Alex laughs again, the sound incredulous this time, and when he speaks it's loud enough that Michael can hear it. "Oh, I'll come into property?"

Well, Michael thinks darkly. Not anymore.

The bar starts to get busier after about another hour, which means it's time to leave. He's been here since just after opening, drove over as soon as he was done setting up the Airstream over at Sanders' junkyard to drown his sorrows, and with the mood he's in now, if he stays here much longer he'll only get into a fight. Max won't thank him for that. So he leaves his glass on the table and hits the john before heading for the door, not even letting himself look at the bar as he walks by.

Which is why he misses the fact that one Alex Manes is also getting ready to leave until he realises that he's following him. Michael stops near a table by the door to let him pass, but looks up when Alex stops, too.

"Can I help you, Private?"

Alex opens his mouth, then closes it. He shifts his weight on his feet, then says, "You move that trailer yet?"

Michael blows out a breath. "Yeah, as soon as all of your men fucked off. You'll never have to see it again, don't worry."

"Let me guess, it's at the junkyard?"

Michael can't help it, he bristles. "So what if it is?"

Alex raises a brow, like he thinks Michael's reaction is unreasonable. "Nothing," he says. "I suppose it'll make the commute easier, if you're still working with Sanders."

Michael rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, I bet you're real worried about my commute." He looks Alex up and down, more out of habit than any desire to be confrontational, and notices with a jolt the way he's leaning heavily on his crutch, his grip on the handle tight enough that his knuckles are pale. His mouth is tight at the corners, too, with more than just annoyance. Michael sighs. "If you're going to keep bitching at me, do you want to at least sit down while you do it?"

Alex eyes him suspiciously for a moment. "I thought you were on your way out."

"I was," Michael says with a shrug, "but you seem to be having so much fun."

Alex rolls his eyes, but he does slide into the open booth behind Michael. 'Slide' is a bit generous; he doesn't so much sit in the booth as drop into it. "So, is there anything in particular I should be bitching at you about?"

Michael sits down opposite him, and he's only a shade more graceful about it. "I don't think so," he says. "I've been keeping myself busy, working on a few projects outside of the junkyard."

"'Projects'?" Alex asks, brow raising.

"Yeah," Michael says. "This and that."

"Anything interesting?"

Why can Michael never keep his mouth shut around this man? "Just craft stuff," he says, with what he hopes is a casual wave of his hand. "But what about you? Any plans now that you're back?"

"Overseeing the new facility's construction," Alex says dryly. "Other than that..." He shrugs. "Maria says Liz is back in town, I'll try to catch up with her and Arturo while I'm here."

Michael does his best to keep his expression even. "There's a class reunion in a couple of days," he says evenly. "Maybe you can all check it out."

Alex raises a brow. "You say that like you're not going."

"I mean, Isobel will probably try to twist my arm," Michael says, "but it's not exactly my scene, is it?"

Alex looks at him for a long moment, and Michael gets the sense that he's not seeing Michael, now, but Michael... then. "No," he says after a long moment. "I suppose not."

Michael thinks it's about time he got the hell out of here. "Well, it's been nice catching up, but like you said, I was kind of heading out."

"Right," Alex says, and the smile he gives Michael then is paper-thin. "Have a good night, Guerin."

Michael doesn't want to know what his own face looks like as he gets to his feet. "You too, Private."

True to his word, he does try to say no, but of course he folds to Isobel's needling eventually. The reunion is a spectacular shitshow for more than one reason, and Michael can't even blame a hangover on his bad mood the next morning. Trust Max to walk directly into the line of fire.

"When you said you wanted me to look at the cruiser, I didn't realise you meant today," he calls when Max gets out of the car. "I've got a car due this afternoon."

"Long as it's safe to drive, I can bring it back whenever you're free," Max says, leaning against the hood of the cruiser. "But I'm more worried about you right now."

"Me?" Michael asks. He wipes his hands on his jeans and walks over, squinting at Max in the sun. "Why?"

Max raises a brow. "Really?" he asks. "Even if I didn't see you last night, you look like shit right now, Michael."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You look like you usually do in the drunk tank," Max says flatly. "And I can't help but think it has something to do with Alex Manes."

"You mean the guy who just kicked me off the land where our pods are kept so that he can build a literal military base on it?" Michael asks. "Yeah, I can't think why he would be bothering me."

Max sighs, like he thinks Michael is being unreasonably difficult. "I saw you follow him last night," he says. "I saw him leave, and then you came out after him."

Fuck. Does everyone in this town have to be in his business all the damn time? "We were fighting about Foster's Ranch. He thinks I'm cooking meth."

That damned eyebrow climbs higher. "Are you?"

"What the fuck?" Michael spits. "No, Max, I am not cooking meth."

"They why did he think you were?"

"Because his engineers are idiots," Michael says. "It doesn't matter. I'm not the one risking exposure right now."

Max rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know. But you are the one who snuck off with him - And both of you looked real messy when you left, Michael."

"Maybe I punched him."

"In his hair? And he punched you back in the hair?"

Michael crosses his arms over his chest. "Why don't you just tell me what you think happened?"

Max mirrors him. "I don't think the two of you hooked up, but I'm not stupid, Michael. I know you had something going on before he left for the Air Force, and now that he's back, you're going after him again. I might've risked exposure, saving Liz, but at least she's not military."

Michael feels his jaw start to twitch. "I'm not going after him," he says. "Whatever we had before, it's over now. It's been over for a long time, believe me."

Max doesn't look like he believes Michael, but he doesn't push. "Izzy wants us to come over," he says, changing the subject. "Says it's been a while since we've gotten together for non-emergency reasons."

"Thanks to who, I wonder?" Michael rolls his eyes. "But I can't tonight, I have plans."

Max snorts. "Right; 'plans.'"

Whatever plans Max thinks Michael does or doesn't have, he's wrong. He isn't going out to get wasted or find someone to take home for a meaningless roll in the sack; he isn't staying at home pretending he's busy so that he can get out of Isobel's idea of forced fun. Instead, he's driving out to a part of town he hasn't been to for a while. There aren't many houses around here, and they're far enough apart that no one notices him as he kills his engine outside of the one-storey he bought two years ago.

It was falling apart at the time, had been on the market for close to a year. The realtor who showed him around told him that the owner had already reduced the price twice in the hopes of attracting a buyer, and if he was serious about putting an offer in, the guy would probably be willing to reduce it a third time. Michael had been scrimping and saving for the better part of three years by that point, squirreling away anything he could while he'd been working for Sanders and picking up any odd jobs that came his way, but he still didn't have a lot. He hadn't even been looking to buy, really, was mostly there out of curiosity. But in the end, it was an opportunity he couldn't refuse.

Two years on and he's still scrimping and saving, but the house looks very different. He's done all of the work himself, using stuff salvaged from the junkyard where he can and scraping together the cash to buy new stuff when he has to. No one knows he bought it. It was supposed to be a surprise.

They'd been talking about it on and off for years - about Alex finishing his latest tour, and coming back to be with Michael. Michael had already made it clear that he wouldn't leave Roswell, and although Alex wanted nothing more than to put their crappy little town in his rearview and never look back, he said that he was prepared to come home for Michael. The plan, originally, had been for Alex to buy their first home. He had more money than Michael, and would have been able to at least put a deposit down on a place that needed only a little work. But Michael hates charity, and though this house had needed way more than a little work, he'd bought it with his own money and he'd made it into a home for them with his own hands.

It took the better part of two years, but he finally finished it a few months before Alex came back. Of course, he'd known by that point that it would never truly be their home. Michael figures now that the months Alex dropped off the face of the earth last year must have been when he lost his leg. Michael had been beside himself with worry, but when he'd finally gotten hold of Alex, Alex had been cold. He'd cut him off, told Michael in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to waste his life with someone like Michael, and that he was never coming back. Michael had found some choice words for Alex in return, and when the dust had settled, he'd vowed to himself that he would sell the house when it was ready and be done with it.

Of course, things change. Alex is back now, for one thing. But he still doesn't want Michael, that's perfectly clear. So now Michael has this house, which he still can't bring himself to sell, and a broken heart and wasted dreams. He can't live here, not when all he would see is the ghost of the life he can never have. But maybe, he thinks to himself as he stares up at the dark house, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Alex might still find some use for it.

He's just about finished figuring out what the hell he's going to do with the place when the man himself shows up at the junkyard. The things he says threaten to rip Michael's beating heart out of his chest, but then he kisses Michael like he wants to put him back together again rather than tear him apart, and what is he supposed to do except fall back into bed with him?

For one last night, he lets himself believe that they can patch up the bleeding wounds they've left in each other's souls and move forward together. In the morning, it almost seems like Alex believes it, too - but then Isobel calls his name from outside the Airstream, and the look on Alex's face, the way he spits the words at Michael when he tells him that yes, actually, it would be terrible if she knew about them, tells him everything he needs to know.

He keeps Isobel talking while Alex sneaks out, something that's remarkably easy given that she's here to tell him that their dumbass brother is allowing his scientist ex to treat him like a lab rat, and he thinks they've gotten away with it when Alex's car crawls out of the junkyard and out of sight. He takes advantage of a lull in their conversation to breathe a sigh of what he tells himself is relief - but Isobel has never played by anyone's rules but her own.

"So," Isobel says after the silence has dragged on for a little too long. "Got a new roommate?"

Michael wants to argue, to deflect, but he knows there's no use. Even if they have an agreement that Isobel won't go rummaging around in Michael's head, she's not an idiot. He cuts his gaze away from her with a sigh. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Considering the only other cars here are yours, junkers, or ones that I see around town all the time? Yeah, I noticed the new car sitting outside your beat-up trailer."

"He was just here for breakfast," Michael tries.

Isobel gives him a disappointed look. "You don't do breakfast with anyone, much less Alex Manes."

"Well, not when you show up and scare him off."

Isobel sighs. "He wasn't here for breakfast, was he?" she asks, giving Michael a hard look.

Michael's frustration boils over. "I don't know what he was here for," he growls, "but it doesn't fucking matter. He's gone, and he's made it perfectly clear that he's not coming back. So don't worry, I'm in no danger of handing everything he needs to destroy us over on a silver platter unlike your other idiot brother."

"Maybe not," Isobel says, her expression softening, "but he's already done a number on you, hasn't he?"

Michael laughs. "He's been doing a number on me for ten fucking years."

"Why do you keep letting him?"

"Because I'm in love with him," Michael says, a simple truth that he has only spoken to Alex himself a few times. It steals his breath for a moment. "I'm in love with him, and I keep thinking that this time will be different. But it never will."

Isobel's expression doesn't quite turn pitying, but it's far too close for comfort. "Do you want me to make him leave?" she offers, quiet and sincere.

Michael shakes his head. "No," he says. "He's only here to help set up the new base at Foster's Ranch, he'll leave soon anyway. And I don't want to fuck with his life in the meantime."

Isobel studies him for a moment before she nods. "Okay. But he can't fuck with your life, either, Michael. If he won't leave you alone, then I'm going to take care of him."

Michael sighs. "I'm pretty sure this was the last time," he says. "He won't be around here again."

"Well, if that changes, you tell me," Isobel says, her tone brooking no argument. "And if you ever want him gone, or just want to spend a night where you know he won't get to you, my place is always open."

That makes Michael smile. "Thanks, Izzy."

The last thing Michael expects is for Alex to show up at the drive-in with a peace offering, and for them to pass a pleasant half hour sharing a beer and light conversation. The fact that he ruins it all as soon as he gets the chance should have been foreseen, but somehow that takes him by surprise, too, and leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth as the movie starts playing.

Of course, because he can never be the dramatic sibling all by himself, Isobel has to steal his thunder by trying to influence Liz to leave again right in front of Max’s face. He reads them the riot act while Michael is helping her down a bottle of acetone, ranting about Liz’s determination to prove that they killed her sister and the nerve they have to try to send the love of his life away. When he realises that they’d done it before, that they were the reason Liz left in the first place, it’s game over.

They go their separate ways before one of them literally blows something up in public, and Isobel spends all night blowing up Michael’s phone instead. She feels guilty, sure, but she also feels justified - and Michael wants to punch something with how frustrated he is. She doesn’t even have the whole picture, and yet she’s the one making the most sense while Max, who knows everything, is acting like a complete asshole. And once again Michael is left to pick up the pieces and try to hold everything together.

He agrees to go over to Max’s in the morning mostly to shut Isobel up so that they can both get some sleep - but he follows through the next day, and picks Isobel up on the way. They’re both feeling a lot calmer than they were last night, but they can tell as soon as Max opens his door that he’s still pissed as hell.

"I can't believe you two have the nerve to show up here," he growls, hands clenched into fists at his side as he glares at the two of them as they stand on his front porch. "Especially after last night."

"Yeah, well, we need to talk," Michael says. "A lot went down last night, and you're not exactly thinking clearly these days."

Max scoffs, but he does step back, letting Isobel and Michael into the house before shutting the door behind them. "I don't know what there is to talk about; you two seem perfectly content making decisions for me."

"If we could make decisions for you, we wouldn't be in this mess," Michael grouses.

Isobel nods agreement, perching on Max's couch. "Look, saving Liz... I get why you did it, even if it was a massive exposure risk. But everything after? It's like you want us to get found out."

"Of course I don't!" Max snaps. "But she - We owe her, Izzy. You know that."

"We do owe her," Michael agrees, "but how we repay her is not your decision to make alone. Do I need to remind you that none of what happened was directly your fault?"

Max's expression twists. "I still agreed to cover it up."

"To protect all of us," Michael says. "It was shitty, but it was a decision we had to make. Liz lost her sister either way."

"I know, but - you could've told me." Max lifts his head just enough to fix each of them with a hard look. "You knew I wanted to go with her, we had a plan, and I - All I knew was that she left without a word."

Michael sighs. "I know," he says. "And I'm sorry for how it went down. But it was the decision we thought we had to make at the time."

"But you couldn't tell me?" Max challenges. "Not until ten years later? What if it had been Alex, Michael?"

Michael sucks in a sharp breath. "That's different."

"Is it?" Max scoffs, ignoring the sharp look Isobel gives him. "I saw you at the reunion, and I know you spent an awful lot of time out in the desert the summer after we graduated. I saw you and him at prom, too. What if Isobel and I had made him leave, to keep Jesse Manes from finding out about us?"

"It's different because if we accidentally killed a member of his family, odds are he'd thank us for it," Michael snaps. "So it's a non-fucking-issue."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Max growls.

Michael blows out a harsh breath. "It still doesn't matter," he says. "At least Liz had to be pushed to leave. Alex left all on his own."

Max doesn't wince, but he does look away; Isobel gives Michael a sympathetic look before turning her attention to Max. "Look, Michael and I screwed up - but it was to protect all of us. We should've told you, but what's done is done. You have to admit, Liz's job makes her dangerous."

Max stays stubborn for another long moment - but then he sighs, and scrubs his hands over his face. "Fine," he mutters. "I get it. I'll stay away from her."

Isobel puts a hand on his shoulder, and Max reaches up to cover it with his own, his expression miserable.

Michael thinks his own probably looked just like that, every time Alex left.

The bell over Giovanni's front door dings cheerfully as Michael pushes the door open, and a moment later a warm voice calls, "Guerin! Been a while since you've been in here; finally need something you can't dig out of Sanders' pile of scrap?"

Michael laughs. "Pretty much," he says. "I think I'm gonna need more specialist stuff for this one."

Giovanni laughs as well, coming out from behind his counter. "Well, tell me what's wrong," he says cheerfully. "If I don't have the parts, I can always order them in."

Michael takes a breath. "Well, to start, I need to modify a bathroom to make it more accessible."

Giovanni just nods. "What sort of accommodations do you need?" he asks, leading the way to the plumbing and bathroom section of the store.

"Grab rails and a bench, definitely," Michael says. "I'm probably going to rip out the shower and put in a bigger stall."

"Limb disability, then?" Giovanni guesses. "Or something else that inhibits mobility?"

Michael hesitates. How many people in this town have an injury like this? If he's honest, it'll be obvious that he's here for Alex - but he's known Giovanni for years, and he's not a gossip. "Guy lost his leg," he says. "So, yeah. I'm happy to take any recommendations."

Giovanni just nods seriously. "You'll want to include better textures on the shower floor," he says. "More friction, less chance of slipping. The bench is a good idea, as is the handle, but you'll need to be sure it's anchored securely. Have you started making changes to the rest of the house?"

"I haven't started anything," Michael says, laughing. "You were my first port of call."

Giovanni doesn't bother to hide his pleased smile at that. "Well then, let's take a look around the shop, see what else we can come up with."

After that, Michael splits his spare time pretty evenly between the house and the whole Max-and-Liz fiasco. He's keeping himself so busy, in fact, that he's completely blindsided when Alex shows up at the junkyard one afternoon to tell him that not only does he suspect the truth about Michael, but that his father does, too, and is leading an entire military operation dedicated to hunting aliens. What is Michael supposed to do, except take Alex to his bunker and tell him everything?

Well, almost everything. He tells him about his powers, about everything he knows about his history and where he came from, about the night Liz came back to town - but he doesn't tell him about Rosa. Even after all they've been through, he knows Alex would never have hurt him before today. Now, if Alex is ever going to hate him enough to turn him over to Jesse Manes, this will be the thing that tips him over the edge. Maybe it makes him selfish, but Michael doesn't want to add fuel to that fire just yet.

When Michael finally stops talking, Alex looks a bit shell-shocked, clearly taking everything in; Michael can practically see the gears turning in his head. "Jesus," he finally says. "That's... a lot. You really came here in the crash? And have no idea what woke you from - I don't know, stasis?"

"Not a clue," Michael says. "Way we all woke up at the same time, exactly fifty years later, I gotta figure the release mechanism was on some kind of timer. But so far that's all I've got."

"Christ," Alex mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He glances around, gaze flicking over the accumulated alien tech surrounding them. "Not for lack of trying; this is why you were living at Foster's, isn't it? Looking for this?"

Michael shrugs. "Looking for anything," he says. "Anything that could tell me more about where I came from, or what happened to my family." He searches Alex's face for a long moment, but finds no traces of Jesse Manes' bitterness. Even now, Alex is the only person he trusts. He takes a breath. "And anything that could get me home one day."

Alex's gaze snaps back to Michael fast enough Michael half-worries he's given himself whiplash. "Home?" he echoes, expression unreadable.

"Well," Michael says, more flippant than he feels. "This isn't all I've found."

He can see the way Alex takes a breath, throat working as he swallows before he nods. "Okay. What else have you got?"

"I started finding pieces of glass," Michael says, moving over to the dust sheet covering the console. "All broken, but all the same material. I figured they came from the ship, so I started collecting them, and eventually I figured out that if you can find two parts of the same piece, they want to reconnect." He pulls the sheet back. "So I've been building this."

Alex's eyes widen, and he steps closer, until Michael swears he can see the iridescence of the glass playing across his face. "What is it?"

"I think it's the console for the ship that brought us here," Michael says softly.

Alex sucks in a sharp breath. "The - " He looks at Michael, searching his expression for a long moment. "Have you... found any other parts?"

"Not yet," Michael says, "but I hope I will - and even if I don't, maybe I can learn enough from this that I can figure out how to build the rest."

Alex looks down at the alien tech, one hand reaching out to hover over one slightly-jagged edge where a piece is missing. "Why are you telling me this?" Alex asks, his gaze intense when he looks at Michael.

Michael doesn't know what it's doing to him, seeing Alex so close to this part of him but not touching. He looks away. "I figure, if someone's going to destroy me, it might as well be you."

"Michael," Alex breathes, stricken - but he doesn't move closer, doesn't say anything else, and Michael isn't sure whether what he sees in Alex's expression is real or just what he wants to see.

The tension between them stretches so taut that Michael is sure it will snap, and typically that doesn't bode well for them - so he breaks it himself. "What's all this, then?" he asks, gesturing towards the folders Alex is holding. "I've done the show-and-tell thing - now it's your turn."

Alex blinks, glancing down at the papers under his arm and seeming to only just realize they're there. "Oh - they're files from Project Shepherd," he says. "Everything I could pull so far; there's... a lot still on the servers."

"You want me to look at them?" Michael asks.

Alex nods. "Yeah; I thought we could read through them together, see what's here, if there's anything we need to do something about right now."

"All right," Michael says. "Well, step into my office, I guess."

Alex makes a quiet little noise that might be a laugh, and follows Michael over to a table that Michael hastily clears. He hands Michael half of the papers in his hand, settling into a chair with his half, and they start reading in a slightly awkward silence. The stuff Michael finds in the paperwork blows his mind. References to alien artifacts, technology Michael has never even thought to dream about, intelligence about potential alien activity from all over the world. He devours it, equal parts desperate to learn everything he can and mortified that this information has been in the hands of Jesse Manes and people like him. He's utterly consumed, and he almost misses the sound Alex makes after maybe half an hour. It's sharp and shocked, and part of Michael wants to ignore it, but he looks up.

"What?" he demands. "What is it?"

Alex looks up at him, eyes wide. "I - I think there's more aliens out there. Nearby."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Alex pushes the file in his hand across the table, angling it so Michael can read. "Project Shepherd had a facility, Caulfield - I thought they were just storing alien tech there, but this is talking about subjects."

Michael snatches up the file. "And you think 'subjects' means 'aliens'," he says. "Like prisoners?"

"Yeah," Alex says, voice quiet and a little wrecked. "It talks about 'powers.' Testing them, and the subjects' reactions."

Michael's hand starts to shake, and his vision blurs when he tries to read the page in front of him. "How old are the notes?" he asks.

Alex doesn't answer for a moment. "That file is from three years ago," he finally says. "I've got another here from two years ago."

Michael closes his eyes. "Do you think they could still be there?"

"If Project Shepherd still exists, then... It seems like Caulfield's still operational. They - They might be."

"We have to go there," Michael says. "Alex, we have to help them."

He can hear Alex take a deep breath. "Okay," he says. "You're right. I'll need to look through the files, see what I can pull about the building and security, but - If they're still alive, we can't leave them there."

Gratitude rushes through Michael like a tidal wave, leaving him dizzy. "Thank you," he says. "Just-- Thank you."

It only takes Alex a day to pull things together, and then he and Michael are driving out into the desert. Caulfield turns out to be an 'abandoned' prison, but Michael can feel... something, just on the edge of his consciousness, the same sort of thing that drew him back to Roswell as a kid, to Max and Isobel. Alex takes point once they park behind an abandoned bus, leading Michael from cover to cover until they're close enough for Michael to use his powers to get them inside. They're even more careful once they're in the building; Alex takes them in the direction of the server room, taking the chance to plug in a USB drive that has some sort of program on it. From what Michael understood, it should pull almost every file in Caulfield's servers into some sort of format that Alex can access remotely, and will work while they try to find the place the aliens are being kept.

Michael takes the lead then, following the feeling at the back of his mind down corridors and stairs until it finally brings them to a stop just outside a door that looks like it's from the original prison - but reinforced. Michael and Alex exchange a look, but before they can say anything, someone speaks directly into their minds.

"Ah, I was wondering when I'd get the chance to meet you, Michael."

Michael slides his gaze abruptly to Alex. "Are you hearing this?"

Alex looks spooked. "Yeah, but the reports said - "

"Oh, I know what they said. Power-suppressing drugs and glass, right? There's a reason I'm out here by myself."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Michael snaps. "Who are you?"

Alex edges closer as the voice comes again, accompanied by a dark chuckle. "I used to think I'd call myself 'Noah' if I ever got out of that fucking pod. Then the humans found me, and now I'm Subject 89. I prefer Noah; I did come here on an ark, after all."

"You were on the ship," Michael breathes. "And you know me?"

"Oh yes. I knew all three of you little brats when we were fleeing our homeworld - I thought you were dead weight, you know. But then later, after the crash... Well, Isobel at least turned out to be useful."

"What do you mean?"

Michael can feel the anger in Noah's next response. "I mean, my fucking pod was broken in the crash. I managed to escape the soldiers who came and rounded up the others, drag my pod somewhere safe, but I was injured. Once I got back in the pod, I couldn't get out of it; the only way I could reach out was through my powers, but that wasn't enough. Not until Isobel let out that beautiful psychic scream, that night in the desert. Then I had a connection to the rest of the world."

Michael grits his teeth. "You mean you had a connection to Isobel."

"Before her, I just had the drifters, but they were few and far between. After, though... I mostly just watched, seeing the world through her eyes. Until I saw a kindred spirit, someone also trapped in a cage far too small for their brilliant spirit."

"What are you--" Michael sucks in a sharp breath as an image floats into his mind, and he looks at Alex, his eyes wide. "Rosa."

Alex has gone pale, but Noah keeps talking, more images coming as he does. "Oh yes, Rosa - Even across all the distance between us, I felt a connection with her. I borrowed Isobel's body a few times - it did no harm to her, I just... took the reins - and got to know her. She was brilliant, and I thought, Finally. Here was what I'd left my homeworld to find, someone who truly understood. But I could only do so much in Isobel's body. It wasn't enough, and Rosa..." Anger flares, and then Michael sees that night through Noah's memories: Finding the girls who had tormented Rosa, bringing them to the desert, calling Rosa and asking her to come see a surprise. Rosa, horrified, trying to run -

And Max and Michael arriving as Noah's - Isobel's - hand closed around Rosa's throat.

"You killed her," Michael seethes, heedless of Alex beside him. "And you used Isobel's body to do it. Why? We're like you - we could have helped you."

He can hear the scoff in Noah's voice. "Oh yes, three teenagers who have no idea how alien technology works - you could've fixed my pod, could've gotten me out. It's a moot point now, isn't it? Because the humans found me after that, dragged my pod here with all the rest of the poor bastards they didn't slaughter the night we crashed."

It takes a lot of effort to blink the red mist from his vision, to remember why they came here in the first place. "How many others?" he asks. "Where are they?"

"I don't know how many, and frankly, I don't care," is the blunt answer. "You're not going to be able to save anyone, but if you insist on seeing what the humans have done to us..." Another vision comes through, this time from what seems to be a guard's eyes, walking down several corridors until he arrives at a large space with two dozen cells, the closest one labeled Subject 12.

Michael rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the tip," he snaps, and heads off in the direction Noah showed him without waiting to see if Alex is following.

Alex catches up with Michael quickly; he hears Alex approaching, then feels Alex's hand on his wrist, Alex close enough to hiss, "Michael, slow down - we can't get caught now."

Michael resists him, but doesn't break free of his grip. "My family are through those doors, Alex, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to not give us away, because it won't do anyone any good if we're discovered," Alex says, tugging a little harder on Michael's wrist. "We're not leaving without trying to help, I promise you, but we can't help if we're caught - or killed."

Michael forces himself to fall still. "Fine," he says. "I'll follow your lead, just get on with it."

Alex nods, moving around Michael so he can take the lead - but one last comment from Noah makes them both freeze.

"Make sure you stop by Subject 36's cell; it'd be rude not to say 'hello' to your mother."

When Michael thinks about what happens next, hours and days and years from now, he will be able to recall it exactly as it happened, in excruciating detail. He’ll be able to play the memory back in slow motion, frame by frame; he’ll be able to see exactly where he went wrong, exactly what could have been done - should have been done - to prevent it. But in the moment, in a blur of panic and fear and desperation, it feels like it takes seconds.

In one instant, Michael is looking at his mom, all at once old and sick and young and beautiful, the whole time radiating love - and in the next, she’s gone.

There’s some stuff in the middle, of course - his mom telling him to run and Alex begging him to run, both in their own way telling him that he’s their family and they love him, and of course Michael himself pulling the trigger on his own people. But that’s the gist of it. One second to the next. There and gone.

As Michael stands on the edge of the pit, Alex at his side, watching the dust settle, he can’t help but wish he’d gone with them.

Alex drives them home afterwards; Michael's hands won't stop shaking long enough for him to get the key in the ignition. When they arrive at the junkyard, Alex cuts the truck off, and they just sit there for a long moment. Michael can feel the weight of Alex's gaze on him, but neither of them say anything until Alex finally sighs. "We should go inside," he says quietly.

"We?" Michael asks. His voice cracks, but he doesn't have it in him to care.

Alex nods. "I can go over what my program managed to get, and I - I don't want to leave you alone right now."

Michael blinks, not really seeing the trailer in front of them. "I'll be fine," he says. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Michael," Alex says, his tone almost unbearably soft. "I don't have to, but I do. Today was... a lot."

Michael nods to himself. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, okay. I know I owe you some answers."

"That's not what I - "

"Come on," Michael says, already halfway out of the truck. "I'll get you a beer."

Alex follows him out of the truck and into the Airstream, settling at the tiny dining table with a soft grunt, stretching out his bad leg as Michael rummages in the fridge. "What kind of answers do you think you owe me?" he asks while Michael's still hiding behind the fridge door.

Michael closes the fridge a little harder than is strictly necessary. "You're kidding, right? You just found out I watched Rosa die and you don't want to know what else I've been hiding?"

Alex doesn't flinch, just meets Michael's gaze evenly. "Of course I'm curious, but - Michael, you don't owe me anything."

Michael laughs darkly. "I owe a lot of people a lot of shit," he says, "including you. Especially you. Rosa was your best friend and it's my fault she's dead."

He's not sure what his expression does just then, but whatever it is makes Alex frown. "It was that other alien's fault," he says. "Noah. He was the one who - possessed Isobel."

"And I'm the one who covered it up," Michael sighs. He hands Alex his beer and sinks down beside him. "Izzy doesn't know - she was blacked out the whole time, and Max and I thought she'd just... lost it. We knew something was up with her back then but we didn't know what, and when we realised something was wrong, the night after... after the shed, we headed out to the desert to stop her, but we were too late."

Alex's gaze drops to Michael's hand, like he can't help it, and his expression twists. "Everyone thought there was an accident, that Rosa was driving under the influence."

Michael hangs his head. "I know," he says. "And if I'd been thinking clearly, I never would have put her in the driver's seat. I was just... out of my fucking mind. With pain, with fear - I didn't want Isobel to take the fall for it, and I didn't want her to know it was her fault because I knew the guilt would eat her alive. I just wanted it all to go away, and not only did I help to cover up Rosa's murder, but I also turned the whole goddamn town against her family."

Alex pops the cap off of his beer, taking a long drink. "I'm not gonna say that doesn't make me mad," he says after a moment. "Because - yeah, it did kind of ruin things for Liz and Arturo. But..." He sighs. "It's not like there was anyone who could help you."

"I shouldn't have needed help," Michael bites out, frustrated.

Alex's brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, who was going to help me?" Michael asks, the words bursting from him. "Max was there, and he was just as useless as me - even more so, actually. I've always got by on my own, I should be able to take care of my fucking family by myself."

"You were a kid, Michael," Alex says, leaning closer. "Not just a kid, a literal alien - you couldn't exactly go to the police, but you should never have been put in that position."

"Maybe not," Michael says, "but I was and I still fucked up - just like I did today."

"You were trying to save your mom," Alex points out.

Michael swallows, and finds it does nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat. "And I killed her."

Alex doesn't say anything, just reaches across the table so that he can touch Michael's wrist, a hesitant touch like he's not entirely sure it'll be welcome. But it is. For all that he doesn't deserve it, it's exactly what Michael needs, and he folds into himself like his strings have been cut.

"I killed my mom, Alex," he says, voice rough, as the tears start to fall. "I killed them all."

Alex stays with him for a long time while he cries and then drinks and then cries some more. He only leaves when he says he's sure that Michael will be okay without him. Michael doesn't know how to explain that he doesn't think he'll ever be okay without him, but he's feeling more steady by that point, so he lets him go, and when Alex is gone he passes the fuck out.

The first thing he does when he drags himself out of bed the next day is text Max and Isobel. They get together that night at Isobel's place, and Michael tells them everything. He tells Isobel the truth of what happened the night Rosa died, and then he tells them both what happened at Caulfield - about Noah, about him possessing Isobel and using her body to murder those girls; about him finding his mother and the rest of their people who survived the crash only to be locked away and tortured for seventy years; about how it all ended with a sixty second countdown and an explosion, all because of him.

He knows it's shitty of him, but he doesn't stick around after. Isobel is understandably upset to finally know that Rosa and her friends died at her hands, but at least she's learned this at the same time as she learned that it wasn't her fault. Max has got her, Max can help. Neither of them need to be around the guy who is the reason their people - their family - died yesterday.

So he takes off, and he allows himself one more night to wallow in his misery, this time without forcing Alex to be his shoulder to cry on, before he pulls himself together. He spends the next couple of days throwing himself into his work at the junkyard and the next couple of nights working on the house, and though he's barely been sleeping, by the time the weekend rolls around he's more motivated than ever.

He spends all day Sunday completely absorbed in the renovations, so much so that he doesn't realise he's no longer alone until someone is damn near hammering the door down.

Cursing, Michael downs his tools and heads outside. He's been using the backyard as access rather than track dirt all through the house, so he at least gets a heads up as he walks down the side of the building and sees Max's cruiser parked out front. Sure enough, when he makes it to the driveway, Isobel and Max are stood on the doorstep, Max poised to knock again.

"What are you doing here?" Michael asks, gratified when they both jump. "You stalking me now?"

Max crosses his arms over his chest, giving Michael an unimpressed look. "We wouldn't have to if you'd answer your phone."

Michael pats down his pockets, but he doesn't even know where his phone is. "I've been busy," he says. "What do you want?"

"I don't know, maybe to check up on our brother who just lived through something truly horrific," Isobel says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Of course. "Well, as you can see, I'm fine," Michael says. "I'm working, and I'm trying to give you guys space."

"Space for what?" Isobel demands, hands on her hips.

"To deal with the fact that I just single-handedly destroyed any hope we had of connecting with people like us."

"That doesn't just affect us," Max points out, frowning. "It affects you, too. Worse, even, since you were there."

"Yeah, it was my fault," Michael says. "What part of that makes you want to be around me?"

"The part where you're still our brother," Isobel says, stepping forward and grasping Michael's arm. "We made it this far, just the three of us. We'll be okay."

Michael still isn't convinced, but he's used to waiting for the other shoe to drop. He sighs. "I love you guys," he says. "I just don't want you to hate me."

"Well, we don't," Isobel says, brusque. "So you can quit hiding. What are you even doing here, anyway?"

Michael blows out a breath. "I told you, I'm working."

"For who?" Max presses, frowning. "I didn't realize anyone lived here."

"They don't yet," Michael says with a shrug. "I'm renovating it so that someone can move in."

Isobel eyes him suspiciously. "Who?"

Michael grits his teeth. "You don't know him."

"It’s a small town; you sure about that?"

"Does it matter?"

Isobel rolls her eyes. "Why are you being so cagey? It's not like the fucking President is moving to New Mexico."

"No," Michael says, "but it's none of your business. It's private."

"Oh come on, Michael," Isobel complains. "Just tell us! We won't tell anyone, I swear, but... You're always so secretive."

"And you're always so nosy," Michael says, rolling his eyes. "But fine. I can't tell you who's going to be living here because right now, no one is."

"Right, but who owns this place?" Isobel presses. "Someone has to be paying for all the work you're doing."

"Yeah," Michael says, "me."

Max and Isobel blink in unison. "You?" Max says, astonished. "Since when?"

Michael sighs. "A couple years ago," he admits. "It was in a lot worse condition than it is now, and it was going cheap. I'd been saving for a while, so I thought, why not?"

"Huh," Max says, thoughtful, while Isobel grins and reaches out to link her arm with Michael's.

"Well, come on then, show us around!"

Michael laughs. "I'm filthy," he protests, "I don't want to get shit everywhere."

"It's your house, you can walk around without shoes," Isobel argues. "And I'll help you clean up, but I want to see this place! It looks really good for being a fixer-upper, you must've put a lot of time into it."

Michael rolls his eyes, but he can't help the grin on his face as he toes off his boots. "Fine, I guess I can show you. I'm kinda really proud of it."

Isobel grins, and Max smiles, too, stepping aside so Michael can open the door. He leads them inside and shows them the decent-sized living room first, cosy with an oak coffee table and matching bookshelves he'd bought for cheap at a yard sale last year, followed by the open-plan kitchen/diner that he's always thought Alex would love. The guest bedroom is next, set up as an office with a plush sofa-bed against one wall. Max and Isobel ooh and ahh in all the right places, and Michael realises he was right to show them. He is proud of this place, of the work that's gone into making it just the way he wants it, even if the whole buying-a-house thing won't turn out the way he'd planned.

"And then this is the master bedroom," he says, opening the door and waving them inside.

Max lets out a low whistle. "Hell of a bed," he observes.

"And the room’s neat," Isobel adds, expression turning thoughtful. "The whole house is very neat, come to think of it. Nothing like the Airstream."

"Well, like I said, no one's living here," Michael says.

"Why not?" Max asks, curious.

"Because it's not finished," Michael says, "and I didn't buy it for me."

Isobel raises a brow. "Did you buy it to flip?"

"I could've," Michael says vaguely. "There's a lot of money in real estate."

Isobel gives him a thoughtful look before changing the subject. "Well, at least you've matched the bed and dresser, if you couldn't have closet space."

"Yeah, I got all of this off of eBay," Michael says. "Come on, I'm working on the bathroom right now but I'll still show you, it's a good size."

The bathroom is plenty large enough for three people to move around easily in, but Max is the first one to spot - "Is that a handrail?"

Michael doesn't look at him. "Yes, Max, it is."

"You're adding it into the shower, aren't you?" Max asks, sounding like he did way back in high school, trying to talk through a pre-calc homework problem.

"Yeah," Michael says. "That tends to be where a grab rail is useful in the bathroom."

Isobel glances around. "The tile's new, though; why are you ripping it out?"

"Because I'm putting in a bigger shower stall."

"Really?" Max asks, frowning thoughtfully. "Looks like it was plenty big to me."

Michael shrugs. "Yeah, well, turns out it wasn't fit for purpose."

He doesn't like the thoughtful expression on Isobel's face, but she doesn't say anything, just follows Michael and Max out of the bathroom.

"So that's pretty much it for the house," Michael goes on, ignoring the way the back of his neck is prickling as he shows them back into the kitchen and out of the sliding door into the small backyard. "I've tried to keep it simple out here so that - y'know, whoever can do what they want with it. And then that path leads back around to the front."

"Where you snuck up on us," Isobel teases, Max snickering - until his radio goes off.

He steps away to answer it, just far enough away to not be truly audible, and when he comes back, he's rolling his eyes. "Old Jenkins is going off about 'suspicious characters' again," he sighs. "So I gotta go deal with him."

"That's alright; Michael can take me home," Isobel says brightly. "I wanted to catch up with him, anyway; feels like forever since we've really talked."

Michael heaves a sigh. "Why don't I like the sound of this?" he muses, but he waves Max off. "It's fine, I'll just need to lock up here first. You good to wait, your ladyship?"

Isobel waves an imperious hand, and Max leaves them with a laugh. Isobel doesn't say anything until after Michael's finished locking up and they're in the truck. "So," she says, "have you talked to anyone else since your little adventure?"

Michael keeps his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. "No," he says, "I've been working."

”Working on renovating the house that looked like it was pretty damn close to finished,” Isobel says slowly. “Until… whoever you bought it for showed up missing a limb?”

Michael takes a deep breath and lets it out, slow and even. He doesn't even try to deny it. "You gonna be an asshole about this?"

"Do I need to be?" Isobel asks, but her tone is startlingly gentle. "Michael, you said it yourself - you and Alex are done."

"We are," Michael agrees. "We weren't, when I bought the house. But now I just... have it, and I don't want to live there. I can't."

Isobel makes an understanding noise. "It didn't exactly look like you in there," she says. "You really did build and decorate it for him, didn't you?"

Michael shrugs. "I loved him. I wanted it to be a home for both of us."

Michael doesn't have to look at her to know her expression is sad. "He doesn't deserve you, you know?" she asks, quiet and serious. "And you deserve so much better than him."

A smile twists Michael's lips. "Can't say that's true," he says, "but thanks anyway."

Isobel invites him in when he drops her off, but he declines the offer. It's been good to see them and realise that they don't hate him, but he knows that if he goes inside she'll want to talk more about what happened at Caulfield, and he's not ready. She seems to get it, because she doesn't push, just hugs him and gets out of the truck. He lingers in the driveway until she's through the door, and then he gets back on the road.

It's early enough that he could go back to the house and get some more work done, but he could just as easily head back to the Airstream and call it a day. Neither of those options feel right, though, and before he can second-guess himself he has his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, and his stomach is swooping as he hears Alex's soft, "Hello?"

"Hey," Michael says. "Are you home?"

"Yeah, I'm - at the cabin," Alex says, huffing a quiet laugh. "Guess that is 'home' for now. Why? Did something happen?"

"No," Michael says quickly. "I'm just in town and I thought I'd stop by."

"Oh. Well, I'm not doing anything, so. Sure; you want to grab something from the Crashdown?"

Michael is already signalling to park up across the street from Bean Me Up. He smiles. "Want your usual?"

"Extra fries, but otherwise, yeah," Alex says, and Michael swears he can hear the smile in his voice. "See you soon, Michael."

It takes him barely ten minutes to get their order and then he's back in his truck and heading over to Alex's cabin. He's only been here a couple of times, but he still knows the way like the back of his hand. He pulls up outside and grabs the bag of food from the passenger seat, using his powers to open the front door ahead of him. "Knock knock!" he calls as he steps inside. "I come in peace!"

"Well, that's handy," Alex says, grinning at Michael from the kitchen area. "Set the food on the table; I already moved all the important bits back to the office."

"Oh shit, were you working? You should've just said if you were busy."

"I was going through Project Shepherd files; I needed a break," Alex says before laughing, a bit self-conscious. "I've uh, been at it since about seven o'clock this morning, so."

This surprises a laugh out of Michael, too. "Man, it's a Sunday."

Alex pauses, hands on the rag he was using to dry them off, and gives Michael a very thorough once-over. "Uh huh," he says slowly, smirking when he meets Michael's eye once again. "You look like you were enjoying a day off."

Michael looks down at himself and groans. "Yeah, well, this is a personal project," he says, and then immediately wonders if he's said too much. He quickly forges on. "I should probably have changed before I came over, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Alex assures him, putting the rag down and moving towards the table, shoving a couple of papers haphazardly out of the way. "Not like I ever really have company, anyway."

"I'll at least go back outside and try to shake some of the dust off," Michael says. "Here." He sets the food on the table and turns back for the door.

By the time he gets back, Alex has the food divvied up, and is already sitting. "I've got beers in the fridge if you want one after the milkshakes are gone," Alex says, dipping one of his fries into his chocolate shake.

"Sounds good," Michael says. He sits down and takes one of his own fries, though he has no intention of letting it touch his milkshake. "I don't want to outstay my welcome, though."

"Because my social calendar is just packed," Alex snorts, smiling. "I didn't have any plans tonight."

Michael smiles back. "All right," he says. "A drink or two would be good."

They eat in a companionable silence for a few moments before Alex breaks it. "So, not that I'm not glad to see you, but what prompted the visit?" he wonders.

Michael sits back from his food with a sigh. "I told Max and Isobel about what happened the other day," he says. "And then I went to ground right after, because I expected them to hate me as much as I hated myself. But they came to see me today and it turns out that they don't hate me?" He shakes his head, laughing a little. "I still fucking hate myself, but Izzy especially kind of pulled my head out of my ass, and I just... I wanted to say thank you."

Alex blinks, like that was the last thing he expected Michael to say. "Thank me?"

Michael nods. "Yeah," he says. "You stayed with me after, and I couldn't really feel anything? But I'm really grateful that you didn't leave me alone. And I'm sorry for being a dick about it and going radio silent for the past few days."

Alex shrugs. "Considering everything you learned and what happened right after... I figured you needed some time to process."

"I did," Michael agrees. "Honestly, I still do. But what I've processed so far is that you gave me exactly what I needed that day. So, thank you."

"Well, you're welcome," Alex says, giving Michael a soft smile.

Michael smiles back, and reaches for his milkshake only to find it empty. He gives it a little shake. "I think you said something about a beer?"

"In the fridge," Alex says, gesturing with one of his last fries. "Middle shelf."

Michael lifts one hand towards the fridge, the door swinging itself open. "You want one?"

"Sure," Alex says, eyes bright as he watches Michael, curious.

The fridge opens by itself and two beers float over to them. Michael takes his own out of the air and cracks it open. Alex mimics him, smiling just a little. "Must be handy," he hums.

Michael shrugs. "It can be. Took me a long time to learn to control it."

"Yeah?" Alex asks, encouraging.

"I didn't come into my powers right away," Michael says. "When I was about eleven, maybe? I didn't even realise it was me at first. The family I was staying with thought we had ghosts, and so did I for a little while. It was worse when I was upset or pissed off, though, so I worked it out eventually."

Alex smiles. "Was that before or after you found Isobel and Max again?"

"Before," Michael says. "By the time I got back to Roswell my control was better."

"Well, I can imagine a lot of ways telekinesis would be helpful," Alex muses. "Almost wish I had it sometimes, living here."

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"I've nearly tripped on the front steps more times than I can count," Alex says dryly. "They're not deep enough, and they're too tall; it's awkward trying to climb up them sometimes, even with the prosthetic. And you can see how cramped it is in here." He gestures towards the rest of the house, where Michael can see the narrow hallway leading to the rest of the house; even the living room has barely enough space to walk around the couch and coffee table.

"Yeah," Michael muses, thinking. "I can see how that gets annoying." He glances at Alex. "I could probably do something with the steps for you, if you want?"

Alex shrugs. "This was always temporary," he says, "and I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble."

"Your call," Michael says. He raises his beer to his lips, hoping to look casual, and then asks, "You got another place lined up?"

Alex's mouth twists into a grimace as he takes a sip of his own beer. "Not yet; I've been distracted, and frankly..." He sighs. "I don't know what I can afford; if I can't afford a place better than this, then obviously it wouldn't make sense to move, but this place wasn't designed for full-time living."

"No," Michael says, relaxing, "I guess not. But if you change your mind, if you decide you want to keep the place anyway or stay here longer, just let me know."

Michael is at the hardware store again two weeks later when he hears a familiar voice. He's browsing on his own this time, in the timber section - the bathroom is basically finished now, and Alex still hasn't asked him to fix the steps out at the cabin, but he's decided that the ones out back of the house could use some work. He turns towards the voice, registering a heartbeat later that it's Maria just before she appears at the end of the aisle. She's on the phone, and for a second Michael thinks he could get away without being seen, but then she looks up and meets his eye. Caught, he gives her a little wave and hopes that'll be it.

Apparently not, though, as her eyes widen and she hastily ends her call before hustling closer. "Guerin? What're you doing here?"

"Getting some stuff for a project I'm working on," Michael says. "What about you?"

"The door to the men's room needs new hinges, and a couple cabinets need new handles," Maria says. "What kind of project are you working on?"

"Just something for a friend," Michael says, smiling. "I won't keep you, though."

"I'm not in any rush," Maria says, waving a hand. "But if you're in the handyman business now and not just the junkyard business, could I get your help with these, maybe tonight or tomorrow? I'll pay you in beer."

Michael grins. "Sounds like a fair deal to me," he says. "I'll swing by later."

"Great," Maria says, satisfied. "I'll see you then, Guerin."

Michael waves. "See you later." He goes back to his own cart when she turns away, and checks that he has everything he needs before he, too, starts to head out of the aisle. He's barely gotten two steps when a hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns with a start. "God, Giovanni, you scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," Giovanni laughs. "I just wanted to ask about your renovations - is it going well?"

"Really well," Michael says, grinning. "The bathroom is all good to go, so now I'm doing some work on the yard."

"Really?" Giovanni looks interested. "Didn't take you for a landscaper, Guerin."

Michael laughs. "I'm not, really. I'm good at plants, but I'm fixing the steps on the patio right now."

"Ah," Giovanni says sagely, smiling. "Making it easier to enjoy your morning coffee - perhaps with company?"

Michael just shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "But I'd better get all this checked out so I can head back and make a start."

Giovanni laughs and leads him to the register - and neither of them notice Maria, with her thoughtful expression.

As promised, Michael drops by the Pony that evening and helps Maria with the little repairs that have been piling up. They chat while they work, and afterwards, Maria pulls a couple of cold bottles from the fridge behind the bar, passing one to Michael. "So," she says, after Michael's opened his beer and taken a sip. "Get any work done on your own project today?"

"Yeah, I made a good start," Michael says. He takes a long pull from his beer and then sets it on the bar with a sigh. "Might head back out there in a couple days or so."

"They must be paying you real damn good, whoever owns that place," Maria says lightly.

Michael laughs. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're buying all the material yourself, and doing what sounds like a lot of renovation," Maria says. "Based on what I heard you and Giovanni talk about."

Michael's immediate instinct is to deflect. "I mean, it's pretty standard for a client to reimburse me for the materials," he says. "It wouldn't make sense for them to buy the stuff if they don't know what they're doing. But yeah, it's a big job."

Maria hums. "And I suppose part of that 'reimbursement' is coffee together, first thing in the morning?" her tone is more teasing than anything else, her expression amused.

That surprises a laugh out of Michael. "What are you saying?"

Maria leans forward, elbows resting on the bar. "I'm saying, it's not really a job, is it? It's your place."

Michael actually rocks back on his heels. "Uhh, that seems like kind of a leap."

"Is it?" Maria asks, but there's no skepticism, no judgment. "You're in Giovanni's store so much he knows you and your projects without having to think about it, and he talked about enjoying your morning coffee on the patio - and making it easier to do."

"You make a habit of eavesdropping, DeLuca?"

Maria rolls her eyes. "I'm just saying, Guerin, I'm happy for you, having a house. Even if you're still living in that tiny-ass trailer for some reason."

Michael admits defeat with a sigh. "Please don't say anything to anyone," he says. "I'm keeping it quiet for now, just trying to get the work done before anything else."

"My lips are sealed," Maria promises. "What kind of work?"

"Well, if I was in a position to buy the place, I'm sure you can imagine the state it was in," Michael says vaguely. "So pretty much everything."

Maria grimaces eloquently, conceding the point with a tilt of her head. "How long you been working on it?"

Michael shrugs, and picks up his beer. "A while."

Maria gives him another thoughtful look that makes his skin feel a little too tight - but she just nods. "Well, I'm sure it'll look great when you're done."

Michael gives her a smile. "Yeah," he says. "I hope so."

Between his work at the junkyard, general alien shenanigans and his admittedly lacking social life, it takes Michael two weeks to finish up the steps at the back of the house. He's pretty damn proud of the end result, and when he sends Isobel a picture she seems pretty pleased, too. She also insists on taking him out for a drink to celebrate, which is why he's currently being treated to a front-row seat for the very public date Alex is on.

"I mean, good for him, right?" he says, forcing himself to drag his gaze away from Alex's hand on the arm of a very attractive, very muscly blond guy. "It's good that he's putting himself out there. I'm happy for him."

"Try telling your face that," Isobel says dryly, gesturing to the face in question.

Michael rolls his eyes. "Fine, so it sucks to see it," he says. "But I can still be happy for him. I'm a complex guy, capable of experiencing multiple emotions at once."

"Uh huh," Isobel says, eyeing Michael. "Are you sure you're okay with it?"

Michael shrugs, picking at the label on his beer. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"You could go say something."

"Like what?" Michael laughs.

Isobel shrugs. "Maybe, 'I'm still in love with you, and I want to give us one more chance'?"

Michael looks down, shaking his head. "Nah," he says. "That's over, now. We're friends, and I'm... I'm grateful I get that much of him, honestly."

Isobel's brow furrows. "Really?"

Michael gives her a look. "Yes, really," he says. "I'm not in the position to be asking for anything more, he's made that perfectly clear. I'm lucky he doesn't fucking hate me."

"Why would he hate you?" Isobel asks, incredulous.

"I don't know," Michael sighs. "I'm responsible for a lot of bad shit in his life, and the stuff I'm not responsible for I didn't make any better. I made most of it worse. Add to that all of the bullshit we've dragged him into recently, I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to run a mile."

"But he hasn't," Isobel points out. "He's still here, and you're getting along - what if he's worried about the same thing?"

"What does it matter?" Michael asks. "He's literally on a date right now."

Isobel's expression twists. "It might not turn serious," she says, not terribly convincingly. "It's probably just the first date; if you said something..."

But Michael shakes his head. "Izzy," he says. "Drop it. We're good as we are, it's enough."

Isobel grimaces - but does as he asks.

Michael manages to keep his head down for the next couple of days, mostly sticking to the junkyard now that the renovations at the house are finished. The only time he ventures into town is to take a single trip to the office of Isobel’s fancy lawyer. He’s barely in there for an hour, but he comes out with a heavy heart and the paperwork he needs to get himself out of Alex’s life for good. It’s about time he follows Alex’s example.

He doesn't hear from anyone except Isobel, who sends him a few texts about random shit, so it's kind of a surprise when his phone rings on the third day right as he's about to break for lunch. It takes him a second to register the name on his screen; he goes so far as to wipe the sweat out of his eyes to make sure he's not reading it wrong. But then, why wouldn't Alex be calling him in the middle of the day? They're friends, right?

He accepts the call. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, Guerin," Alex says, sounding harried. "Do you know anything about plumbing?"

Michael blows out a breath. "Uhh, a little," he says. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you at least know how to cut it off?" Alex asks, aggrieved. "Because my kitchen sink literally won't shut off."

"Oh, shit," Michael says. "There should be a valve under the sink?"

"Tried that, then the bathroom sink started running without being turned on, and I'm worried it might burst a pipe if I close them all."

"Jesus Christ, all right," Michael says. He casts a quick glance at the car he's been working on all morning, but it can wait. "I'll come over. Turn off anything electric and move whatever really needs saving, but then just wait for me, okay? I won't be long."

He manages to shave five minutes off of the usual time to Alex's cabin, and by the time he gets there, Alex is waiting on the front porch, looking frazzled. Michael's picked up enough from working on the house to be able to get Alex's water shut off - but then the kitchen sink keeps running. More investigation leads to the pump regulator, which is on its last legs, rusted and ready to fall apart; the pipes around it aren't in much better shape.

"And let me guess, you can't do that," Alex sighs when Michael informs him of what he's found. "I'm gonna need to hire a professional."

"Yeah," Michael sighs. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to fuck it up worse by trying to do it myself. I know a guy, though, I can see if he can get you in today."

Alex makes a face. "And what if he can't, or he needs to order parts?" he asks, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Christ, this is the last thing I need."

"Let's take it one step at a time," Michael says, already scrolling through his contacts. "If he can't get out here or he can't fix it, we'll deal."

The guy saved as 'Ray (Plumber)' in his phone is actually more of a friend than the name would suggest, although he tends to use the term 'friend' both loosely and sparingly. They met through Sanders, who he's closer to in age, and they've been known to have a beer together on occasion. More to the point, he's good at his job and he's cheap, so it's a testament to how well they get along that he's able to come out a couple hours after Michael makes the call.

Unfortunately, no level of skill or friendship can conjure the part he needs from thin air. To make matters worse, Ray informs them that it'll probably take a week for the part to come in, and then another week or so until he's free enough to come and fix it.

"The place won't flood or anything, but the water needs to stay shut off until I can get the regulator up and running again," he says. "You probably need to find somewhere to stay for a couple weeks."

Michael sighs. "We'll figure something out," he says. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, no problem," Ray says. He's already heading for his car. "I'll give you a call next time I run a poker night, yeah?"

Michael nods. "Sounds good."

Alex is scowling at his sink like it's personally offended him when Michael ventures back inside. "Great," he mutters. "I... don't know where I'm gonna end up. Maria lives over the Pony, Liz doesn't have any space..."

Well, it's not like Michael's going to get a better in than that, is it? He scratches at the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "I know a place you can stay, if you need it."

Alex raises a brow. "The Airstream?"

Michael laughs weakly. "Uhh, no. Not the Airstream."

Alex just looks at him for a long moment before sighing. “Not like I’ve got much choice,” he says. “I’m not staying with Kyle; his apartment is way too cramped. Let me pack a bag.”

"Great," Michael says. "I'll just... be in my truck." Checking that the deed transfer paperwork is still safely in the glove compartment, and having a crisis.

He's still mid-crisis when Alex comes back out with a sleek black hold-all, but he manages to dial it back enough that Alex doesn't seem to notice. Michael tells him the rough area of town they'll be heading towards and then they get on the road, Alex a constant presence in his rearview. He lasts about two minutes before calling Isobel.

"If you're busy right now," he says when she answers, before she even has chance to speak, "that's too bad. I'm freaking out."

"What's wrong?" Isobel asks immediately. "Are you in trouble?"

"Only the kind of my own making," Michael groans. "I'm taking Alex out to the house."

"And let me guess, there wasn't a declaration of love involved?"

"No," Michael says. "His plumbing crapped out, he needs somewhere to stay."

"Of course," Isobel sighs. "Well, what do you need from me?"

"Nothing," Michael says. "I just wanted to-- I don't know. Freak out, so that I'm not still freaking out when we get there."

"Well, if you're still freaking out afterward, I don't have any plans for the afternoon," Isobel says. "You can hide out here."

"Great," Michael sighs. "You're the best."

"I know," Isobel sniffs, but Michael can hear the smile in her voice before she hangs up, leaving Michael to finish his drive in silence. Alex follows him around the edge of town and to the house; when they park and get out, Michael can practically see the wheel turning in Alex's head.

He eyes the house for a moment before looking at Michael, expression curious. "Okay, I'll bite: how'd you get permission to let some random stranger stay here?"

"Called in a favour," Michael says vaguely. "I've been working on the place, but no one lives here yet." He digs the key out of his pocket and heads up the short path to the door, avoiding Alex's gaze as he passes him.

Alex makes a thoughtful noise, but doesn't say anything until they're actually inside. "Whoa," he breathes; when Michael glances back, Alex is looking around the living room wide-eyed, taking everything in. "This is nice."

Michael gives him a smile. "The owner's got good taste, huh?" He steps back, gesturing for Alex to go ahead of him. "Why don't you look around?"

"Sure," Alex says, hitching his bag a little higher on his shoulder. "Where's the bedroom?"

"Down the hall on the right," Michael says. "Bathroom's opposite."

He waits until Alex has disappeared from view before slipping the envelope out of his jacket pocket. He holds it in both hands for a moment, just looking at it, steeling himself for what's to come - and then he places it in the middle of the coffee table and silently slips out of the house. Even if Alex hears his truck start, Michael's long gone before he can come looking.

He takes Isobel up on her offer, and goes over to drown his sorrows that night. He doesn't even know why he's sad, really - it's not like he and Alex will never talk again. They're still friends. But this officially marks the end of that chapter in his life, the one where it looked for a good minute there like he and Alex might actually be happy together. Handing the house over to Alex means it's out of his hands, and he has to start to move on. He gets that, and he knows it's a good thing. It's just fucking hard to let go, is all.

So he and Isobel commiserate together, and she's kind enough to let him drink her good wine while she tells him he's an idiot. They both get more than a little tipsy, enough that Isobel manages to persuade him to crash on her couch, and he manages to fall asleep not picturing Alex doing the same in the bed he thought would be theirs.

He wakes up to someone trying to break the goddamn door down.

"All right, all right, I'm coming." That's Isobel's voice, low and irritated, and the sound of her slippers scuffing across the floor. The door opens a moment later. "Oh. What do you want?"

"I need to talk to Guerin - Michael. Please," Alex says, and he sounds out of breath, agitated.

Michael's heart seizes in his chest, and even Isobel hesitates. "I'm pretty sure he needs to talk to you, too," she says, "but it's my duty as his sister to tell you that he doesn't want to."

"Yeah, well he just gave me a house, so tough shit for him," Alex snaps. "I'll camp out on the street or at the junkyard if I have to."

Isobel sighs. "Good enough for me," she says. "I'm going back to bed. Help yourself to the kitchen, but try to keep the yelling to a minimum." More shuffling as she turns away from the front door and heads for the stairs. "I know you're awake, Michael, so get the hell up, you have a visitor."

Michael presses his face harder into the back of the couch. "I hate you," he mutters.

"I heard that!"

Michael can hear footsteps approaching, not quite stomping but moving with purpose. They get to the living room and pause, a tense silence falling over the room for a moment. "You've got some fucking nerve, Guerin," Alex finally says, his voice tight, controlled.

Michael rolls over and sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was just trying to do something nice."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Alex asks, incredulous. "'Nice' is a - a hardcover set of my favorite book series, or making dinner, it is not a whole entire house that has been extensively remodeled and decorated!"

Michael shrugs. "I didn't want it, and I could've sold it, I guess, but - well."

"You 'didn't want it'?" Alex echoes, staring at Michael with a wild look in his eyes. "That's not just a fucking house, Michael, it's a home, and it's like you tailor-made it for us."

"Because I did," Michael says, simple and honest. "I mean, it started out that way."

Alex swallows, looking like he's steeling himself as he asks, "Then what changed?"

"You ghosted me," Michael says. "And when I finally got in touch with you... You made it pretty clear that you weren't coming home to me, so then it wasn't mine anymore."

Alex doesn't quite fall into the nearest armchair, but he definitely sits down a little harder than normal. "So why didn't you sell it?" he demands, sounding - desperate, almost. "Why keep it, why continue to work on it? Why would you do something like remodel the bathroom to make it more accessible for me? Why put in all that effort and time and money when I was being a dick?"

"Because I bought it for you," Michael says. "I thought about selling it, but. I didn't want someone else to take it, and I couldn't live there, so." He shrugs. "It's yours. It was always meant to be yours."

Alex laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. "I don't want it."

"Oh." Of all the ways Michael has imagined this conversation to go, somehow he never expected Alex to say that. He feels the words wrap around his heart like a fist, and breathes in and out, slow, calm. Despite his best efforts, his voice shakes when he finds it again. "Okay. Well. You can sell it, then."

"Shit, no, that's - " Alex pulls a face, runs a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath. "I meant, I don't want it without you, Michael."

Michael blinks. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I love you," Alex sighs, hand trembling as he lets it fall to his lap, clasping both hands together. "And I thought that I had ruined it - us - but if there is a chance that you'll let me make it up to you, make it right... I don't want that to be my house, Michael. I want it to be our home."

Michael sucks in a shuddering breath. "You don't-- You can't mean that."

"I do," Alex says softly, meeting Michael's gaze evenly.

Michael can't help it - he laughs. "No," he says. "No, 'cause you told me you were done."

Alex winces. “That was a long time ago, and I -"

Michael shakes his head. "When I realised you'd been hurt, I got why you dropped off the face of the earth last year," he says. "I didn't like it, that you ended things rather than just tell me and let me help you, but I got it. And I thought, maybe now that you were back, we could try. But then you treated me like a stranger, and even when we spent the night together you didn't want Isobel to know about us. You called me a criminal and said you couldn't associate with me. Add that to the date you were on at the Pony last week, it paints a pretty clear picture."

Alex frowns in thought, and then blinks. “You mean Chris?” he asks, sounding vaguely incredulous. “No, he’s another Airman; we work together. And he’s straight, just very touchy. It wasn’t a date.”

”You work together,” Michael repeats. “Right.” He takes a second to absorb that - and then decides it changes nothing. “That changes nothing, Alex. What about everything else?”

That makes Alex’s expression twist, and his gaze drops as he takes a deep breath. "I was wrong," he says, looking up once more. "I was scared of a lot of things, but that's no excuse. I shouldn't have treated you like that."

"I was kidding myself anyway," Michael sighs. "You never wanted to come back here - I don't even know what I was thinking. You only agreed to it in the first place because I told you I couldn’t leave Isobel. All that talk about us making a home together after your last tour was really just talk, huh?”

”It wasn’t,” Alex protests, expression stricken. “I loved you, Michael, and I wanted that future, that home. After that argument about me signing up for another tour - which I shouldn’t have done without talking to you - I wasn’t sure if we’d really be able to make it happen. And then I lost my leg, and everything just seemed… hopeless. I thought it’d hurt less if I told you to leave now, than if I waited until you decided you couldn’t handle everything I’d need later and told me you were done.”

Michael feels his jaw drop. “You really thought I’d leave you because you got hurt?” he demands. “Okay, I take it back - I don’t get it. What the fuck?”

”No, not because I got hurt,” Alex hastens to explain. “But the doctors were telling me about everything that I’d have to change - and I mean everything, Michael, they gave me an actual fucking book when I was discharged. And especially for the first year, you would’ve been a live-in caretaker; there are so many stories about people who’ve been together longer than us breaking up after something like that. I felt better making that choice before you did.”

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been hard,” Michael says, “but I know that I would’ve loved you through all of it and out the other side. But maybe you’re right. Love isn't enough; we've proven that over and over again."

"No, it's not enough," Alex concedes. "Not by itself. We have to actually work at it, and I…” He takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself before continuing. “I know I haven't been the best at that, historically. But I want to make it work, I - I want to give us a real chance."

"By moving back to a town you hate?"

”It’s not the town I hated - It was the way my dad seemed to run the whole thing, how he ran my life,” Alex says quietly. “But I wanted to be with you, Michael - and I wanted that last tour so I could prove to myself, and maybe a little to my dad, that it didn’t matter, what he thought; I was better than he or I ever thought I could be. Now, I just don’t give a shit. My father was more of a monster than I ever could have guessed, and I’m done letting him rule my life in any way.”

That’s… a lot. More than Michael ever thought he’d hear Alex say. He does him the courtesy of taking a moment to absorb it, to let it settle inside of him - and then he nods. “Okay,” he says, just as softly as Alex had spoken. “I think that’s great, Alex. Forget about us for a second - this is what you’ve always needed. Watching you try to be what he wanted all these years, and trying to better him - even when I didn’t want to, I understood why. But I could see it was killing you.” He shrugs, smiles. “You’ve always been better than him, anyway.”

Alex snorts, but he matches Michael’s smile. “I’m starting to believe that,” he says. “And I want to keep being better, not just for me, but us. I want everything we never got to have, Michael. Dates, walking down Main Street holding hands…”

Michael’s laugh is more of a sigh. “And you want to start by moving in together?”

Alex chuckles, a little weakly. "We don't have to jump right to that, I just..." His hand twitches, like he wants to reach for Michael but doesn't quite dare. "One of the things I want to be better about is telling - and showing - you how much I love you.”

Michael sniffles, and decides to be brave. He holds his hand out to Alex. "I thought the only way to keep you in my life was to let that part of us go. But if that's not what you want..."

Alex takes Michael's hand without hesitation, squeezing. "I don't want to let that go," he assures Michael. "And I'm so, so sorry for every time I made you think I did."

Michael feels a smile start to tug at the corners of his lips. It's been a while since he's felt anything close to hope. "Even now that you know everything?"

"Even now," Alex says, leaning in. Michael tracks the way his gaze dips, and then Alex's mouth is on his, a soft question.

Michael answers with a hum, and he kisses back, one hand sliding into Alex's hair to hold him close. It's soft, and tender, and when they part they don't go far, foreheads resting together as they share a smile. "Hey," he murmurs. "I love you, too. Just for the record."

"Oh, good," Alex sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I was worried that was a platonic kiss."

"Definitely not platonic," Michael says, and laughs into the next kiss. "God, I really wasn't sure how just being your friend was gonna go after you moved into that house without me."

"I can't believe you gave me a house," Alex laughs. "I know I said we don't have to jump straight to moving in together, but I hope you kept a key."

Michael's grin widens. "I actually didn't," he says. "The second key is in the kitchen. But, uhh. I guess what you do with it is up to you."

"Well, obviously I'm going to give it to you," Alex says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Even if you don't move in right now, I want you there as much as possible."

"Well, it's your house," Michael teases. "I'll be there as much as you want me to be."

"What if I want you there all the time?" Alex asks, turning serious as he cups Michael's cheek with his free hand. "I meant it when I said I want it to be our home, Michael."

Michael turns his face into Alex's hand, kisses his palm. "Then I'm there," he says softly.

Alex smiles, expression softening as he leans in, drawing Michael in for a lingering kiss. "Good," he murmurs. "Because sleeping alone last night sucked."

"Hey, that mattress wasn't cheap."

"Oh, it was comfortable, but it was also lonely," Alex hums. "I can't imagine how much money you spent on that place."

"I'd been saving for years," Michael admits. "And I did all the work myself. It wasn't as bad as you think."

"And what about remodeling the shower?" Alex asks. "That had to be recent."

"Yeah," Michael sighs. He leans back, but doesn't release Alex's hand. "Come sit with me?"

Alex goes easily, settling into the space next to Michael so that their thighs are pressed together. "Better?" he asks, smiling.

"Much better," Michael says, sliding his free hand over Alex's leg. "So, after I found out you'd lost your leg, I realised it would be pretty shitty to give you a house that wasn't accessible. So I did some research and I changed a few things, but yeah, it was the bathroom that needed the most work."

"How much work?"

"I put in a bigger shower and the bench, and added the grab rails," Michael says. "I had to eyeball those, so if you need anything moving just tell me."

Alex hums. "Did you eyeball the steps, too?" he asks, smiling just a little bit.

To his chagrin, Michael blushes. "Oh, you noticed that, huh?"

"It was a little hard to miss after I noticed the railing in the shower," Alex chuckles. "I started looking for other modifications, and then I found the envelope on the coffee table." He shrugs. "Put the pieces together, and wanted to come after you right away."

"Why'd you wait?" Michael asks, curious rather than accusatory.

"I thought we should sleep on it," Alex says with a rueful laugh. "Historically, we aren't always the best at communicating in the heat of the moment."

Michael nods. "That's fair. I didn't exactly want to have the conversation, either."

"So I gathered," Alex says dryly, squeezing Michael's hand. "But this was important; we had to talk about it."

Michael pulls their hands into his lap. "Well, now that I know you're not here to kick me to the curb," he laughs, "I have to agree."

Alex smiles, his thumb brushing over the back of Michael's hand before he leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Michael's mouth. "Not kicking you to the curb," he promises. "Now, or ever. I intend to keep you, Michael Guerin, as long as you'll keep me, too."

Michael laughs against Alex's lips. "Works for me."

Michael can feel Alex's smile, and then Alex presses closer, his free hand sliding up and over Michael's shoulder as he kisses Michael again, properly this time, teeth just barely nipping at Michael's lips. Michael sighs into his mouth, tugging his hand to bring him even closer - and that's when Isobel shouts down the stairs.

"I'm very happy for you both, but do not have sex on my couch! Go screw around in your own house!"

They break apart, grinning, and Michael bumps his nose against Alex's. "That's not actually a bad idea."

All in all, Michael doesn't own that much stuff. Once Sanders agrees to let him keep the Airstream and his bunker set up in the junkyard, it takes no more than a day to pack everything up and drive it over to the house. It takes a little longer to get Alex's things from the cabin, but he hasn't really settled there, hasn't let himself see the place as anything other than temporary. They both vow to try something different with this house - to make every effort to make it into the home Michael has always wanted it to be.

"I think that's the last of the kitchen stuff," he says as he walks through to the living room to find Alex already on the couch. "Thank God you own actually nice plates, because if we were still eating off my old stuff when Isobel came over, she'd buy us an entire homeware catalogue."

Alex snickers, reaching out for Michael’s hand and tugging him onto the couch next to him. “I mean, that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” he muses. “Would certainly save us a lot of money.”

Michael goes willingly, sitting much closer than necessary. "You want a sleek, sexy, minimalist house?" he laughs. "I'll tell her she can go wild, but you can't let her get mad at me when I inevitably screw it all up."

Alex laughs. "Well, when you put it like that, maybe this is better," he teases, leaning in for a kiss.

Michael gives him one, and another, and another - and he's grinning when they pull apart. "This is pretty crazy, huh?"

"A little," Alex agrees, his own grin just as wide. "But not any crazier than aliens existing."

Michael hums. "Still feeling okay about that?"

"Absolutely," Alex assures him, leaning in for another kiss. "Especially with your telekinesis making the prospect of un-packing much less daunting."

"Well, I'm glad to be of service."

Alex smiles, and kisses Michael again, slow and sweet. "Y'know, I used to daydream about this," he murmurs when the kiss breaks, his nose nudging Michael's. "Us, in our own place..."

"Me, too," Michael says softly. "I mean, obviously. But even before I bought this place, all I wanted was to make a home for both of us."

"Think we can finally make it happen?" Alex asks, voice soft, fond, and full of hope.

Michael cups Alex's face in one hand, strokes his thumb over his cheekbone. "Yeah," he says. "I think we can."