Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters. Just borrowing them. Don’t sue, please.
Synopsis: Michael Guerin comes back from nine years in the future to rescue Maria from being killed their sophomore year. Takes place between Blind Date and Independence Day but does not mess up the plotlines of the other episodes. Merely an unaired episode in-between those.
Warning: Spoilers to Independence Day (ep. 1.14)

The Caves: 2009 AD

There was no one there to kiss him goodbye, no one to tell him she had no regrets. There was no one to thank for every kiss, for every smile. But then, there wouldn’t be, would there?

A twenty-five year old Michael Guerin alone stood in front of the glowing granilith, contemplating the plan he had so characteristically thrown together on impulse as soon as he and the others had learned of the power that the granilith possessed. His face was grim as he stared up at the powerful alien devise, but his heart beat a little faster with an emotion he barely recognized, so long had it been since he felt it – hope. No, there had been no one beside him this dark and lonely night as he had walked through the chilly desert to the caves that held the four alien’s pods and the granilith. There had been no one beside him because he had told no one what he was planning. Not Max, their fearless leader, not his sister or her husband, Alex, not Tess or Kyle and not Liz, the woman whom he had become closer to than he could ever have imagined nine years ago. But that was the funny thing about grief, it could drive people apart and it could bring people together.

In the nine years since her death, Liz and Michael had developed a bond between them that none of the others could understand. They had both lost someone so important to them that life seemed to loose its meaning. Liz had lost her best friend, someone who was closer to her than even a sister would be. And Michael had lost the only woman he could ever love, the only one who truly understood him. Of them all, Liz had understood best what Michael was feeling. But she still had Max. She still had her soulmate. Michael had no one. Yeah, after losing her, Michael finally gave in to the whole ‘soulmate’ concept. It was funny how losing someone made you realize just what they really brought to your life. She had made him complete. Without her, he didn’t know what to do.

She had once told him she didn’t think what they had was true love, but she was wrong. No, she had been lying to herself, almost as bad as he had been lying to himself, telling himself that he didn’t need her, that he could make it on his own. He thought putting stonewall between himself, his heart, and the world would stop himself from being hurt when it all fell apart as he expected it to eventually. And the last nine years without her have taught him nothing if not that that stonewall had been his downfall. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret all the things that weren’t said and all the things that weren’t done.

He had spent those last nine years living in darkness, reaching for the light that had already been snuffed out. He missed her. She was his light. The impish girl who had such quiet strength behind her spirited nature. He often wondered what kind of woman she would have grown up to be. He had only begun to explore all that she was when she was taken from him. It had been a bad time. When Hank took his anger out on him that cold and lonely night only a few days after the funeral, there had been no one to turn to, at least not the one he really needed that rainy night. It was funny; he had gone to her window anyway. He hadn’t even thought of it, he was just there by her bedroom looking in. Her room had been dark and empty, of course it had, so he took solace instead in the desert, a poor substitute to her arms, but it became home over the years, an escape.

He remembered the moment when he truly realized that she was never coming home again, that he would never again look into her eyes or see that rare brilliant smile. He had broken down then and there, alone in the empty graveyard on a day that was too bright and cheerful for his mood, his aura splashed with the black of grief and pain, overwhelming his usual brick red. He cried heavy, bitter tears, watering the new piece of turf placed over her fresh grave, willing to give anything just to hear her impish giggle.

All those years and he had never known the power that was just waiting to be used behind the pods . . . the power that could even bring back the dead.

“Maria,” Michael whispered, his voice cracking slightly at the name he hadn’t spoken in years. It felt strange on his tongue. Maria. Maria DeLuca. A tear trickled down his cheek, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away.

He would see her soon.

Michael inserted the crystal he had stolen from Max into the base of the granilith. The light of the granilith grew brighter, and he was enfolded in the sparkling purples and greens. Another flash of light, a moment of disorientation as time changed, turned back, and he was in the alleyway behind the Crashdown. There he could faintly make out, through the clatter of the kitchen and the noise of the customers and workers, the sweetest sound that he had ever heard. He had done it.

The Crashdown: February 2000

Maria DeLuca was given last opportunity of the day to practice her best fake smile as she carried her last tray of food of the day to her last customer. At least she hoped it was her last. It was five minutes until eleven o’clock, when the Crashdown normally closed on a Saturday night, and Maria swore to God that if one more person tried to walk through that door between now and eleven . . . Focus, DeLuca, she ordered herself as she reached the booth in the back. “Okay, we have two Will Smith Specials, an Alien Blast, and a cherry coke,” she said as she placed the food in front of the twenty-something couple. “Is there anything else I can get you?” Please say no, oh please. If I can just get the counters wiped down and the ketchups filled, and then of course the grill cleaned off like Mr. Parker asked . . . Maybe I can get out of here at a decent time. I mean, I love Mr. Parker, but has he ever heard of breaks? My feet are killing me!

“No, thank you,” the woman said, already diving into the food.

Oh, thank you, thank you. She placed the bottle of ketchup next to their plates and made a quick escape before they could change their minds. The night had been long, and she was ready to get out of alien-themed café as soon as possible. It was bad enough she had had to put up with Prince Charming, Quasimodo, and the Ice Princess earlier in the night when the three had come in for dinner. Thankfully, they had sat in Liz’s section, so Maria didn’t have to deal with the spike-headed, Stonewall Guerin directly. There had been a strange undercurrent of tension between Liz and Max, which Maria thought might have something to do with the strange events that happened at the concert, though she was still working on Liz for the details. Whatever it was, it didn’t stop either of them from sneaking each other soulful looks the entire night, which was enough to make Maria sick, especially with the way Michael had been treating her. Mud. What was that? What does it mean when a guy says “mud” after he kisses you? On second thought, maybe she didn’t want to know. She just wished for once Michael would at least pretend like he actually cared about her . . .

“Any more coffee drinkers?” Liz asked Maria as she made her way to the other side of the counter. She had her hand on the half-full pot of decaf as she waited for Maria’s response.

“Not unless they come in the next,” she glanced quickly at the clock on the wall, “oh, three minutes.”

“Great,” Liz replied, pouring the remaining coffee down the sink and getting a head start on cleaning the coffee maker.

Maria busied herself combining the ketchup bottles. After the third bottle, she glanced up at the clock. Two minutes after eleven and no new customers. Maria smiled to herself, her mood brightening considerably. Maybe she could actually get home at a decent time tonight, despite the fact that Maria, Liz and Mr. Parker were the only ones here to close the café for the night. “I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord,” she sang, as she combined more ketchups, oblivious to the sticky mess it was making of her fingers. “And I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord, oh Lord.”

Still humming the song, Maria wiped her ketchup-covered hands on an already dirty towel that lay on the counter. She glanced at it. The once-white cloth was now . . . well, not so white, and not so clean. In fact, it was downright disgusting. Grabbing the edge of the towel by the tip of her finger and thumb, Maria carefully carried it to the back behind the kitchen area to the bin of dirty aprons and towels. As she passed the open doorway to the alleyway (had it been open before?), Maria could have sworn she saw a figure back away from the doorway and slick just out of sight. Never one to be accused of being a coward, Maria quickly deposed of the disgusting towel and poked her head out the door.

“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?” When there wasn’t an answer, she tried a different approach. She stepped out of the doorway. “Look pal, I saw you. You –”

Her bold accusation turned into a squeal of surprise when someone reached out and grabbed her arm. The rough, callused hand scratched her tender skin of her wrist, but that only served to make her angrier. She tried to yank her hand away, and when that didn’t work, she twisted her arm until the man was forced to let her go. She started to flee back into the safety of the Crashdown, already trying to remember where Mr. Parker had gone and deciding which phone was the closest.

“Maria.”

That single word stopped her. Michael? The voice was the same. She knew that voice. But there was something different about it. The voice seemed older, heavier, spoken from the mouth of a man who had carried the weight of a world on his shoulders for too long. “Michael?”

Silence. Her eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness of the alleyway, and the man whose form she could barely make out showed no intention of leaving the shadows.

“Michael, this isn’t funny,” she said with a forced air of impatience. But something made her ask, “Who are you?”

There was a pause as the man in the shadows seemed to make a decision. And then he stepped into the light. Maria’s eyes widened.

It was Michael; at least he looked like Michael. But not the Michael she knew. His porcupine spikes that she had always teased him about, that she secretly loved to run her fingers through, were gone. His hair was cropped short against his head in almost a military look. His eyes carried none of the self-confidence and bold defiance that they usually did. There still the sharp intelligence there, but also a completely haunted, closed-off look. This was a man who had suffered greatly in his life. Dark circles beneath his eyes made him look tired, very tired. As her eyes left his and strayed down the rest of his face, she saw a long thin scar down the left side of his cheek, from temple to chin, its harsh whiteness standing out against the tan color of his face.

“Who are you?” she asked again, knowing but not understanding. “Why do you look so much like . . . someone I know?”

The man shot a look behind her. Maria turned to see Liz’s dark head disappearing around the corner, oblivious to what was going on only a few feet away as she went about her normal nightly tasks. The sounds of clattering dishes and splashing of water drifted through the open doorway. The man’s eyes returned once more to hers. “Because I am Michael Guerin, Maria.”

“No,” Maria said, shaking her head. “You’re not Michael. You . . . can’t be. I mean, I just saw the guy.” She gestured broadly at the man before her. “And he didn’t look like this!”

His eyes strayed from her face, staring instead into to darkness of the alleyway. “That’s right,” he whispered, remembering. “Me, Max and Izzy ate dinner here that night. How could I have forgotten?”

“No, Michael, Max and Isabel ate here tonight. I don’t know who you are, I don’t care that you look like him, but you are not Michael!” Maria’s face became visibly paler as she considered who he might be instead, and she took a step backward. “Oh, God, you’re the shape-shi—“

“Ask me something,” Michael said, cutting her off.

“What?” Maria said, his words snapping her out of her growing panic.

“I said, ask me something. Something only Michael would know.”

“Ask you something?” She said the words slowly as though still not quite understanding. She studied his face and saw the growing tension and impatience there.

“Just do it!” A surge of familiar irritation hit him, and when he recognized the feeling, for a moment, a smile played across his lips.

“Fine,” Maria said. She stared up at the night sky as she mentally went through her ‘Michael files’ to find a suitable question. Then, choosing one, she met his eyes again boldly. “Okay, what’s your favorite book?”

“James Joyce . . . Ulysses.”

She blinked in surprise. He had even said it the same as he had in the ‘nookie’ motel room that night. “You have not read Ulysses,” Maria said, testing him.

“’What incensed him the most was the blatant jokes of the ones who pass it all off as a jest, pretending to understand everything and in reality not knowing their own minds.’ Page 655 . . . Now do you understand?” . . . Told you you wouldn’t understand. Next question.

For a moment all moment all Maria could do was stare at him. “Michael?” Her breath quickened. “Oh, God, it can’t be. I don’t understand. I don’t. I mean, you look like Michael, and you know things Michael knows, but how—“

“Maria.” He once again cut her off, knowing that if he didn’t the panicking girl would never give him a chance to explain. “I’m from the future. Nine years from now. The year 2009.”

Seeing her confusion, Michael knew that statement only added to the questions she had. Never being very good at words, Michael instead reached out and touched her face. He wasn’t as good at this as Max, he never had been, but he had put a lot of time into developing his powers. It was a way of taking his mind off of everything else. He would show her.

Maria was surprised at his touch. It was hesitant, tender, and carried none of the heated passion that Michael’s touch usually invoked. Still, there seemed to be the usual tread of electricity that jumped between them whenever and wherever their skin touched. Before she could speak, a collage of images hit them both, and Michael found that despite his best intentions, he had no way of controlling which scenes he showed her and in what order.

The granilith, though Maria didn’t know the name for it, was the first image she was shown. It’s massive alien power put her in awe. A crystal was jammed into the base of the granilith and the world turned upside down as the sparkling lights began.

The scene changed, unclear this time, as though seen through heavy smoke. There was a flash of pale green and silver, against shadowy browns and blacks. A lot of voices, all talking at once. Pale flesh tones. The focus became clearer. A hand. The tips of the fingers covered with something red. ”Oh, God, Maria.” That was Michael’s voice, low and soft. “Call the police,” cried Liz’s high, panicking voice. More pale green and silver, slowly focusing in. The waitress uniform, Maria now recognized it as, a still form inside of it, laying crumpled on the kitchen’s tiled floor. “Do something!” Liz pleaded. “It’s too late,” was the response. Too late. “Maria?” The scene sharpened. Michael’s face came into view. The Michael of the present day, spiky hair as wild and unkempt as ever. He was crouched on the ground, cradling a still form in his arms, an expression of unchecked terror on his face as his eyes darted unbelieving back and forth. His hand pulled away from the back Maria’s head, and came away red with blood. Maria’s eyes never opened, even when Michael pulled her into his lap and cradled her like a limp doll.

The scenes came faster now, until Maria barely had time to understand them.

A white casket, being lowered into the ground. Dark figures in the background.

Max’s face, full of concern, reaching out to Michael, and Michael pulling away angrily. “You don’t understand anything,” Michael seemed to respond to something Max had already said.

Liz silently going through the motions of waitressing at the Crashdown, not a speck of make-up on her solemn face, dark circles under her eyes.

Isabel, her hair cut short, no longer a teenager, saying, “A tear in spacetime? You mean time travel?”

A teenage Michael thoughtfully walking down the street about a block from the Crashdown. A muffled sound of an explosion. Feet pounding on the pavement as Michael ran the remaining block.

Liz running from the back storeroom to the kitchen, coughing as smoke drifted toward her. Liz’s lips silently calling Maria’s name as Michael ran into the room.

Michael standing alone in the desert, hurling stone after stone into inky blackness, until there was nothing more to throw. Michael collapsing on the ground, silent tears making his shoulders quake.

A white rose falling, falling into a dark hole in the ground.

And through it all a heartache so powerful . . .

His hand lifted from her face. “Oh, God,” Maria whispered. It was her death she had seen, and it’s horrid aftermath.

On the other side of town in a run-down trailer Michael lay on his bed, a scrap piece of paper resting precariously against his knees on top of a thick folder, the Spiderman cartoon on the front worn and creased with age. With quick, expert movements, Michael sketched the outline of a familiar face, framed by short, light hair, with soft, delicate features and a small smile on the full lips. When he was finished, he held the drawing at arm’s length, and ran one hand through his thick, wild hair as he studied it. But a loud slam of the trailer door snapped Michael out of his thoughts. Quickly, Michael shoved the newest sketch into the back of the already stuffed folder and jammed the folder underneath his bed.

“Mickey!” came the drunken cry that Michael was dreading to hear. He had been lucky for too long.

“Where are you, boy!” The door to his room jerked open. Hank staggered through the threshold, a bottle in hand. He raised it to his lips once more and took a long swig as he eyed Michael.

“What do you want, Hank?” Michael asked, a faked tone of boredom in his voice. His eyes never left the drunk monster.

“The place is a mess,” Hank slurred, sloppily kicking over the trashcan in Michael’s otherwise tidy room as if to prove his point.

“Yeah, but you know what? It’s not my problem,” Michael told him.

“Yeah? I’ll make it your problem,” Hank threatened. Michael barely resisted the urge to flinch and back away.

“I’m out of here,” Michael said, gathering the courage to brush past the drunk man.

As he pulled open the door to the small trailer, he heard Hank’s voice call after him, “I want that laundry done, ya good-for-nothin’, lazy—” The slam of the door behind Michael cut off the slurred command.

“Go to hell, Hank,” he said, looking back at the closed trailer door, though by now Hank could not hear him. Angrily, Michael kicked the dirt of the road in front of him as he made his way out of the trailer park. He didn’t know where he was going – just away. Unconsciously, though, Michael found himself heading in the direction of the Crashdown, where he knew Maria would still be.

“Maria?” Liz’s voice called out from the front of the room. Maria and Michael pulled apart like guilty lovers at the sound of her voice. Michael had not been able to show her all he wanted to, but it was enough for now.

Maria threw a quick glance over her shoulder. “Okay, you have, like, 20 seconds to explain all that,” she whispered to him, her voice wavering slightly from the remnants of the emotions in the visions that still coursed through her veins. Louder, she called, “I’m coming!”

“No, you’re not,” Michael told her. “I don’t have time to explain, but it’s not safe here. You’re coming with me.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere until you explain.”

“No, I’ve already wasted enough time. You’re coming now.” He grabbed her arm again.

“Maria that couple in the corner booth needs their check.” Liz’s voice interrupted them once more, closer this time.

“She can’t see me,” Michael said, sliding back into the shadows once more. He flattened himself against the brick wall, hiding himself from view from inside the restaurant.

“Why not?” Maria asked. It was just Liz, after all.

“Who are you talking to?” Liz asked, finally coming into sight.

“Oh! Uh . . . no one,” Maria said, not so convincingly.

“No one,” Liz repeated slowly. “Okay, well, when you get finished talking with ‘no one,’ table five needs their check.” She turned and went back inside.

“Thanks, Lizzie.” She turned to follow Liz, her hand already reaching inside her apron for her order book, and stopped abruptly when a handful of her waitress uniform was grabbed from behind. “Michael!” she exclaimed without thinking.

“Michael?” Liz questioned. “That’s Michael back there?”

“Uh, yeah, I was just leaving,” Michael answered for her. He stayed in the shadows so she couldn’t see his face. It would be better if she didn’t see his short hair or the more visible of the scars he had received the night he almost died battling the enemy. It was enough to deal with Maria.

“Maria . . .” Liz’s voice hardened with displeasure and concern.

“I know,” Maria said before Liz could say any more. “We’ll talk about it later.” She pulled out the check. “Here. Go ahead and give it to them.”

Liz didn’t look happy, but she didn’t say any more. “Later,” she promised in response to Maria’s statement. “I’ll be back in the storeroom with my dad,” she said, giving Maria a meaningful look. She left.

“Okay,” Maria began, turning back to Michael.

“I need you to promise me something,” Michael interrupted once more.

“No, first—“

“Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll stay here. Promise me, Maria.” The sound of her name on his lips brought a foreboding chill to the back of his neck. No, he wouldn’t loose her this time.

Maria bit back what she had planned to say. There was an intensity in his voice, an urgency that she had never heard there before. She wanted to protest, to demand that he explain himself before she would promise anything, but instead she found herself whispering, “I promise.”

Michael gave Maria one final look. “Stay.” He walked into the Crashdown. “Liz?” he called out.

“Over here.” Her voice was muffled, coming from the direction of the storeroom. There, he knew, she was safe from the explosion, which hadn’t really been very big. The door to the storeroom was closed. He laid his hand on the lock of the door. His hand glowed briefly as the metals beneath his palm melded together. She would be safe, Michael knew, as long as she stayed there. She and Mr. Parker had been inside the storeroom when the explosion happened nine years ago, but Michael had already changed the past by distracting Maria and Liz. He couldn’t risk the chance that Liz might stray from her previous actions.

“Michael?” Liz called out again. The doorknob jiggled. “Michael!” In the background, he heard the muffled, deep voice of Mr. Parker, questioning Liz. Michael ignored them both.

He knelt in front of the massive grill in the kitchen. Nine years ago in his time, Maria had been wiping it down when the explosion happened. The force of the explosion had thrown her backwards, slamming her into the opposite wall. It had been the blow to her head that had really killed her. Michael still had nightmares of how red his hands had been when he had touched the back of her head. The authorities hadn’t known what had caused the explosion. At least they hadn’t at first. And Michael found that by the time they must have figured it out, he didn’t care. Maria was gone, and nothing else mattered to him. Whether it was bad wiring or whatever, it wouldn’t have changed that fact.

But now Michael wished he had been paying attention. He peered behind the grill. It looked like they hadn’t cleaned back there in years, but judging by how fast everything gets dirty in the restaurant business, it might have only been days. A sparkle of electricity snapped and popped behind the grill.

Michael tried to fix it. But it was too late. He had wasted too much time.

Maria paced back and forth in the chilly night. Several times she made a move for the door, but each time she remembered the fierce look in Michael’s eyes and went back to pacing. She ran her hand up and down her forearm and shivered. Her green and silver waitress uniform didn’t provide much warmth in the cold desert nights. Her irritation grew slowly, despite herself. What was he doing in there anyway? And what did all those visions mean? She hadn’t really been able to make sense out of them. She only understood that somehow she was in danger. Where was he?

A loud explosion interrupted her thoughts. Oh, god. Her promise flew from her mind as she ran inside. The kitchen was filled with smoke, just like in the vision Michael had given her. But instead of a girl in one of the Crashdown’s uniforms on the floor, it was a tall, dark-haired man in a black coat. Michael.

“Oh, god, oh, god,” Maria whispered. She ran the remaining length of the room. But then something strange happened. Michael disappeared. It couldn’t be. The smoke, it’s just the smoke. She looked again, harder. Michael really was gone.

“Michael!” she screamed.

“I’m here,” came the reply from behind her. Michael fought to catch his breath after running to the Crashdown after he had heard the explosion. His heart was pounding wildly, and not just from the run.

Maria breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “Michael,” she whispered before almost running into his open arms.

“I thought I lost you,” Michael whispered against her short blond hair. She could only squeeze him tighter.

The strange pounding sound was what finally broke them apart. “Lizzy?” Maria called.

“Maria?” Mr. Parker answered instead. “What’s going on?”

Michael and Maria stood before the storeroom door, and Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together as he realized the metal of the lock had been welded together. There was a glow beneath his palm as he unknowingly undid the work his older self had done. Maria silently watched, the pieces of the story finally coming together for her. Liz and Maria hugged as soon as the door was opened. Both began talking at once, proclaiming their mutual worries. Both, however, fell silent at the scene in the kitchen, the remaining smoke and scorch marks on the once-brown tiles sobering them into silence.

In the hours that followed, they were questioned by Valenti about what had happened. Liz never mentioned the fact that the storeroom door had been mysteriously locked, and Mr. Parker followed her lead and didn’t say anything either, though he wouldn’t have been able to explain why if he was asked. It was a cut and dry case. The cause of the explosion was chalked up to be faulty wiring combined with several other unknown factors. The damage was minimal, and life went on.

Jeff Parker never knew how it came to be that he and his daughter were locked in the storeroom for those few minutes before and after the explosion. He never learned exactly why Maria hadn’t been in the kitchen cleaning as she had been instructed to do. He merely took it on faith that a miracle had happened.

And when, a few days later, Michael Guerin allowed that stonewall he’d built around his heart to come down, just long enough for Maria to comfort him when he needed her the most, for one moment in time, everything was all right in the world. He was home, and nothing could take that away from him. Their love was stronger than death, but at that moment, Michael only knew how good her arms felt wrapped around him as they lay there in the dark, tears streaming down his face. Had twenty-five year old Michael, from a future that no longer existed, been able to see them at that moment, he would have smiled.

The End

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