Alarmed, her eyes sprang open. "Wha-what's going on? Why are we stopped?"

"I gotta get out for a sec." Michael rubbed his neck.

"But it's late --"

"Look. I've been driving on-and-off for the past 24 hours now and I need to rest for a minute, okay? I have to stretch my legs," he insisted, turning off the ignition.

Maria frowned. Why did Michael always get to do whatever he wanted, regardless of how it affected anyone else? She recounted his crimes. Since yesterday afternoon, he had carjacked her mother's car, dragged her along for a ride across state lines, gotten her to lie to a police officer, wrecked the car by driving too fast and then again by tring to fix it, endangered her life breaking into an abandoned home where someone had discovered them, stolen private property, made her skip school and subsequently hand her history assignment in late -- which, she reflected, she really couldn't afford to do, seeing as she wasn't doing so great in that class in the first place -- and, to cap it all off, he had ruined the little business transaction she was trying to conduct for her mother at the gas station. Because of his penchant for grand theft auto, Maria hadn't delivered the box she was supposed to drop off, which meant the guy would come down on her mother, who in turn, would come down on her.

So, she concluded, growing angrier by the minute, Michael had essentially turned her life upside-down overnight, without any thought or concern whatsoever for her safety or sanity. And here he was again, selfishly and stubbornly wanting to traipse out into the desert in the middle of the night even though all she wanted was her pillow and a blanket. Even if she did feel an occasional twinge of empathy for him, enough was enough.

"No, it is not okay," she fumed. "I want to go home. I've been on the road -- against my will, thank you very much -- for almost two days now. I've had very little sleep, I'm hungry, I'm more than a little wigged by that whole descent into criminality we pulled earlier on, not to mention --"

"Doesn't your jaw ever seize up from all that constant motion?"

She shot him a look that would freeze lava. It was bad enough being in this situation in the first place without him adding insult to injuiry. For a moment there, she had mistakenly thought they were actually bonding -- well, at least as much as someone like Michael was capable of such a thing -- but his constant bitterness and self-absorbed behaviour soon but an end to that notion.

Maria rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands and exhaled angrily. She could feel herself getting all riled up again, but she couldn't help it. He evoked such intense emotions in her -- she had never felt anything that extreme before, ever. The sarcasm was ready on her lips, but then she thought better of it. What was the point? Michael woudn't back down, another fiery argument would follow, and he'd still wind up doing what he wanted, anyway. It wasn't worth it. [i]He[/i] wasn't worth it.

"Okay, fine," she said patiently, fighting with herself not to raise her voice. "Let me drive. I mean, it is my mother's car, after all. I'll drive, and that way we'll both be happy. You can get your rest, and I can get home." She was pleased with herself for suggesting such a reasonable compromise, and even more so, proud of herself for suppressing the urge to match his sarcasm and temper with more of her own.

"No ... no." Michael shook his head. What would it matter if they got home fifteen minutes later? Why couldn't she just get off his back? Why did she have to challenge everything he said? He was used to doing what he wanted, when he wanted it. No one, not Hank, not his social worker, not his teachers -- not even Max and Isabel -- could force him to do or not do something once he set his mind to it, and that wasn't about to change now. "I told you," he began, his voice cold but growing hotter with every word, "I've been sitting like this, all cramped up, for hours now, and I need to get out and walk around!" Michael opened the car door, got out and slammed it behind him.

Finally, the dam broke. "Fine. Go ahead! You go get your exercise, I'm going to drive home, with or without you! So you can go stand out there in the desert until Scotty beams you up for all I care, I am outta here!" Maria unbuckled her seat belt and began moving across to the driver's side.

Michael leaned in through the window, his penetrating stare stopping her mid-motion.

"You can't."

"Oh, really? And why can't I?" She glared at him, seething with anger.

From his index finger, Michael dangled the alien's head keychain in front of her. A small smirk spread across his face. "Because I have the keys."

For reasons she couldn't fathom, Maria felt a different kind of heat burn inside her as she stared at Michael's mouth. Watching his lips twist into his own warped version of a smile, she had an uncontrollable impulse to reach out and ... Maria exhaled and gave a short grunt of frustration. This was definitely not the time to be thinking such things. She was twice as annoyed now -- not just at Michael for his actions, but at herself for her reactions. She leapt out of the car in a fit of fury, slamming the door to underscore her anger.

"Ow! Damnit! Ohhhh!"

Michael looked over from the other side of the car and rolled his eyes. "What now."

"I ... ohhhh ... I slammed the door on my fingers," she wailed. Her eyes were filling with tears from the burning pain radiating from her hand, but she was determined not to let him see it.

He walked over to her side, still thinking she was over-exaggerating. "Let me see."

"No." Maria cradled her injured right hand against her chest. "It's ..." She winced with pain. "It's fine ... really." She bit her lip to keep from crying.

He stared at her for a moment, then realized she wasn't putting on her usual drama queen antics -- she was really hurt. He sighed softly. "Here."

Slowly, Michael reached out and took her right hand with his own, inadvertantly pulling her a little closer to him in the process. He placed his left hand underneath hers, so that her injured hand was sandwiched between both of his own. Maria looked at him wide-eyed, but remained silent.

Michael closed his eyes tightly and concentrated. At first, nothing happened. Then, Maria felt her hand grow warmer and warmer, tingling from fingertip to palm like a severe case of pins and needles. She swallowed, her mouth opening a little in disbelief. The tingling sensation coursed throughout her entire body like a brushfire. Her heartbeat fell into perfect synchronicity with his, and the amplified sound echoed drumlike in her ears. Maria felt blood rush through her veins with the force of a tidal wave. Every cell vibrated loudly from within. Her insides seemed to have liquified, and she could feel molten heat escaping from every pore.

She began to tremble. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. She was terrified and mesmerized, both at the same time. She closed her eyes and drank in a wave of emotion so intoxicating, she thought she would drown in it. It slowly built up until it became so intense she could bear it no longer. Her breathing became shallow and rapid, and suddenly Maria felt as if she was going to faint. Without warning, something deep inside her seemed to bubble up and spill over, almost like an explosion. Instantly, all she had been feeling vanished, and with it, the pain in her injured fingers.

Astonished, Maria stared down at her hand, still warmly enveloped in Michael's. Slowly, she lifed her eyes to his face. Michael's eyes flickered open. He blinked a few times and shook his head a little bit, as if he was coming out of a trance. His breathing was laboured. Wordlessly, he locked eyes with her, his face mere inches from her own. Her eyes dropped to his lips, then flickered back up to meet his gaze. Suddenly, Maria could stand it no longer. She jerked her hand away, breaking the spell.