PART EIGHT

Liz glanced at the clock on the wall of the Crashdown for about the tenth time in as many minutes. Michael was late, which was certainly nothing new for him on a Saturday morning, but she was incredibly on edge about seeing him today— but in a good way.

Liz had hummed giddily and nearly danced her way around the bedroom as she’d gotten ready this morning. She’d taken extra care with her hair, until she’d finally been satisfied with the way it looked, and now she felt oddly nervous, as if she were waiting for her date to pick her up—as opposed to the more mundane reality of working the morning shift.

Except her shift was with Michael, and that validated all those squirmy feelings within her stomach—the ones that left her feeling delirious and vulnerable all at once.

Liz had made a huge pot of gourmet coffee for just the two of them—a nicer blend than what they usually perked for the customers. She knew Michael loved his java, and had smiled fondly as she’d heaped the extra grounds into the filter. Liz wanted him to feel special today… loved. In fact, she planned to figure out ways to dote on him all day long.

Michael had waited a long time for someone to love him.

And Liz had never imagined that she could be loved in exactly the way she’d felt ever since last night. Max had always been wonderful, but what had transpired between the three of them had transcended anything she’d ever dreamed of. And she’d woken in the middle of the night suddenly very aware that she loved Max more than ever, but somehow she’d also fallen deeply in love with Michael Guerin.

***

8:47

Why was he so late? Soon, Betty would show up for her shift, and her father would make his way downstairs. Right now, she and Michael had a few stolen moments when they might actually kiss and hold one another. As her agitation grew, she finally heard the back door to the café open, and she tensed, oddly nervous to see him again.

Max had driven her home around three in the morning, Michael riding with them. Both men had kissed her as they’d sat in the jeep--Max had parked in the back alley--but somehow Michael’s eyes had glittered strangely as they’d parted. Liz hadn’t been sure how to read his moody expression, but had chosen to dismiss it.

Now, as Liz heard the back door to the café shut loudly, she spun sideways on the barstool, prepared for Michael’s entrance, but was surprised that he stepped straight into the kitchen instead of seeking her out first. Unease grew within the pit of her stomach at the way he’d just avoided her.

Avoided? Was that what he’d done? Or maybe he didn’t realize she was already downstairs?

She stood and walked back through the swinging door and peered into the kitchen. Michael moved quickly, turning on the grill and preparing for the morning rush.

"Hey," she said quietly, barely able to contain herself from beaming at him. He glanced up at her, frowning before he quickly looked away.

"Hey."

Michael didn’t look at her again, just kept moving about the kitchen as he began setting things up for the day. Then he stepped to where she stood in the doorway, his brown eyes briefly meeting hers, his expression guarded. For a moment, she felt hopeful until he indicated with a toss of his head that he needed to get past her.

"I need to get some things from the fridge."

"Oh…yeah, sure." Her voice was faint, even to her own ears, and she hated the hurt that she knew was so evident. She moved out of his way and just stood with her mouth open, staring at him as he removed eggs and cheese from the refrigerator.

She would not cry—or at the very least, she would not let him see her do it.

But she felt as if walls were crashing all around her. This couldn’t be real. He wouldn’t treat her like this, not after last night. Michael glanced over his shoulder at her, as he balanced a container of eggs against his chest.

"What?" he asked gruffly, as if he had no idea whatsoever why she’d be staring at him, dumbfounded.

Liz was silent a moment, feeling tears sting at her eyes, and finally just shook her head and walked past him, slamming her hands against the swinging door in frustration.

****

Michael had never felt so wretched in his life, or more like the total asshole he knew he really was. Liz had nearly floated up to him upon his arrival, her gorgeous dark eyes shining with an amazing glow—and he’d trampled her like a delicate rosebud beneath his shoe. Her face had literally crumpled in the wake of his coldness, and he’d wanted instantly to take her within his arms. But he couldn’t figure out how to backtrack, how to put things on course again.

And he was so frightened of her.

Of himself, and the things he’d been feeling ever since last night when he’d seen how she looked up into his eyes when he’d kissed her goodnight. It was as if the fairytale had been suspended then, as he’d glimpsed their future, imagining how all of them might honestly make this crazy thing work. He’d had a premonition of Liz glancing at him with that same undisguised love in the middle of history class, or the cafeteria…and it had terrified the hell out of him.

Because in that swift moment, he could foresee something else--he would hurt her. Sooner or later, it would happen because of who he was…how he always was with the people he cared about.

Max already understood him, but not Liz.

He hadn’t stopped feeling freaky and strange ever since that moment, ever since that portending gaze from her chocolate brown eyes as he’d kissed her. And now that same pair of dark eyes had just stared at him again, the loving expectancy replaced with obvious hurt.

Michael reached in his back pocket and yanked out a blue bandana and tied it around his head. He stepped toward the front of the restaurant, hoping to somehow make things better with Liz, and felt his heart begin hammering in his chest.

***

Michael found Liz fixing a cup of coffee for herself, pouring in the cream from a small white pitcher.

"Enough for me?" He asked, his voice cracking more than he wanted it to. She didn’t even look up, just dropped her teaspoon in the cup, swirling the cream into the black coffee.

"Sure," she replied dully. "Believe me, there’s plenty."

She continued to stir her coffee, her head hanging so that her long dark hair formed a curtain, preventing him from seeing her eyes. He reached around her for a clean coffee cup, and was about to apologize for his earlier gruffness, when she stepped quickly away from him.

He’d screwed everything up…pretty typical.

"Liz," he called after her.

Her head snapped in his direction and he had no idea what to say at all. "Thanks for making the coffee," he finally mumbled lamely.

"It’s my job, Michael." Her voice was tart as she set her coffee cup on the counter, and walked toward the bathroom.

****

Liz stared at her reflection in the small bathroom mirror, marveling that she could have felt so beautiful just an hour ago—and now Michael had managed to make her feel completely unattractive, unworthy. Used.

Maybe that’s all it had been to him, she thought, swiping at fresh tears as they slipped down her cheeks. Perhaps he’d just used her so he could have Max, who Michael obviously did love.

But not her. He couldn’t have been this way with her if he did, of that much she was certain.

Her chest ached painfully, and she stifled a small sob. Why did she care? Max was the one she’d always loved. Last night had been a surprise, a total anomaly.

The hot tears streaked her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away, and she frowned realizing how ugly they rendered her appearance. And suddenly she grew angry, felt like a fool. Michael had used her to get to Max, so that he might take him from her. Nothing had been real, quite obviously.

But then why does it hurt so much? She wondered softly, adjusting her skewed antennae, wishing her uniform weren’t so ridiculous this morning. And if it wasn’t real, then how could it have felt so like what I share with Max?

****

Max entered the Crashdown, thrusting his hands shyly into his pockets. He couldn’t have stayed away this morning if he’d tried, yet coming here had felt a tiny bit awkward somehow. It was one thing to have shared such amazing intimacy with Liz and Michael in the thick cover of darkness, but quite another to waltz boldly into their workplace like this. And even though he’d entered this café hundreds of times, sometimes feeling shy and awkward, this was definitely virgin territory this morning.

Yet how could he feel anything but safe with both of them now? He wondered if they’d managed to keep their hands off one another this morning, and felt a sharp pang of jealousy at the notion of them together…without him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly who he was most jealous of, as his eyes searched the café for an open booth. Saturday morning was perhaps their biggest rush, as the breakfast crowd came for corned beef hash, eggs and pancakes.

They come in droves to eat a delicious breakfast cooked and then delivered by his respective lovers, he thought with a wicked grin, seizing the only open booth in the restaurant.

He didn’t see Liz, and took a quick glance at the menu, although he knew what he wanted to order. Betty was moving quickly among the tables, refilling coffee and he looked up again, quickly scanning the restaurant. Finally, Liz emerged from the back of the cafe, and when Max saw her strained expression, a warning signaled within his mind.

She didn’t look like she had when they’d parted, delirious and in love. Liz appeared crushed and heartbroken—and had obviously been crying. He rose slightly in his seat, but settled again when their eyes met, and she shook her head slightly as she walked in his direction.

He didn’t miss how she chewed her lip in agitation, or how pale she appeared as she drew close to where he sat.

"What?" he managed to choke as she slipped quickly into the booth across from him. Tears instantly filled her large brown eyes and Max’s heart gave a quick lurch. "Tell me what’s wrong."

"Michael." Her voice was broken and quiet.

"What?" He urged, leaning close across the table toward her. He quickly gathered her hands within his own, squeezing them. "What did he do?"

She hung her head, her long dark hair falling across her features. "He…God, Max." She sobbed softly, and reluctantly he allowed her to pull a hand free, as she wiped fresh tears away. "He’s…been really mean all morning."

"Mean?" Max cried incredulously, and she could only nod. "Mean how?"

"He’s been just awful. He shouted at me earlier because I hadn’t gotten an order yet," she explained quietly, staring down at the table. "But it’s more than that. He’s acting like nothing…happened."

Max felt his blood begin to boil as he watched tears stream down Liz’s lovely face. He’d trusted Michael with her—had never believed he would do anything to hurt her, because despite his sometimes gruff exterior he knew Michael’s heart. Knew his gentleness.

And Max was certain of one thing--Michael already loved Liz with a deep passion, of that there was no doubt. Max had felt Michael’s heartbeat within his own soul last night…had known just how deep the feelings ran.

Max pressed his eyes shut, suddenly aware only of the loud music echoing through the restaurant. He sighed heavily, as the truth surfaced with startling clarity. Michael was definitely in love with both of them, but he was terrified and when Michael felt cornered and unsafe, he became exactly this way. The only difference was, Max knew how to handle Michael at these moments, but his quirkiness was still far too new to Liz and her emotions were definitely delicate this morning in the wake of all their intimacy the night before.

Max realized he would have to deal with Michael, or the three of them might never survive this first setback to their fragile and burgeoning relationship.

Max pressed Liz’s palm gently to his lips, allowing his kiss to linger against her soft skin, even as his mind was completely resolved on a course of action.

***

Michael flipped the pancakes that had begun bubbling on the grill and wished his mind would simply settle. He should have felt heavenly this morning, because the sensations still washing through his heart and mind were that powerful.

His body was still absolutely sated.

Yet his insides felt black and tarnished by the way he’d been compelled to treat Liz—and especially because he’d instantly regretted how he’d been so brusque with her. It was like his heart wanted one thing—to treat her like his new queen—but his actions had flowed in absolute contradiction to his desire.

Michael didn’t understand what he was doing at all, and he knew Max was going to be furious, which admittedly he deserved.

"Shit!" he shouted, as his forearm grazed the grill, smarting painfully.

"Good morning, huh?" Max asked softly from the doorway to the kitchen, stepping toward him purposefully. Michael jumped, surprised by Max’s quiet voice, and turned to meet his amber gaze. Immediately Michael saw the familiar flash of anger in Max’s eyes.

"It’s a shit morning," Michael mumbled, wetting a cool cloth beneath the faucet, and placing it lightly against his burn.

Max’s eyes drifted down to his arm, as he reached a hand toward him, taking it gently within his hand. "Here," Max said, his voice surprisingly gentle. Max eased the cloth away, placing his palm over the already red mark. Michael felt a different burning sensation begin beneath his skin, as heat answered low within his abdomen--and a connection flickered between the two of them.

Michael closed his eyes, ashamed for Max to see into his heart at that moment, even as the burning pain began to fade. Yet Max didn’t drop his fingers from where they’d circled his arm. Instead, they tightened insistently as Michael’s eyes opened slowly to meet his penetrating gaze.

"Liz is upset."

"Yeah…and it’s my fault," Michael confessed, even though he could see by Max’s expression that he already knew that. Max’s fingers loosened around his arm, slipping lower down his wrist, until their fingers threaded slowly together.

"Michael." It was obvious that Max wanted to understand, was upset yet not angry with him.

Michael squirmed beneath his piercing gaze, felt so vulnerable and exposed. But the bulk of his fear wasn’t directed toward Max at all.

Just Liz.

"Tell me," Max urged, leaning in close toward him, his face just a breath away. Anyone could see them here, yet he sensed that Max didn’t care.

Michael bowed his head slowly, freeing his fingers from Max’s as he adjusted his bandana nervously.

"You know me, Maxwell," he finally sighed. "You know me. Liz doesn’t."

"But she does…quite well right about now, Michael."

Michael shook his head, turning toward the grill again as he lifted the pancakes off the sizzling surface. He slipped them onto a series of waiting plates, chewing on his lip. He knew that Max had seen right into his heart when he’d healed his burn. Hell, long before that…probably before he’d even come back into the kitchen.

"Why are you so scared?" Max asked quietly, penetrating his heart like a keen arrow.

The question hung in the air for many long moments, and only the sound of the sizzling grill seemed to answer. How could Max Evans see within him so perfectly--more than he himself seemed to at times? Michael thought he might simply avoid answering, which would be easier, except Max stepped close behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"She loves you, Michael," he whispered, his warm breath fanning against his neck. "She can’t even differentiate between her feelings for the two of us anymore…don’t you understand?"

Michael nodded silently and felt something sting his eyes.

"She loves you," Max repeated. "Please don’t hurt her."

He’d said the last words almost like a prayer. Because you’ll kill me in the process. Max hadn’t said those words aloud, yet Michael had heard them within his mind, all the same.

He spun to face Max, holding the metal spatula awkwardly in his hand, but nothing had prepared him for the look in Max’s golden eyes. He’d expected to see anger, disappointment perhaps. Yet all he glimpsed was pure, undisguised love in his expression.

Acceptance.

Michael gulped heavily, and the tears that had been stinging his eyes suddenly caused everything to grow blurry.

"I love her, too," he admitted hopelessly.

"Then go to her," Max urged, smiling up at him, still so surprisingly gentle—and Michael felt unworthy of that kind of acceptance.

***

Michael stood in the back alley just behind the Crashdown, pacing nervously. He’d pulled Liz aside and asked her to speak with him privately, and now minutes seemed to stretch endlessly as he waited for her. He wondered if she’d delayed her appearance purposely just to agonize him like this. He tugged awkwardly at his bandana again, a nervous gesture he’d developed recently. And then the backdoor opened quietly, filled by Liz’s tiny frame.

She seemed so much smaller now that they were…

Lovers.

Liz was absolutely tiny, perhaps a good foot shorter than he, a detail he’d never fully processed before now. Not until she stepped into the alley, and stared up at him with the most gorgeous black eyes he could ever recall seeing.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey, yourself."

She was surprisingly friendly…forgiving.

"I’ve been an asshole," he confessed guiltily, staring at the ground.

"Yeah, you have."

"I’m sorry, Liz." It was a whispered vow, barely audible to his own ears.

"I don’t understand," she said, staring up into his eyes so openly. God, she was beautiful, everything about her, even those ridiculous little antennae that bobbed gently atop her head. He found his fingers wandering down the length of her hair, unable to resist touching her now that they were alone. A slow smile began playing at the corners of her lips, despite how swollen her eyes looked from his earlier mistreatment.

"I’m sorry," he murmured again. "I’m so very sorry."

"Michael…"

"Don’t say it’s okay," he stammered. "Because it’s not okay."

"No, you’re right," she agreed with a slow nod, the little alien antennae moving in a twin motion. "It’s not."

He cast his eyes downward, just staring at his large feet in shame. Liz Parker was too beautiful for him. Max Evans was too beautiful for him. What was he doing with either of them?

"I’m scared, Liz." He admitted in a quiet voice.

There, he’d said it.

"Why?" Her voice was so soothing and soft, like silk against his aching soul.

"Doesn’t matter." He wanted to be anywhere but in this alley. Any place else at all, but this close to Liz Parker.

"That’s not a real answer," Liz countered archly, feeling suddenly empowered. She got it now, this game they were embroiled in. The walls had gone up, and the stakes were high, but she would get Michael Guerin back within her own camp this day, if it killed her in the process.

"Michael," she whispered plaintively. "What’s happening with you?"

He exhaled loudly, stepping away from her a bit, looking anywhere but at her.

"Nothing," he mumbled gruffly.

Liz stepped closer toward him, right up against his chest without touching him at all. "Michael," she urged. "Tell me."

"I said nothing, okay?" He repeated loudly, his voice angry and distant, and Liz felt suddenly panicked. She’d thought they were gaining ground, but now she wasn’t so sure.

"Okay," she murmured quietly, as he stepped away from her. "Okay."

He turned sharply toward her, his face twisted in torment as he gazed down at her. "Just this," he explained, his voice anguished.

"What’s this?" She asked, touching his cheek softly with her fingers. He flinched, ducking away from her intimate contact.

"Me."

"You’re beautiful."

"Don’t say that." Michael closed his eyes, and Liz had the distinct impression that he was willing her to disappear.

"It’s true," she assured him gently. "You are so very beautiful, Michael Guerin."

"Shut up." His voice was harsh, and Liz flinched at his tone. She decided not to speak again, feeling her lip tremble.

"See this is what I am," he continued hoarsely, his eyes opening wide. "I’ll just hurt you, Liz. Like I did today, like right now…you more than Max, I know it."

She realized in that moment that she and Michael were wrestling with his greatest demons, that they’d pursued him in the aftermath of all their love the night before. And it pained her terribly, the things he fought with.

"Why?"

"Because Max knows me…he’s had a lifetime to know how I am."

"I know you, too, Michael. Don’t forget that."

"Not like Max does," he answered, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "And you’re so delicate."

"I’m stronger than you realize," Liz breathed, gazing up at him. His soft brown eyes shifted mercurially, and she wasn’t sure what he was thinking. All she knew was that he stared at her, blinking rapidly there in the alley.

"I love you," she whispered quietly because somehow she knew Michael needed to hear it.

"Shh," he admonished softly, but she saw his eyes glitter as he reached a hand out, toying with her little headband.

"What? You don’t want to hear that?" she asked, tipping her chin upward, even as his fingers began gently stroking her hair, threading lovingly through her tresses.

"Ah, Liz," he breathed, glancing over her shoulder at some unseen point. "I'm scared, but..."

"But what?"

"I’m in love," he finished in a quiet voice, meeting her gaze meaningfully. "How else could I be such a total asshole?"

Liz began laughing at his words, clutching her hands against her chest, as a soft rumble erupted—as joy filled her heart, because the two of them had traversed an important barrier.

"You are an asshole, but…Oh. My. God! What a gorgeous one," she laughed, with a light cough. "So I guess I can forgive you for making my morning hell, Michael."

He stroked her hair slowly, his hand traveling the length of it, and she blushed at his sudden attentions. He stared at her a long moment, his brown eyes softening, and then opened his mouth to speak

"Liz, I’m insane. This is insane to me…that I’m with you both. But I’ll get more normal, okay?"

"I know you will." She leaned way up on her tiptoes, kissing Michael on the cheek, and his arms slowly enfolded her. He was a good bit taller than Max, and something about that drove her crazy with desire—that Michael was actually taller than she’d ever considered him to be, even in her most stolen fantasies.

Because for a long time—even though she hadn’t even admitted it to her conscious mind--she had been dreaming of Michael, and in the last days those dreams had come quite true. He was lovely, and he was hers…theirs.