PART ONE
2006—NEW TIME LINE

Liz slowly opened her eyes, as sleep began to fade away. Something was tickling her faintly behind her ear, like the most delicate brush of butterfly wings, and she swatted at it with her hand. Only then did she realize it wasn’t something--it was Max, and he was lightly tracing his finger there, trying to wake her. He lay curled up behind her in bed, his arm around her waist, holding her loosely. Their two bodies were completely molded together, and she could feel the soft hairs on his legs brushing against her.

He drew his finger down along her neck. "Liz, sweetheart," he whispered. "Time to wake up."

"I’m awake," she groaned lightly, and felt his arm tighten around her waist more firmly, nestling her back against him. He’d definitely had nice dreams, that much was certain. Of course, what guy didn’t wake up just like that?

"Nice to see you, too," she murmured into her pillow, covering his hand with her own, where it lay across her stomach.

He pressed gently against her from behind in playful answer, and she felt herself become instantly aroused.

This never ended for the two of them, how much they wanted each other—not after four years of marriage, not ever. Their desire simply never diminished; in fact it seemed to grow stronger and more insistent, especially lately. There’d almost been some kind of physical instinct coming alive between the two of them recently, something driving them together with even greater fervor. They were absolutely insatiable for one another, and nothing ever seemed to be enough.

Max’s fingers slid lower on her belly, slipping slowly beneath her silky underwear, toying with the lace along the edges. He planted warm kisses along the nape of her neck, as his hand eased her panties down her hips.

"We don’t have time," Liz cautioned, glancing at the bedside clock, though she hated being so sensible, especially with Max’s hand wandering so dangerously close.

"Yes, we do," he whispered, sweeping her hair off her neck so he could kiss her more fully there. "Why do you think I woke you a few minutes early?"

His hand moved lower inside her panties now, until he began gently stroking the place between her legs. She stilled his exploring hand, and rolled to face him.

"I’ve got to get to class," she reminded him, as he now sought her with his mouth, kissing her with feather-light kisses. He did that just to tantalize her, and she knew it.

"I’m serious," she said, kissing him more fully in return.

"I can see that," he murmured, pulling her close against his chest. She could feel his firmness even more fully now that she was facing him, as he pressed his hips up against her own.

"I won’t see you again until after midnight," he pleaded. "I’ve got to study forever at the library today."

"Well, you gotta love Thomas Wolfe."

"Yeah," he laughed. "At this point, I’d better."

Max drew her more closely to him, and he kept pressing his hips against her, raining seductive kisses across her neck. Liz’s breathing grew heavy, and she wondered again why things had been growing even more physically intense between the two of them recently.

Finally she pulled away from him reluctantly. "I can’t be late for French," she said, shaking her head. "You know I have to make an A in that class to maintain my 4.0 for graduation."

Max collapsed backward on his pillow with a hopeless groan, and stared at her with a soft smile on his face.

"I’m sorry," she laughed.

"Don’t be, sweetheart" he said, running his hand down the length of her arm. "I’m so proud of you."

"For what?" She asked, raising her eyebrows in curiosity.

"For how hard you work," he said quietly. "At everything."

"Yeah," she laughed. "Like seducing you?"

"I’m serious, Liz," he continued. "You work incredibly hard, and you’ve been doing it for such a long time now…. " His voice trailed off momentarily, and Liz sensed some dark emotion come over him.

"What?" she asked, rolling closer to him again.

He stared at her, and stroked her hair thoughtfully. "It’s just that sometimes I think how much easier college would have been for you… if you’d been living at home, with your parents."

He cast his eyes away from her for a moment, and she realized he really worried about this—wondered if she had any regrets about their decision to marry so young.

"Max!" she exclaimed. "I have never regretted marrying you. Never."

"I know," He said, and smiled slowly, his golden eyes meeting her own. "But sometimes I’ve regretted what marrying me has put you through, Liz."

Liz scooted closer to him in the bed, and stroked his chest lightly beneath her fingertips. His smooth skin was warm to her touch, and she rested her cheek against the crook of his arm. It was like that spot had been made just for her; she always fit so perfectly against him.

"But, Max, loving me means you want me to be happy," she whispered. "And you’re the only thing that has ever truly made me happy."

He stared at her meaningfully, his long lashes fanning downward.

"I’m not just talking about school…or our financial situation."

"I know," she answered quietly.

"Things are getting more tense every day, Liz," he answered, his voice growing serious, somewhat distant. "I don’t know, sometimes lately I just get this heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach."

Liz didn’t like the sound of that. Was he picking up something about their future? His secondary gift was intuition, and while it was underdeveloped in him, Liz paid close attention when he cited feelings like the one he was describing.

"What do you mean?" She pressed him. "What does it feel like?"

He was silent a long moment, and blew out a heavy breath as he stared at the ceiling. "It’s hard to explain, Liz," he said, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "I think the best way I could describe it is that it feels like there’s a storm coming. It’s like I can smell the rain in the distance, and see the wind…but it’s just not here yet."

A little chill shot across Liz’s skin at his words, and he glanced at her, judging her reaction.

"I’m not trying to scare you," he reassured her. "It probably doesn’t mean anything."

"But it might, Max. I know you’ve been worried ever since your last meeting with Nicholas."

Max ran his hand through his hair, and stared at the ceiling again. "I can’t give in to him, Liz. I can’t… I really do believe that we’re meant to protect the granolith at all costs."

Liz felt a little wave of apprehension at Max’s words. She had learned to suppress her anxieties about his life and who he was politically, but sometimes it was difficult when she contemplated how much Khivar and his people really wanted Max dead. It was like the two of them went forward with their lives, trying to be as normal as possible, but she feared that at some unexpected moment, Max might be ripped away from her permanently.

And she still wasn’t sure how she felt about the granolith, and whether or not Max should give it over to their enemies simply to make peace. On one hand, it seemed it was the only thing keeping them all alive—Khivar would tolerate Max only so long as the granolith remained hidden.

But what if Max eventually chose to relent, and revealed its location? It seemed Khivar would have very little compunction about simply killing him. On the other hand, she grew nervous sometimes at all their positioning, with the granolith sitting between them like some prime piece of real estate. She wondered if Khivar might not eventually tire of all the maneuvering, and simply have Max murdered out of spite.

But she tried not to let these thoughts ever enter her mind, because she knew from experience that once she started walking down those dark corridors, it was hard to pull herself out. She loved him too much to dwell on the possibility of losing him.

"Why are you so quiet?" He asked, and she saw concern in his eyes.

She shook her head silently, and just stroked his chest lightly with her fingers. She felt his heart beating beneath her hand, so strong and sure. She pulled him toward her and kissed him fully, opening to him in every way.

"I think there’s time before class," she murmured, and she tried to press aside the deep melancholy feeling that wanted to settle over her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liz rushed down the university corridor toward her French class. She was fifteen minutes late, something she could ill afford. Foreign languages were her weakest academic point, which was one reason she’d put off this basic degree requirement until her final semester. This was her only remaining credit to fulfill, and then she’d graduate with her Biology degree in May.

Even though she’d started college one semester before the others, she really wanted to share the graduation experience with all of them. And so long as everything went as planned, they would all be celebrating together in four months. Max would have his English degree—something she’d encouraged him to do, even though he felt he should major in pre-med. She’d reminded him that he could study whatever he wanted on the undergraduate level, and still go on to medical school. Liz smiled, and thought how happy she was he’d taken her advice. He loved literature with an intense passion, and it pleased her to see him do something just for himself, when so many times his life had been governed by duty and obligation.

Liz’s thoughts returned to the present--she had to do well in this French class, and now she was late on just the second day of class. She’d need to get notes from someone, to cover these missing fifteen minutes. She opened the classroom door quietly, and her professor paused briefly, glancing at her. She offered him a faint smile, and hurried to the back of the room, where she saw an empty seat.

Liz settled her books on the desk, quickly pulling a pen out of her purse. As she opened her notebook, she noticed a man sitting beside her, someone she hadn’t seen the first day of class. He looked at her strangely, and something about his eyes instantly unsettled her. But then he looked quickly away, back at their professor. She noticed that the man had long, rangy legs, and his desk hardly contained his large form. Then with that thought, she dismissed him completely, losing herself in their lecture.

~~~~~~~~~~

Liz darted out of the classroom, her books pressed against her chest. She only had two hours to make it to the Crashdown. Her father had offered her a shift management position, since she was only taking one class this semester, and he’d also offered her a fairly significant raise, so she had no choice but to be on time.

"Excuse me!" Someone called from behind her. "I’m sorry…" the man from class said, catching up with her. "I don’t know your name."

Again, those eyes—there was something strange and unsettling within them that she couldn’t place.

"Liz," she offered tightly. "Liz Evans."

He nodded, and extended his hand. "I’m John Monroe."

"Nice to meet you," she said, shaking his hand briefly. His grip was sure and confident, but she felt instantly suspicious.

What did he want? She had an overwhelming urge to thrust her ring finger right in his face. Look, Married.

"I hate to ask this," he said. "But I was wondering if I could copy your notes from the other day. I missed the first class."

She almost laughed out loud, realizing how wrong she’d been in interpreting his motives.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah, sure. Maybe I could copy yours from the first part of class today?"

"Yeah, no problem," he said, nodding.

"Why don’t we just trade notebooks tonight?" she asked, offering her own to him.

"That would be great," he said, taking the notebook from her hand. "I’ll just bring this back next class."

For the briefest moment, Liz felt that she should know this man. She didn’t recall meeting him before, and yet she felt she should recognize him.

"Yeah," she said, backing away from him a step. "See you then."

She turned on her heel, and wondered how quickly she could make it to the library. Max needed to know about this, because she had a definite bad feeling about this John Monroe-- a kind of "evil aliens are among us" bad feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~

Max studied the literary criticism text, chewing on his pen. His honors thesis was almost done, and he really just needed one last critic to back up his point. He’d chosen You Can’t Go Home Again, by Thomas Wolfe as his thesis subject, and Liz had nearly broken out laughing when he’d told her.

Gee, wonder why you chose that topic, Max, she’d teased. The amazing thing was, he’d never stopped to analyze why he loved the book, anymore than he’d examined his addiction to Steinbeck until Liz had reminded him that he often wrote about immigrants. Great, he’d grumbled. I’m completely predictable.

She’d just kissed him and said, I think that’s the last thing you need to worry about.

But at any rate, this had been his thesis choice, and he really felt this was some of his strongest work. He hoped that after tonight, he’d be finished with the research aspect and could devote himself to actually completing it. He flipped a page, and something made him look up—and then he knew exactly what that something was. Liz was walking across the library toward him, clasping a notebook tightly in her hand. She slid into the chair across the table from him.

"Hi," she said, her expression serious.

"What’s wrong?" His response was instinctive, because one look at her face told him something was definitely upsetting her.

She leaned close across the table, her voice low. "Max, there’s a new guy in my French class, and something’s not right about him."

He frowned, and set his papers aside. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t know," she said, shaking her head. She placed the notebook between them. "But these are his French notes."

"Liz," he chuckled softly. "You took his notebook?"

"No, he gave it to me," she answered firmly, opening it up. Then her expression changed, and her mouth opened slightly. She stared at the page in front of her for several long moments, shock registering in her expression.

"Oh my, God," she whispered finally, turning the pages. "Oh my God, Max."

She thrust the notebook toward him quickly, and when his eyes fell on the open page, he knew exactly why she was so upset.

One look at the words told him that.