Title: Some Great Need
Author: Mel
E-mail: LizParkerEvans@aol.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: M/L
Disclaimer: Roswell is owned by 20^th Century Fox, Jason Katims and the rest of TPTB, and Melinda Metz. Dont sue me please.

Part 1

New York City
December 12, 2029

Doctor Max P. Evans glanced up from the chart he was reading as the door to the lounge opened with a swish. He smiled at the petite woman who entered.

"Morning Trish, how are you?" he asked. She returned the smile as she pulled her lab coat on and tied the shoelaces on her sneakers.

"Not bad. How about you? Max, you look tired," she commented, carefully inspecting his short dark hair, weary eyes and the stubble beginning to grow on his jaw. She found it nearly impossible not to notice the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hair fell easily over his forehead, but nearly demanded to be swept back with her hand. Good genes, she thought to herself.

"Probably because I am tired," he responded, his voice tinged with humor.

"How many hours have you been on?" she asked. Max counted for a minute and then he finally spoke.

"I think I’m at thirty two. Dr. Douglas couldn’t come in, so I had to cover overnight," Max replied, his eyes moving back to the chart he was studying. Trish nodded sympathetically and headed for the door.

"Call me if any pediatric patients come in," he called after her. She gave an acknowledging wave and Max tried to pay attention to the words on the page in front of him. As the letters began to blur together he tossed the chart on the desk and stood, stretching his arms above his head. His fingertips just barely scrapped the ceiling until he let his arms drop to his sides. He stared out the window of Bellevue Hospital out onto the East River where the sunlight was just beginning to reflect off the water. He could see across the river into Brooklyn and he shivered at the sight of all the snow on the ground, more than happy he was inside where it was warm. He crossed his arms over the green scrubs he wore and found his thoughts wandering back to well known territory.

How did he get here?

Sixteen years ago he’d left New York City to live in Roswell, New Mexico, where his family lived. And now, he was back in the city he’d grown up in. As one of the ER’s pediatric residents he worked long hours and had little free time. But he did love his job, and Bellevue Hospital was one of the country’s best. And he loved helping children. He just found it hard to limit how much he helped people sometimes. He knew he had the power to take away the pain in the children he saw, and every part of him screamed that he should do just that. He possessed more power than even his father, who had saved his mother from a bullet wound thirty years before. But, remembering his Aunt Isabel’s words, he had to be careful.

"Max, you have a patient, Curtain Six," Trish said, poking her head into the doorway. He nodded and picked up his stethoscope, pulling it around his neck. His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as he walked a memorized path through the ER. He pulled back the curtain of one of the examining tables and smiled at the young blonde girl who looked up at him with startled eyes. She was cradling her left arm to her side as he met her frightened eyes. Max glanced at the chart Trish had handed him and smiled at the girl’s name.

"Hello Alexandra. I’m Dr. Evans. What happened to your arm?" he asked, gently taking her arm in his hands, putting gentle pressure on the bones and muscles. She sniffled a little and her mother, hovering nearby, quickly spoke.

"She was walking to the bus stop with me when she slipped on some ice. I’ve told the Super in my building a thousand times that he needs to clear the walkways on winter mornings," the woman said, her eyes worriedly on her daughter as Max checked her over. Max prodded a little more and knew he could fix the broken arm easily, he just had to keep the little girl distracted.

"Alexandra, that’s a pretty name. I have a younger sister, about your age, and her name is Alexandra too," he said, noticing immediately that her face brightened.

"How old is she?"

"Alex is six years old," he replied, a part of his mind concentrating on knitting the bones and slightly torn muscles back together.

"Do you have any other sisters?"

Max smiled at the question.

"Yes, I do. I have twin sisters who will be sixteen on December 20^th. Their names are Julianne and Katherine, but everyone calls them Jules and Kat."

"Where do they live?"

"My sisters live with my Mom and Dad in Roswell, New Mexico. It’s very far from here, and it doesn’t snow in the winter like it does here in New York," Max replied, pleased to noticing that Alexandra hadn’t realized how he was fixing her arm.

"Roswell? Isn’t that where that alien UFO landed almost a hundred years ago?" the girl’s mother asked. Max smiled to himself, having just been asked the most common question he got after mentioning where he was from.

"Yeah, in 1947 there was supposedly a UFO that crashed. Everyone knows it was a weather balloon though, especially if you’ve lived there," Max paused, trying to sound convinced of what he knew to be untrue. He gently let go of Alexandra’s arm, leaving some of the muscles still strained so that her "recovery" wouldn’t look like the miracle that it was.

"Looks like you’ve got a sprain, that’s all. We’ll bandage it up and it should heal in a few days. Give her some children’s aspirin to help with the soreness," Max instructed the mother, who smiled at him gratefully as he stood up. Alexandra gave him a wide smile as he left and she waved as he walked away. He grinned and waved back, seeing her smile as the best kind of thank you.

He collapsed into one of the chairs in the lounge, taking the light falling snow as a kind of bad omen. He missed the deserts of Roswell, how it was so much warmer in the winter. And he missed the open spaces, being able to clearly see the stars. More than anything, he missed his family.

It seemed like they were all there. Well, all except him, Beth, Belle and Mike, he reminded himself. He smiled sadly, all the older second generation had left Roswell in pursuit of other things shortly after high school. Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He missed his parents most of all. The way his mother could just glance at him and know what he was thinking. They shared a special bond, because he was her first, and because they shared the first ten years of his life without his father.

Max thought about his father, whom he shared a name and a remarkable physical resemblance. He missed the way the people in Roswell would do doubletakes when he walked in the door, because he looked so much like his father at a younger age. And he missed the way his mother’s eyes would look at him fondly as she thought back to when her husband had been around his age. Twenty six years old, and his father at that age still hadn’t been reunited with the woman he loved and the son he didn’t know he had. Max shook his head, deciding not to think too much about the past.

He glanced at his watch and considered calling his family, just to say hi. But he knew it was early in New York and even earlier in New Mexico. Opening his locker, his eyes fell on one of the many pictures taped to the side. He touched the photo of himself with his grandparents gently, remembering back to a time before they’d been killed in a car accident. Ten years ago. He’d barely known his mother’s parents six years when they were taken away. He blinked away the stinging feeling in his eyes and looked at the next picture, of his twin sisters in the Crashdown Café.

They were laughing at something, facing each other over the counter. It was like looking at a mirror image. Both Kat and Jules reminded him of his Aunt Isabel, tall and blonde, and with a beauty that made the boys at West Roswell High go crazy. He wished he were there, to be the protective older brother, carefully watching the way boys would watch his sisters.

The next picture brought an immediate grin to his face. It had been taken a few years ago, during winter break from medical school. His entire family and extended family had traveled up north for their annual trip to Snowmass, Colorado for Christmas. Aunt Maria had taken the photo from the side of the ice skating rink, where she’d been watching the rest of the family having fun on the ice. Max remembered that he’d been skating around with Alexandra when he’d looked up to see his parents, standing off to the side. His father had his arms around his mother’s tiny waist, pinning her against him where they stood against the edge of the rink. Liz was loosely gripping his arms and smiling up at her husband. Max had his head bowed close to hers, a breath away from her lips as a smile tugged at his mouth.

Max shut his locker door quietly, realizing that the pictures were making him more and more homesick. And even though his parent’s happiness was very important to him, it made him yearn and wish for the same kind of happiness. Something he didn’t think he’d ever find again, after losing his chance. He checked his watch again and considered that it might be late enough to try calling the Crashdown. His mother was probably up, getting ready to head to the high school where she taught Biology and Chemistry and his father was probably up, getting the Crashdown ready for the morning crowd. His parents had taken over the restaurant after his grandparents had died and while Liz continued to teach and Max continued to write, they ran the café together.

Max was picking up the phone to dial when the desk clerk leaned in, pointing to the phone.

"Dr. Evans, there’s a Charlie Sims on Line 2 for you."

Max nodded his thanks and wondered for a minute why his roommate was calling him. As far as he knew Charlie was supposed to be at work and they were meeting near Lincoln Square for lunch. He was about to pick up the line when Trish yelled his name from outside. His head shot up and he immediately heard the incoming sirens and the squeals of tires. He gave an apologetic glance at the phone before rushing out.

"Sorry man, duty calls," he muttered, giving himself a mental note to call Charlie later as his mind automatically began to inspect the incoming traumas.

Max pulled off his gloves as the surgery team wheeled his last patient out of the trauma room and towards the elevators. His heart rate was just beginning to slow down after the steady stream of patients in the last thirty minutes. Some car accident on First Avenue, he’d heard one of the paramedics say. The ER had quickly slowed down again and Max was about to return to his charts and catch up on some work when he caught sight of Charlie standing near the front desk, pacing back and forth a little nervously.

Perplexed, Max began to walk over, ignoring the whispers of some of the nurses. He knew that the presence of Charles Sims, world famous ballet dancer with the New York City Ballet, would have the women gossiping for a week or so. Not to mention the fact that except for Charlie’s clear blue eyes, he and Max could easily pass for brothers. As Max got closer, Charlie finally looked up, caught sight of him and rushed over.

"I’m sorry I didn’t get to you on the phone. What’s wrong? What happened?" Max asked, starting to feel worry in the pit of his stomach.

"Can you leave for a little while?" Charlie asked, his voice slightly rushed. Max nodded, seeing that the other residents could probably handle the ER.

"What is it? Is it—Charlie, is it Beth?" Max felt his heart stop beating for a second. Charlie met his eyes steadily and nodded once.

"Yeah, it’s Beth. We need to get to the Center," Charlie said, referring to the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts where he and Beth danced. "She’s hurt and she’s refusing all help, only asking for you."