Character Focus: Liz; CC-based AU scenario, no real ‘shippiness
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell; I leave that to Jason Katims and Melinda Metz and all those who, you know, legally do.
Spoilers: Wipeout. Also a brief reference to MTD.
Author's Note: This was written for someone who enjoys speculating about possibility and impossibility as much as I do, shares an equally deep affection for Liz Parker, and introduced me to the world of crossovers. This is probably the closest I’ll ever get to writing one, but the spirit and thrill of “little girls kicking serious ass” remains. Also, big thanks to Debbie, beta-reader extraordinaire!
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned … uh … hail mother of Mary and Grace, no, that’s not right … I … oh, darn it. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say. It’s been so long, you see,” she explained apologetically. “I’m not actually a practising Catholic. I stopped coming to confession when I was ten. And you can forget a lot in 15 years.”
“It’s all right, my child.” The gentle voice broke in upon her thoughts, soothing and reassuring her. “The confessional is a place of forgiveness, where you may speak without fear, and you can be assured of confidentiality.”
She nodded and then smiled when she realized that he couldn’t see her. “That’s why I’m here. I need to get something off my chest, but I can’t tell anyone, you know?”
“I hold my vows and obligations sacred. And besides, it’s been a slow day. I have time.” Liz chuckled at the note of humour that lightened the unseen man’s tone; it was exactly what she needed to hear.
Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she blurted it out. “I’ve killed people.”
There was silence, and then “You’ve taken lives?”
“It wasn’t murder,” she said. “It was self-defence. They were trying to kill me.”
“I see,” was her only response. “Go on.”
“And I couldn’t report their deaths to the police, because there were no bodies.” She thought about that for a moment. “It's awfully convenient, really.”
“Well, that they turn to dust,” she said matter-of-factly, then giggled. “I don’t know how Buffy does it. Watch them turn to dust. It does something weird to your insides.”
“I can imagine.” Then, carefully, “Are you claiming to have killed vampires?”
She couldn’t resist laughing at the sudden mental image of a priest watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
“I have nieces,” he explained, clearly a little embarrassed.
“Oh. Well, no, they weren’t vampires, not like that. But they weren’t human and they were enemies for a reason. And when you kill their kind, they turn to dust. Something about the atmosphere being hostile to them, so if you expose their real selves, even for a millisecond, ‘poof’!”
“What happened?” he asked, sounding intrigued despite himself and clearly trying to figure out how far the delusion went.
She considered his question. “I guess I should start at the beginning,” she decided, and took a deep breath. “It all started when I was sixteen. You see …” she stopped suddenly, her voice serious. “I’m going to tell you something incredible, Father. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I hope you won’t dismiss me entirely.”
“There are aliens among us, Father. And I don’t mean the illegal kind, that come over the border. I mean the kind from another place in the universe.” She paused, waiting for his reaction.
“There is much we don’t know of God’s Plan,” was all he said. She didn’t know what he meant by that, but at least he wasn’t shouting for men in white coats.
“I grew up with three of them, although I didn’t know then. I didn’t find out until one of them saved my life.”
“God works in mysterious ways.”
“Yeah, I’ll say. Anyway, so we starting dating, and –” Liz stopped when she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. She had to smile.
“I guess it does sound a little funny when I say it like that. But you see, it didn’t last long. His alien wife showed up, and …” her voice trailed off as she pondered the events of her junior year at West Roswell.
“You wish to confess to adultery with an alien?” she heard then, and her head whipped around to glare at the crossed slats of wood that separated them.
“No! He’s not married to her now, not since they were recreated into human form. And I figure the “’til death do us part” must apply to aliens too.”
“Probably,” was the dry response, and she sighed. It did sound crazy. Oh well. No point in stopping now.
“Besides, we didn’t know about her at the time. Once she did come into the picture, we broke up. He tried … oh, he tried to tell me it could still work for us, that we could be together and it didn’t mean he couldn’t fulfill his destiny –”
“To re-marry his alien wife?”
“No – well, yes, but only so that they could win the war. He is a king, after all,” she said, almost as an afterthought.
She frowned at his choked response. Immediately, he apologized, stricken by his loss of control. “I’m sorry, child. I won’t interrupt again. Please continue.”
She sighed and leaned back. This was a long story. And she needed to tell it, to put it behind her.
“I hope you were serious about having time.”
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