Know These Things

Author: Debbie
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to Metz and Katims. The song is "Know These Things: Shouldn't You" by Maxwell. Please don’t sue me – I’m just playing.
Author’s note: Thanks go to Kia for suggesting the lyrics and creating the challenge and more thanks to Bennie for finding the time to beta-read in her hectic schedule. This is set this for after WipeOut and is angry/angsty Kyle POV.
Feedback: I need it!! This is my first songfic. I accept both positive and constructive feedback -- just be polite.

This fic won the 2001 Roswellian Choice Award for Best Song Fanfiction

You stung
As if you knew I’d sting right there
And you shouldn’t know these things about me

You’ve seen inside my head, I know it. When I got shot there was so much pain that almost nothing penetrated that all-encompassing agony and darkness. And then, when you laid your hands on me and dissolved the bullet – a fucking bullet!!! – I felt much more than the warmth of your extraterrestrial energy gluing my insides back together again. I saw you – I got pictures of you in my head, Evans. Saw everything about you – your childhood, your Martian abilities, even your damn dreams and fears. And your desires. And so I know, that if I, Kyle Valenti, the dumb jock, could see inside your head, I fucking well *know* that you could see inside mine at that moment. But you pretend otherwise.

I saw the look on your face when I told you my dad had vanished, sucked in by that bizarro time-warp thing. Everyone made the required empty sympathetic gestures, of course, but … only you would know how much my dad really meant to me. I keep it well-hidden – when you’re captain of the football team and you’re dad’s the town sheriff, people expect emotional detachment on both sides. Macho bullshit and all that. And besides, what teen would admit to such devotion? But my dad – he’s everything I have. Always been there. Always will be. There aren’t words to express how I feel. When he dissolved before my very eyes it just about killed me. And you knew that, didn’t you, Evans? I saw it in your eyes, shining in their mysterious depths. The pain. Not just sympathetic pain because your own parents were missing. I-know-what-this-means-to-you pain. But you said nothing. Just acted dismissively as usual, you royal bastard.

As if your pain would quench my fear
How could you know these things about me?

Tess told me what happened to you while I was busy keeping the girls calm, busy kicking a Skin’s ass, busy evaporating into nothingness. She said you took Nicholas’s torture, let him electrocute you with his Vulcan mindmelding abilities as he tried to yank your memories out of your head. Very good of you to preserve your integrity, to try to save us all with your noble ideals. Did you think that would bring my dad back? That I would feel any better afterwards if you had died in agony? Sometimes you’re too damn gentle for your own good, Evans. You know things about me, and Liz has told me that you know things about her. And considering how attached you seem to be to your ET compatriots, I’d have thought you’d have taken direct offensive action to protect them. To protect us all. To protect me.

You shouldn’t know these things
And be this awfully well in tune
Go as if not aware
Be like those others that assume

It was a lot better last year, before you played surgeon on me. You and I could hate each other with free and clear consciences. We could pretend that it was all about Liz, about secrets. Now there are no secrets between you and me, not after that little mental swap that happened as I lay gasping under your hands. But you continue to act as if it never happened. You, who know everything about me and know what I would and wouldn’t do, how I feel and whom I love, every fucking detail down to what my dad called me as a baby, continue to show a face full of hatred and mistrust of me to the world. But it’s a lie now, our outward behavior, isn’t it, Evans?

You knew and still you managed to find my stare
You shouldn’t know these things about me
You shouldn’t know these things
And be this awfully well in tune
Go as if not aware
Go on and be those that presume
That they could know these things about me

You hardly ever look me in the eyes anymore. I think you know that I know -- that I can see your real reactions in your dark depths, no matter what your outward royal behavior says, El Presidente. But there was that moment in the UFO center when you looked at me, turned the full force of your complicated gaze on me. I was walking out with all the macho posturing I could produce, sick of all the pretending, when you called my name. Understanding me as you now do, you layered your voice with emotions only I would hear, knowing I would turn around. And when I did, you finally managed to match my defiant stare, speaking volumes with your own eyes. You spoke words, conciliatory words, but they didn’t matter. I already knew everything you felt, what you *really* wanted to say if you had dared, for once, to reveal your true self in public.

But you don’t dare. You take the easy way out. You keep your eyes down, you hide inside yourself.

Believe it or not, I understand. And not just because I’ve seen all your innermost thoughts. I understand because I’m a private person too, normally. My life is really no one else’s business. But I didn’t have any choice when it came to revealing myself to you, did I? You just laid your hands on me, you played Miracle Man, and you saw things about me I wouldn’t share with anyone. You know things you shouldn’t know. And while I appreciate your discretion at not blabbing my secrets to the world, it would be nice if you at least *acknowledged* that you know this stuff about me, rather than feigning ignorance 99% of the time. That day we were almost wiped out was the exception, the only time you let me know you know. At least when I look at you, I let you see that I understand you, know you.

Want you.

Be as if not aware
Be mystified as this appears
Lay still be as my will
And promise that you’ll wait to kill
And whisper you know these things
Tell me you know these things
Show me you know these things
About me

Every day I go to school, to the Crashdown, to the park, I hope to see you there. And I hate to see you. I’m waiting for you to finally accept what you’ve learned, accept what you feel. I *know* you feel it, dammit. But you turn away, you stick to safer relationships.

Every night I gaze out the window in the direction of your house. I can’t see you, of course – your neighborhood is on the other side of town. But I wonder if, along with shared memories and secrets, if we share even more now. If I stare hard enough, maybe you’ll feel the pull. Maybe you’ll give in and come to *my* window for a change, undoing the latch with your superpowers. Maybe you’ll finally stand before me and admit, with your eyes, your hands, your mouth, that you know these things about me.

And I’ll show you what I know.


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