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The Soldier and the Alien

Pairing: Malex, Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Words: 4.2K | Rating: T | On AO3

For @beamirang who asked for Fictional Kiss Prompt 12: a hoarse whisper “kiss me” | eternal thanks to @insidious-intent for the beta!

Warning: Mentions of Michael drinking a lot/being drunk in the past. He sought help and is already better when this story takes place, though.

🎖️💚👽

Michael fell sick on a Wednesday.

It was an ordinary day. There were no threats, no fights, he hadn’t even seen anyone in two days. No one knew why or how it happened, or how it was even possible. He’d been working on the alien spaceship console in his bunker until late the night before, trying to figure out whether a different looking piece of iridescent glass he bought from a contact on the Dark Web was part of it, but when he woke up the next morning, he felt like crap.

Max came by, but his attempt to heal Michael with his powers turned out to be fruitless. Isobel insisted on calling Kyle, who in turn consulted with Liz. The two were now working in Liz’s lab at the hospital in an attempt to figure out what had caused Michael to catch what seemed to be a common cold.

He couldn’t breathe because his nose was stuffed, his throat felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper and his entire body hurt. He was lying on his bed in the Airstream, wrapped in three blankets and a sleeping bag because he was so cold. Cold! He’d never been cold in his life. Like Alex had pointed out correctly, Michael does run hot.

Alex. Thinking of him caused an entirely different kind of pain to flare up deep down in Michael. He sighed. Alex had always been fond of Michael’s human-shaped heating blanket qualities.

Isobel dabbed at his forehead with a wet cloth and it made him shiver. She didn’t look confident if this was in any way helpful or would speed up Michael’s recovery.

“Do you feel any better, Michael?”

Michael’s eyes were closed and his voice was merely a croak.

“Not since you asked me just five minutes ago. I’ve never felt so terrible in my life. And I’ve been hungover a lot. What is going on with me, Iz?”

“I don’t know, Michael. Liz is working on your blood samples. I could call her again?”

Michael blinked his eyes open to looked at her, but even though it was dim inside the trailer, the light made his eyes hurt.

“Why don’t you drive over and see how far they’ve come? I’ll sleep for a bit.”

Isobel looked down at him.

“Are you sure? What if you need something and I’m not here?”

“I have my phone, Iz. I’ll text you in case I need anything.”

Isobel got up and reached for her handbag.

“Okay, but really try and get some sleep, Michael. I’ve heard it helps when people are sick.”

Michael closed his eyes and nodded, his breathing slowly evening out.

Isobel took one last look at him before she left the trailer and walked over to her car. Liz better had some results, seeing Michael look sick and small in his bed made Isobel’s heart clench painfully in her chest.

--

Michael had been asleep for a while when he woke up from someone knocking on the door of his trailer. His first impulse was to open it with his mind because he could barely speak, but of course he didn’t. Instead he tried to answer.

“Come in, door’s open!”

He was prepared to get up and shuffle over to open the door because there was no way the person standing outside could’ve heard him, but he was spared the effort.

The door opened and Alex climbed up the steps and entered the Airstream. Michael’s breath caught.

Alex was without his crutch, and he was carrying something that looked like a picnic basket on his right arm. Michael had a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he still took his fill of looking at Alex.

He was wearing black jeans tight enough to leave very little to the imagination, a forest green v-neck Henley that put his chest hair on display, and a black leather jacket. He was also wearing Ray Bans he took off once he'd closed the door behind himself. He put the basket on the kitchen counter before he stepped closer and squinted at Michael, his eyes only slowly adjusting to the lack of light inside of the Airstream.

“You look like shit, Guerin.”

Michael snorted.

“Thanks, guess my exterior matches how I feel.”

Alex face softened a little when he heard Michael’s rough voice.

“Wow, you really are sick. I thought Isobel was joking when she called earlier and asked me to make a sick bed visit.”

Michael attempted a shrug, but Isobel had wrapped the blankets around him so tight, he had very little room to move. He nodded instead.

“Yes, I’m really sick. You shouldn’t come any closer, I might be contagious.”

Alex came closer regardless, until he was right by Michael’s side.

“I went to war, Guerin. More than once. I can handle a cold.”

He reached for Michael’s forehead and pressed his flat hand against it. It was cool and although Michael was cold and shivering, it felt heavenly. Alex’s eyebrows drew together in a concerned frown.

“Seems like you’re running a fever.”

Michael shook his head.

“We run hotter than the average human, are you sure it’s a fever? Besides, I’m freezing. I can’t even feel my toes anymore.”

Alex turned around and rummaged in one of Michael’s drawers. When he returned to the bed, he lifted the blanket pile, reached for Michael’s legs and put woolen socks on his icy cold feet (it was a pair of socks Michael had bought for Alex years ago, after he’d complained how cold it was in the trailer when he visited Michael while he was on leave). Afterwards, Alex was careful to tuck the blankets around Michael’s feet properly and Michael felt a little less cold already.

“Thank you.”

Alex smiled at him and walked over to the kitchen area. Michael’s eyes hurt, so he shut them and just listened to Alex taking things out of the basket. He heard the clanking of pots, then the snick of a lighter when Alex turned on the gas stove.

Michael dosed off for a while.

--

When he woke up from his nap, he forced his eyes open and looked around the Airstream. Alex had made himself comfortable at the table across from the kitchen unit. A laptop was open in front of him and he was scrolling through something on his screen. When he heard Michael shift, he looked up.

“Hey, how do you feel?”

“Still like crap but a little better, I think?”

Michael noticed steam coming from a pot on his stove.

“Are you trying to burn down my trailer, Private?”

Alex chuckled, got up and moved over to the stove. He took the lid off the pot and stirred.

“I’m making soup. It’s my mom’s recipe. She used to make it when we were sick, and we were usually back to normal the next day. Maybe it’ll do the same for you. If not, you’ll at least eat something that will be easy to swallow.”

Warmth spread through Michael. No one had ever taken care of him like this. Not that there had ever been a reason for it, he’d never been sick after all. But now that he was, Alex was here. Even though they weren’t on the best of terms at the moment.

Too much happened. First Caulfield and the immeasurable loss of that day, then all the shit that went down with Noah. Followed by Max healing Michael’s hand against his will, and Michael playing guitar for the first time in a decade. Feeling a moment of peace in all the chaos, before the pain of Max’s death had ripped through Michael like a knife.

He’d been a mess afterwards, and for much longer than it took them to bring Max back. He still doesn’t recall what happened during some of that time because he’d been drunk out of his mind for most of it. Until one day he’d realized he’d have to face his demons and claw his way back into the world of the living. Today, it was over three months since he last had a drink.

Alex didn’t know about that, though. They’d barely been in touch since the night Max brought Rosa back. That fateful night when Michael went to the Wild Pony and Alex’s best friend let him kiss her. The night Michael had ruined things between him and Alex for good. In his desire to make the pain stop, he’d not only hurt himself worse, he’d also hurt Alex.

Alex had left Roswell shortly after hearing about him and Maria. According to Liz, the reason he’d left in his car had been to “take care of important Project Shepard business”. It had kept Alex from Roswell for a couple of weeks, according to Liz longer than planned because Jesse Manes had been kidnapped from the hospital and Alex had worried about Flint’s and possibly at least one of his other brothers’ involvement.

When Michael had heard that Alex left town, he’d ignored the part about Project Shepard, though, and given into the righteous anger bubbling up in him because “leaving’s what Alex Manes does best.” At the same time, it had felt like the most vital part of Michael had finally died, the part that still had hope. The part that had always made him believe that there was still some good in the world, and at least one man on this godforsaken planet worth living and fighting for.

Needless to say, he hadn’t taken it well. The downward spiral he’d been on since Caulfield had turned into a bottomless fall. He’d barely managed to keep his job at the junkyard, and they probably would’ve been able to bring back Max earlier, had he not decided to drink himself into oblivion on a daily basis.

Until one day, he’d received an envelope in the mail. It had contained a USB stick and a detailed note in Alex’s neat handwriting, telling him that Alex was on a mission to shut down Project Shepard for good, that he’d found another facility where more aliens had been held captive by Jesse, and that he was currently busy relocating them somewhere safe, but he wanted Michael to have all the relevant information he’d uncovered so far.

Michael had stared at the note with wide eyes, his inebriated brain unable to process most of the information in Alex’s letter. He’d plugged the USB stick into his computer to see what Alex had sent him. He’d skimmed through some random files first, feeling oddly detached when he looked at numerous elderly faces of people, who were very likely also aliens. When Michael had opened the first picture in a folder labeled MARA, though, he'd felt like watching Caulfield burn to the ground all over again.

Mom!

Michael’s first instinct had been to drink until he’d be able to forget, but then he’d clicked through the entire folder. Looking at pictures of his mother from 1947, when she was as young as he remembered her from that one magical moment in Caulfield, was what brought him to his knees.

He’d dropped to the floor, his body wrecked by hard sobs, and he hadn’t been able to calm down for a long time. He had no idea how much time had passed, when he’d finally managed to sit up. He’d sat on the cold floor of his lab, arms curled around his legs, head placed on his knees. He’d gotten up from the floor eventually and dragged himself to the bathroom, where he’d stared at himself in the mirror for the first time in months.

He’d barely recognized the man staring back at him. And not just because his eyes were blood-shot and puffy from heavy drinking and crying for hours. He’d looked awful. Thin, almost haggard, his hair unwashed and much longer than he preferred, his clothes tattered and stained.

It had been a cruel awakening for him. In that moment, he’d realized he'd hit rock bottom, and if he didn’t manage to pull himself together, he’d likely drink himself to death, alien physiology be damned. He’d also realized that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this on his own.

If someone had told his teenage self (or even his adult self, prior to Max’s death), that one day he would call Kyle Valenti and ask for his help, Michael would’ve dismissed it as utter bullshit. But that’s what he did, because he knew that neither Isobel nor Max were equipped to give him the help and support he'd need.

Kyle had been nothing but kind and professional about it and monitored his detox closely. Even when Michael had tried to rile him up when the pain of going through withdrawals had been almost blinding, Kyle had kept his composure and treated Michael like he’d treat any of his patients.

Three months after that fateful day in his lab, Michael was doing better. He’d put the weight he’d lost back on, he was working more regular hours at the junkyard, and at Kyle’s insistence, he saw a therapist several towns over two times a week. Even though it bothered him that he could never reveal the whole truth to her, he understood that - regardless of the fact that she didn’t know that he’s an alien - talking to her was a vital part of his recovery.

Which lead Michael’s train of thought back to the here and now, and the fact that Alex Manes was currently in his trailer, cooking soup for him. Right now, Michael wasn’t physically able to hold a longer conversation because of his sore throat, but he knew they had to talk.

“Why did you come here, Alex?”

Alex looked at Michael.

“I told you, Isobel called. She told me you were sick and asked me to look if you were ok.”

“You’re making me soup.”

Michael couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like Alex blushed.

“Well, it’s what you do when someone’s sick. You make them soup.”

“What else?”

“You make them tea. Read them a story. I don’t know, whatever keeps them warm and makes them feel better.”

“I’m buried underneath a pile of blankets but I’m still freezing. Looks like you’re not doing a very good job at keeping me warm.”

Alex snorted.

“What do you expect me to do, Guerin, come over and climb into bed with you to warm you up?”

“Good idea.”

Michael had overused his voice and he started coughing.

Alex grabbed a bottle of water and walked over to him. He helped Michael sit up and take a few sips. Michael hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. It was painful to swallow, but drinking water made him feel better.

When he had enough, Alex took the bottle and put it within reach on the floor beside his bed. Then he handed Michael a small bottle of acetone. Michael hesitated.

“I don’t use acetone anymore.”

Alex looked surprised.

“You don’t? Since when?”

“Since you sent me the USB stick.”

It seemed to dawn on Alex what that information implied.

“That can’t have been easy. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you looked through those files.”

Michael closed his eyes. It still hurt to think of Caulfield, of his mom, but the pain no longer threatened to tear him apart.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Kyle told me some of the things you’ve done for me, for us, over these last few months. That can’t have been easy either. Working against your own family.”

“You are my family, Guerin. I know you don’t believe me, and that you only associate me with pain and misery, but for better or for worse, you are my family.”

Michael swallowed hard. It hurt, and not just because his throat was sore.

“I do believe you, Alex. I’ve been working on myself while you were away. My therapist and Kyle’ve helped me to put a lot of things into perspective.”

Before Michael could continue, his body was wrecked by another coughing fit. Alex stepped closer and rubbed soothing circles across Michael’s back while Michael tried to catch his breath and grabbed for the bottle of water. Alex pulled out his phone and tapped away on it while Michael took tiny sips of water until the urge to cough subsided. When Alex’s phone beeped with a notification, Michael looked up.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, it’s from Kyle. He tells me that I can give you some acetone for medical reasons.”

Michael was still hesitant.

“It’s ok, Michael. He says as long as it’s just one sip and you don’t down the entire bottle, it will help you with pain relief, but it won’t put you back to square one.”

Alex uncapped the bottle of acetone and handed it to Michael. He took a cautious sip and sighed in relief. His throat and head didn’t hurt as much all of a sudden. Instead his stomach rumbled.

“Thanks, Alex. It helped. When do you think the soup will be ready?”

Alex smiled.

“Should be ready by now. I’ll get some for you.”

Alex filled the soup into a bowl and brought it over to Michael. Since his throat was currently not killing him, he was able to eat without pain. He couldn’t taste anything, but the soup was warm and his stomach stopped rumbling eventually. Alex returned to the table where he ate some soup himself. When he came back over to Michael to take the empty bowl from him, Michael managed a somewhat suggestive smirk.

“How about you’re telling me a story now, Private?”

Alex walked back over to the kitchen area and put Michael's bowl in the sink. He turned around to Michael.

“What kind of story do you want to hear?”

Michael pretended to think for a moment. He knew what he was about to say may very well blow up in his face, but he had to risk it.

“Uhm, how about the one where the soldier and the alien are madly in love with each other and figure out a way to be together?”

Alex walked back over to Michael. Michael scooted into the corner of his bed and offered Alex a place to sit. Alex didn’t sit down though. Instead, he leaned against the opposite wall of Michael’s cot and looked at him with sad eyes.

“I thought there’s only the one where the soldier and the alien were madly in love, but somehow they both managed to fuck it up?”

And there it was, the rejection in the form of a Past Tense that hurt so fucking much, Michael struggled to breathe. He closed his eyes when he felt tears pricking at them and he considered feigning another coughing fit so Alex wouldn’t notice that Michael was falling apart on the inside right in front of him.

When Michael had finally decided to get his life back in order, he’d made an effort to sort through his complicated feelings for Alex with the help of his therapist. He’d learned to differentiate between his unwavering love for Alex Manes, and the pain connected to all the back and forth they’d gone through over the course of a decade. At some point, he’d allowed himself to hope that Alex and him would find a way back to each other one day.

The logical thinker in him understood that it may be too late, that he’d let Alex walk away one too many times. (This was something his therapist had pointed out to him: yes, Alex had left him more than once – oftentimes he didn’t have another choice, though, the Air Force didn’t treat deserters kindly - but Michael had also never gone after him when Alex could’ve stayed. They'd both used unhealthy coping mechanisms, they both had abandonment and trust issues several miles deep. Unraveling their behavior had helped Michael claim half of the blame, and even though it had been hard to admit his mistakes to himself, it had also made him feel lighter).

The emotional part of Michael had refused to give up hope, though.

The realization that it was indeed over, hurt more than anything. When Alex talked again, it startled Michael and he blinked his eyes open.

“The thing is, the soldier is actually still madly in love with the alien and would love nothing more than to figure out a way for them to be together. If it’s not too late?”

Alex’s voice was soft and his expression unsure. His hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Michael’s heart fluttered in his chest and all the pain inside of him evaporated for the moment. He made a grabby hand gesture at Alex and Alex slowly sat down on the edge of Michael’s bed.

“Alex, the alien wants that, too. I want that. You have no idea how much I want for us to give it another shot.”

He ran out of breath, and tears he couldn’t hold back any longer started streaming down his cheeks. He flung himself forward towards Alex, who caught him and wrapped his arms around Michael in a tight embrace.

“I’ve got you, Michael, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

A pained sob escaped Michael’s mouth and then he collapsed. Physically and mentally. He cried and cried and cried, interrupted by painful coughing fits, but the tears just wouldn’t stop falling. Alex held him the entire time, his shirt soaking up most of Michael’s snot and tears. He didn’t seem to care. He continued to rub soothing circles into Michael’s back and whispered his affirmation to stay into Michael’s ear over and over.

After a long time, Michael’s body couldn’t take the dual strain of crying and coughing anymore. His tears dried up eventually, but Alex kept rubbing Michael’s back in an attempt to further soothe him. When Michael’s breathing slowed down to a normal speed of in and out, Alex pulled the bottle with acetone from his pocket, uncapped it, and encouraged Michael to take another sip.

The urge to cough faded and Michael sank back onto the bed, utterly exhausted.

He blinked at Alex, his eyes puffy and red.

“I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d ruined it all and that it’s too late. Alex...”

“I know, Michael. Me too. You have no idea how many times I wanted to reach out to you since I came back a while ago, but Kyle kept telling me to wait. He didn’t give me any details - “doctor patient confidentiality, Alex, you know what that means” - but I understood that you were doing something for yourself, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. You deserve being better like no one else. I won’t lie though, staying away and giving you space has been harder than serving three tours.”

Michael shook his head.

“And I thought you hated me, that I had finally managed to destroy the one good thing in my life for good.”

“Michael, please. We both made mistakes, big and small, and too many of them over the years. We’ll talk about everything when you’re feeling better, not today though. You’re exhausted.”

Alex bent forward and placed a kiss on Michael’s forehead.

“I’m just so grateful Iz called me earlier and asked me to see you,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

“You should sleep, Michael, you can barely keep your eyes open anymore.”

Michael closed his eyes for a second while he held onto Alex’s hand.

“I’m afraid that when I fall asleep, you’ll leave and I won’t see you for another three months.”

Michael sounded and looked so small when he confessed what seemed to be his biggest fear, and it almost ripped Alex’s heart out.

“Michael, please look at me.”

Michael blinked his eyes open, his pupils were blown wide in the twilight of the trailer. Alex took Michael’s hands in his and looked into Michael’s eyes.

“I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere. That’s a promise. You have me, Michael. For as long as you will have me and even beyond. I’m yours and you are mine. We’ll figure out the details later, we’ll talk, we’ll talk some more, just, whatever it takes to make this work. I want to be with you, and unless you tell me to go, I won’t ever leave you again.”

Alex caressed the side of Michael’s face, and Michael nuzzled into the touch, his eyes falling shut. Alex ran his other hand through Michael’s sweat-damp curls.

“How about I’ll now take you up on your invitation to warm you up?”

Michael’s eyes flew open and he nodded. He shuffled over into the corner of his bed to make space for Alex. Alex got up, opened a drawer across from the bed and pulled out one of Michael’s sweaters. He stripped out of the soggy green shirt he was wearing and pulled the soft sweater over his head. Then he sat down and unlaced his boots to take them off. He didn’t take off the prosthetic, but he adjusted his jeans and socks to ensure the cold metal was covered, before he climbed into bed with Michael. They were facing each other and Michael managed a small smile.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. I’ve missed you so much.”

Alex searched for Michael’s hand underneath the blanket, and when he found it, he laced their fingers together.

“I’ve missed you, too, Michael. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Michael didn’t manage more than a hoarse whisper when he asked: “Kiss me?”

And Alex did.

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