4:03

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the Roswell universe; they belong to Jason Katims and Melinda Metz. I just like to play with them a little bit.

“Chapter One”

Leaning into the passenger window of the Pontiac Grand Am, the dark-eyed, brunette beauty forced a smile across her lips. The man behind the wheel was pushing fifty – he looked a little like her grandfather. “Hi, sugar,” she purred. “What can I do for you tonight?”

The man actually blushed, and she silently groaned. A first timer, just what she needed to start her night. “H-how much for a…well…for a…”

“Twenty-five for a handjob, and I’ll blow you for fifty,” she explained, somehow retaining the seductive allure in her voice. “No amount of money will let you fuck me, so don’t waste my time with begging.” The trick looked at her, disillusionment clear on his face. She could have lost the sale, but it didn’t matter. Another would come along, they always did. And explaining all of this was far easier than playing the guessing game for twenty minutes and having an argument about fucking for another ten.

“A blowjob,” the man grunted, and she opened the passenger door and slipped inside. The man handed her a crumpled fifty; she pocketed the money and smiled.

“Relax, sugar,” she suggested softly. “This’ll be nice, I promise.” Scooting closer to the older man – he smelled faintly of soap – she undid the button on his jeans. “Ms. Beth will take good care of you,” she cooed, trying to further ease his obvious anxiety. He was probably married; but, she quickly pushed that thought from her mind. She’d never get through her shifts if she kept up that kind of thinking. Men cheated all the time. She couldn’t allow herself to be continually shocked by it.

Working him to hardness took longer than expected – she hated the older guys for just that reason – but once she got his jeans unzipped and really got to what he paid for, it was over pretty quickly. She had a pretty talented tongue, or so she’d been told many times. Once done, she left. She never stuck around to see the cleanup, not even when they begged for more.

She went back to her corner, before some other girl stole it. Car after car went by with no offers; she was fine with that. Fifty bucks would buy her a drink at Pete’s and someplace to sleep for the night – any more than that would be a bonus. “Hey,” a voice said from behind her. She turned, smiling already, and her heart stopped in her chest.

“No, no, no, no!” she screamed. It couldn’t be – the man before her had to be a dream or a hallucination or something. Tall, dark hair, and soulful hazel eyes that could burn her to the core; except for the piercings and tattoos, he was an exact match to Max Evans.

Except that Max Evans was dead – had been dead for nearly five years now. He disintegrated into dust, died a hero from what Michael had told her.

“Liz,” the look-alike said softly. “Liz Parker?”

She shook her head violently, trying to block out the deep, almost growling voice. Tears burned and itched her eyes as they fell heavily down her cheeks. Her makeup was probably ruined. “You’re not Max,” she moaned through her tears. “Max is dead…go away, Max…just go away…” Collapsing to her knees, she sobbed into the sidewalk. The duplicate knelt beside her; his warm hand touched her back. She trembled – he was real.

“I’m not Max,” he told her. “Parker…Liz look at me.”

She shook her head. “I-I can’t.”

“I ain’t gonna bite, sweetheart. Just look at me.” Her body shakes hadn’t subsided, but she forced herself to look up into the face that hurt her so much. “Zan,” he introduced quickly, “the reject King.”

Liz shook her head again. “But…but Rath and Lonnie killed you…”

The duplicate actually smiled. “Nah, Ava did a mad mind warp on ‘em,” he explained. “She knew from Lon what they were plannin’ and helped me out.”

“So you just abandoned her after she saved your ass!?” Her mortified, heart wrenching emptiness suddenly turned to an all encroaching rage. “She loved you, you gigantic asshole! She was devastated…she…she…” And the tears were back again, falling harder than ever.

Zan awkwardly patted her back as she finished falling apart. He waited until her sobs had broken off into sniffles. “Ava and me…we never had nothing. She did me a favor because she’s not a killer, and she thought she owed me something because I was King.” Liz looked at him again; her liquid brown eyes made even more so by the tears still slipping down her cheeks occasionally. “Look, I felt it when Max died. Burned me, ya know?” She nodded; the exact feeling had scorched her chest, ripping open the wound that, in five years, had yet to close. “I went to Roswell, found Michael and Isobel…I tried to…” He sighed. “I don’t even know what I what I was tryin’ to do…just connect, I guess.”

She scoffed. “Why bother?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know why I’m here right now, but I knew I had to find you…you’re face…”

“My face?”

Zan groaned. “This is so fuckin’ cornball…Parker, you’re face haunts me. I dream about you and Max and…and I know shit about you I shouldn’t…you’re life, you’re thoughts…”He stopped and looked around, as if for the first time. “What are you doin’ out here, anyway? What are you doin’ to yourself?”

Liz sat up, trying to look dignified and probably failing. “Making a living...why you wanna turn?” She smiled her best sweet/professional smile and tossed him a look that would’ve stopped any weaker heart. “I give the best head in two hundred blocks. Fifty bucks and you too could be a satisfied customer.” She gave him a salacious wink; but he didn’t rise to the bait. If anything, it only served to piss him off all the more.

“This isn’t you,” he muttered darkly. “This isn’t the Liz Parker that I –

“That you what!?” she snapped and climbed to her feet, careful not break her delicate ankle in the heels strapped to her. “That you dreamed about? That you fantasized about!?” She scoffed. “Too bad. The Liz Parker that used to be died with Max – she doesn’t fucking exist anymore, okay? Now if you excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” She walked away from the imposter Max; that drink at Pete’s sounded better and better the further away she got. Maybe if she could convince him to let her crash in the back, she could have a few more and really have some fun.

“How much for you to come home with me?” She groaned; of course the idiot would follow her.

Looking over her shoulder, she flashed him her work smile again. “Too much for you to afford, sugar,” she purred. Dropping the act, she gave him a cold look. “Not leave me the fuck alone.”

“You know I’ll follow you all night,” he said as he picked up his pace to match the one she set. “It’s gonna put a major crimp in your hoe thing.”

She let out a frustrated scream. “What do you want!?”

“You.”

Her whole body began to shake, partly from rage and partly out of…something else. “You don’t know me, Zan. You know a dream-girl who was smart and beautiful and whole.” Looking at him, her heart threatened to burst in her chest; she wanted to go to him because he looked like Max, and he talked like Max (albeit with a New Yorker accent) and she could find comfort in his arms for just a few hours. But she wasn’t that fucked up. Not yet. “Besides, if I went home with you, and we fucked, I’d only be doing it because of him. Because you look like him, not because of you.”

He snorted. “Who said I wanted to fuck you, Parker? I just don’t want you to get killed while I can prevent it, all right?” Liz still looked skeptical, so he added, “Where else are you gonna go? Come on…it’s warm, and I’ll let you take the bed, no strings.”

Sighing, Liz found herself nodding. “Fine. But you try anything –

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dollface. I don’t fuck what’s been touched by every other dick in New York,” he said with a sneer.

“Fuck you,” she spat back, but when he turned and headed for the car parked just down the road, she followed. Hell, a warm place to sleep for a night or two sounded good. She was tired of the shelter or flea-bag motels that rented by the hour.

The car wasn’t fancy, but it was a new model; Zan had come a long way from the sewer. Liz sat in the passenger seat and was surprised when her ass began to warm – he’d turned on the heated seat for her. Shifting, awkward in the modest luxury, she tried to think of something to say, anything to break the odd silence that had fallen between them. “You live in Brooklyn?” she asked after almost ten minutes.

He snorted. “The sewer was better than Brooklyn…nah, I live in Queens. Not a huge place or anything, but it works for me.”

“What…what do you do?”

Zan spared her a glance, rolling his eyes. “You talk a lot.”

“It’s something illegal, isn’t it?” she accused.

“This from the hooker,” he shot right back. “If you must know, I tend bar at a few places…not the best job in the world, but it puts Tabasco on my pizza.” Liz didn’t reply; she didn’t have anything to say. She stayed silent as he drove on into the night.

She must have dozed because when she woke up, he was parking in an alley way. “I’m above the pawn shop,” he explained before she could ask. “We’ll go up the fire escape.” Following his lead, she got out of the car and watched as he pulled down the bottom flight of stairs. “It’s the third landing,” he told her and motioned for her to go up.

Liz hesitated. “I’ll kill myself,” she muttered and looked down at her feet. Her heels were a little extravagant – she’d had to practice for weeks before she felt confident walking in them – but climbing up a damn fire escape? There was no way. Leaning against the dirty brick of the building, she unhooked herself from the dangerous shoes.

“You tryin’ to get Tetanus or something?”

She snorted. “I’d rather get Tetanus than break my neck, all right?” Without waiting for a reply, she began the slightly harrowing climb to his apartment window. Once she got to the third landing as safely as she could manage, Zan followed – pulling up the initial flight of stairs with him. Once on the landing, he opened the window that lead into his small living room.

“You coulda done that, ya know,” he said as she climbed through. Liz knew he’d seen her panties as she shimmied through the window; the skirt she picked for tonight left little to the imagination, and it covered less when trying to maneuver around. “Didn’t know prostitutes bothered with underwear anymore, Parker,” he hooted as he followed her inside. She was waiting for him as he righted himself, angry as a hornet.

“You’re a pig, you know that?” she snapped. “Just because I suck dick to bring in some cash doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that…I’m still a –

Stepping into her personal space, he growled, “You say you’re a lady, and I’ll slap the shit out of you. There ain’t nothing ladylike about you, and yes, given you’re profession, I’ll speak to you anyway I damn well please.” He pushed passed her and turned on the only lamp in the small room. Liz looked around, trying to blink back tears, and gave everything a look. It wasn’t big, but it was clean, and the furniture looked new. “I’ll find you something to sleep in,” he grunted and disappeared through a door that she knew led to a bedroom, probably the bedroom given the size of the apartment.

He was back in an instant. “I can sleep out here, Zan –

“Sleep on the bed,” he interrupted. “I’m good out here…not much of a sleeper these days anyway.” He gave her a little push towards the open door. “Go.”

“We need to talk –

He interrupted her again. “In the morning, Parker.” Liz relented and entered the darkened bedroom. Flipping on the light, she found a tee shirt and a pair of his boxers folded on the neatly made bed. There was a mirror over his dresser, and she caught a look at herself and cringed.

Her makeup was heavy on the eyes and lips – which was smeared thanks to her only trick of the night – and her clothes were short and tight and left little to be discovered. The leather skirt was a micro-mini and left much of her bronze legs bare to the eye, and her crop top was cut so that most of her breast was hanging in the air. She suddenly felt fiercely ashamed of herself – a feeling she’d given up a long time ago when she decided that survival was more important than morality. Stripping off the offensive clothes, she ran to the small en-suite bathroom and scrubbed her face clean of the makeup.

Only when she felt clean did she slip into Zan’s clothes; she sighed as the cloth caressed her skin. All-cotton garments were a thing of the past for her. The simple – and far too large – tee shirt was like heaven next to the binding, revealing thing she’d had on before. Pulling back the comforter on the queen-sized bed, she climbed in and sighed again. Clean sheets that smelled like…like Max…no, like Zan. She snuggled into the pillows and was out before five minutes passed.

* * * *

Liz woke to the rich smell of coffee. Sitting up, she groaned and stretched her muscles; that had been the best night sleep she’d had since Max’s death. She tried not to let the thought cross her head as to why – she was done comparing her dead love to the man in the other room. Zan wasn’t a thing like Max. They might share a face, but Max would’ve never spoken to her the way Zan did last night. He wouldn’t agree with what she was doing either, but he would never threaten her over it.

Crawling out of the bed, she braced herself as she opened the door. She didn’t know what to expect from him; the man changed his moods twelve different times last night alone, she didn’t want to walk into a complete ambush. “Morning, Parker,” he called from the kitchen. Liz followed the smell of coffee and found the little nook of a room easily. It was cute, homier than she would have expected.

“Morning,” she said quietly. Two steaming cups of coffee were sitting on the counter. “One of those for me?”

He chuckled. “We’re the only ones here, Parker.” Taking that as an affirmative, she grabbed one of the mugs and took a sip. She groaned aloud as liquid heaven warmed her very core. “I see you approve.”

She nodded. “There is nothing better than coffee,” she muttered and tottered back into the living room to settle on his plush-looking couch. A pillow and blanket were neatly folded on one end. “When did you get up?” Looking at the time, she saw it was only nine o’clock.

“Six thirty,” he replied nonchalantly. He sat beside her, his own mug still steaming and untouched. “I told you I don’t sleep much.” Liz nodded, sipping from her mug, and silence fell between them. She didn’t feel quite as strained as she did last night to make conversation; she actually enjoyed the quiet, while it lasted. “You said we needed to talk,” he reminded after ten minutes or so, “so talk.”

Liz allowed herself a few more seconds to finish off her morning cup before turning to him. “How long had you been following me before last night?”

Zan went rigid; his face went from relaxed to guarded. “Couple weeks,” he grunted. “It…it took me awhile to figure out it was really you.” He looked at her, and Liz felt like he was trying to crawl into her very soul. “You don’t look how I imagined you.”

She snorted. “I get it, I’m a whore…thanks for saying it again.”

“No,” he protested, “no, Parker, you’re not the girl I’d dreamed about.” He gave her an appreciative once over. “You’re all woman now.”

“But not a lady.” She couldn’t help it; she was going to pick at the wound he’d made last night.

Zan didn’t look apologetic. “You’re not,” he said simply. She sighed, ready to snap back at him, but when she looked at him, she was stuck. His eyes pinned her to the couch; it was as if he was trying to crawl inside her soul. “But I never said I was any sort of gentleman.”

“Why have you been following me?” she blurted out.

Strong arms suddenly were pinning her against the side of the couch; those eyes filled her vision. “I told you before,” he growled, “you’re hauntin’ me, Parker.” His eyes flicked away from hers, and she could tell he was staring at her lips – they were suddenly burning for lack of contact.

“Zan –

Rough lips pressed against her; she gasped, and his tongue pushed into her mouth, searching out hers and pulling into a play for dominance with his. Her jaw ached with the pressure he was exerting against her with his mouth. After a few pleasurably torturous minutes, he slipped away and moved to the other end of the couch. She remained leaning against the side where he’d pinned her, panting.

“You…you said you d-didn’t want to fuck me,” Liz said softly after a few moments.

Another moment of silence passed. “I lied.” He sighed. “I…I wasn’t gonna do that, Parker...I wasn’t gonna make a move…because you’re right…you might come to my bed, but you’d be coming to Max….and I can’t play Max Evans for you…”

She chuckled softly, getting his attention. He turned to her, eyes blazing. “I’m sorry,” she giggled, “it’s just funny.”

“What? I’m sorta…bearing my soul here, and you laugh…yeah, real fucking funny…” he grunted.

Liz giggled again; the reaction to her laughter, anger instead of hurt, amused her more than she could understand. “I decided this morning,” she explained, “that I was through comparing you to Max. Just after a few hours together I realized that you could never be him.” She rolled her eyes. “Max Evans was too nice.”

He snorted. “He was a cornball…”

“And you’re no gentleman,” Liz reminded softly. They stared at each for a split second before she was in his arms again, straddling his lap. His lips branded her as he went from her mouth to her throat, kissing and sucking and biting. She moaned in his ear. “You have no idea…”

His hand slid into the boxers she’d borrowed; he groaned when he found her lack of underwear. A finger slid against the wetness that had been pooling between her thighs since that first fiery kiss. “I think I do,” he panted back and slid one, thick finger inside her. “So…so wet,” he grunted as he worked his finger inside her, fucking her as hard as he could in that position. The noises she made spurred him on, and when she came a few minutes later, after a few well-timed swipes at her clit with his roughened thumb, she cried his name into the air.

Breathing erratically, she rested against him and tried to relearn how to breathe normally. His hand slipped out the boxers and wrapped around her hips, pulling her against him – she could feel how excited he was, how hard. She shuddered and ground her hips against him. “Someone’s excited,” she teased hoarsely.

Zan chuckled. “No kidding, Parker…” They stared at each other for a few moments, just studying the other. He pulled her into another kiss and pushed his hips into her again; there was no doubt in her mind of his intentions. “I’m not gonna have to pay you, right?”

She went cold, pushing away from him to stand. “You just had to ruin it, didn’t you!?”

“Liz –

But she’d already slammed the door of his bedroom.


So tell me what you think! Where will it go? Only time will tell!! R and R por favor!