Courtnay: Oh Michael did you make that cake for me?
Michael: No, you're dead. And of course, this cake is for my sweetcakes, Liz.
Michael: Due to some troublesome continuity problems, I'm not really sure how old she is, or when her birthday is, but it hasn't been her birthday for awhile, so it must be coming up soon.
(Later)
Michael: Liz, I have something for you.
Liz: What is it Michael?
Michael: Here's a hint: It's sweet, it involves sticky frosting, something we can enjoy together...
Liz: Michael! This is a family thread!
Michael: What? Look! It's a-
Michael: Hey! Who took my cake?
Max: Hmm.. Who would leave a perfectly good cake just lying around, completely unattended? Well, as long as no one's looking, I think I'll just schlep this on over to the GZ thread...
Will Michael ever find the cake? If so, will it ever get eaten, or will he and Liz just take turns licking the frosting off each other's fingers? How old are the characters on Roswell, anyways? Has Courtnay returned from the dead?
Max:- Well, Micheal, if you must know I'm spying on my dream girl
Micheal: Oh Buddah not this again! Look Max, Liz and I are together. In every way a hybrid and a woman can be. We do the horizontal hokey pokey on the guttercouch. Get what I'm saying?
Max: Thanks for the mental picture, Micheal, but I was talking about Whiteotter. She's a stone fox... or otter as the case may be.
Another heatwave enveloped Roswell, NM. Clothed only in a thin tank top and boxers, Liz had tossed and turned all night, too hot and sticky to sleep. She was wide awake when Michael ascended her balcony at 5:30am.
If he was at all surprised to find her alert at such an early hour, he didn't show it. He just looked at her from toes to nose with a little half smile on his face.
M: Morning sunshine.
L: Michael! What are you doing here? I didn't think you ever got out of bed before noon.
M: Funny, Parker. Now get dressed. I've got something to show you.
Curious, Liz threw a pair of jeans over her boxers and allowed Michael to pull her through the window onto the balcony. Without any further explanation, he led her through the dark and silent streets of a sleeping Roswell. She asked continuously, but he refused to give her any clue about what it was he just had to show her.
When they finally arrived at the door to his apartment Michael gazed down at her. He leaned in close to her ear.
M: Close your eyes, Liz.
He pulled back and Liz looked at him for a moment. Then, with a little smile and a shiver of anticipation, she did as he asked. Michael moved her up to the door. She could feel his warm breath on her neck as he reached around her to unlock it.
M: Don't peek.
L: I promise.
She heard the creak of the door opening, and then she was hit by a blast of polar air as Michael led her into his apartment. She kept her eyes tightly shut as he closed the door behind them, flipped on the light, and walked her to the middle of the floor.
M: Ok. You can open them now.
L: Oh, my...Michael...
The entire apartment was transformed into a winter wonderland. Michael had painted the most realistic murals of snowy woodlands on all his walls: a cabin on this side, a group of deer on that, trees and snow everywhere. Somehow he'd also made the temperature in his small apartment drop down to that of an icebox.
But the most amazing thing of all was the snow. It covered everything: the floor, the kitchen counters, his tv. Liz had never seen anything as fine or as white as this.
She leaned down to scoop some up from the floor. The pristine powder coated her fingertips and seemed to glow in the dim light of the apartment. She brought her fingers to her lips, the tip of her small pink tongue sticking out to taste. Michael was gently placing a large blanket over her goosebump-covered shoulders as she turned to him with large brown eyes.
L: It's real!
M: Of course.
He steered her around his small coffee table, which had a space heater on it, to sit on his slightly ratty couch. He made sure she was well bundled in the blanket before standing up. He looked down at her with his patented half smile.
M: Don't move. I'll be right back.
Liz could only manage an awed nod as Michael turned toward the kitchen. When he returned it was with two steaming mugs, a small bottle of Tabasco, and a box wrapped in comic paper. He set the mugs and bottle on the coffee table and then sat down next to Liz.
M: This is for you.
L: Michael, you shouldn’t have bought me anything. What you made here, this room, is enough of a gift.
M: Just…just open it.
Liz looked into Michael's eyes for a moment and then glanced down at the box in her hands. Then, with a wicked grin on her face and without any ceremony whatsoever, she began tearing the paper from the box. Michael looked on with an amused expression.
M: I should have known you were a wrapping ripper. It's always the quiet ones.
Liz just giggled as she pried the box open. Inside was a pair of wool mittens and a wool hat, the kind with that little ball on top. Beneath it all she found the ugliest wool sweater she'd ever laid eyes on. She glanced up at Michael. He shrugged, but his eyes twinkled.
M: I just figured you wouldn't want to freeze your ass off while you were here.
Tears starting to well up in her eyes, Liz jumped on Michael and enveloped him in the tightest hug he'd ever been given. She buried her face in his neck.
L: I love it. I love it all.
After a moment she pulled back, only to find Michael smiling. A real smile. With teeth and everything.
Liz just grinned back at him as she pulled on her new wool sweater, little hat, and mittens. Then she raised her arm to wrap Michael up in the blanket with her. He reached out just far enough to grab their hot chocolate -- sprinkling his liberally with Tabasco, of course -- before sinking back into the couch to snuggle with his girl.
Liz rested her head on his shoulder as his arm circled back around her waist. He kissed the top of her head.
