Buddha Boy, Part 1
Title: Buddha Boy
Author: k4writer02
Recipient: petitchouette
Fandom: Roswell
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers (if applicable): Season 2 Goes wildly AU from Season 2.03, Surprise but uses stuff from "The Hybrid Chronicles"
Summary: The world is ending in Roswell. The Skins are in power, Kyle’s imprisoned, and Michael and Maria make brief appearances as resistance leaders.
The first thing Kyle Valenti chooses to do on the day he finds the world has ended is eat a sandwich. He does a few things before that, but that’s the first one he chooses. The other things he chooses to do that day include killing an alien dictator and breaking out of jail with hybrid clones of his ex-housemate. But you know, that comes after the sandwich.
Eating may seem like a weird response, but it’s a really good sandwich. Ham and swiss and coleslaw on a pretzel roll. The bread, meat and cheese toasted and hot and delicious, the coleslaw a cool, crunchy contrast. Mouthwatering. Accompanied by kettle-cooked potato chips and Crashdown Cherry coke-he thinks Liz’s dad may have slipped something addictive into the cherry syrup at the Crashdown, because it doesn’t taste the same anywhere else. When it all arrives-the sandwich, chips, and beverage-it’s better than he ever remembered it. And in the last few weeks, he’s had time to think about food.
He’s never been this hungry before. But he’s never been locked in a cell before either. To pass the time, he does pushups and thinks about food. Sometimes he meditates.
He never masturbates; he’s too aware of being watched, and he’s not an exhibitionist under these circumstances.
He redirects his sex drive into other appetites.
He’s thought about nice, thick porterhouse steaks, rare in the middle, with lots of A1 and not a drop of Tabasco in sight. And heaping helpings of three-cheese potato gratin, with bacon. And Amy’s pies. And Crashdown coke floats.
And beer. No matter how hard he tries, he can never quite remember the taste of beer, even though he’d swilled a LOT of it before…well, before.
Before he was shot. Before Max healed him. Before Buddha. Before Tess moved in. Before she disappeared on the night of Isabel’s surprise party.
Before Vanessa Whitaker called in the “National Guard” and imposed quarantine on Roswell. Before communications with the outside world were cut. Before his father was assassinated, perpetrator unknown. Before aliens who shed skins like snakes arrived offering to free the people of Roswell from military rule in exchange for three citizens-two brunette males, one blond female-and some kind of grain. Before the town turned over Kyle Valenti, Grant Sorenson, and Courtney Banks to the Skin shedders.
Before he was locked in a cell where the only “food” came in the form of a cube of vitamins.
Yeah. Before.
So when he’s pulled out of his cell by masked men, brought into a white room, and shackled to a chair facing two versions of Tess, he starts to realize just how serious the situation is. He knows it’s not a concussion that’s making him see two girls where there’s actually one, because they’re alike and different at the same time. One has short purple hair and bloody cuts that look like piercings were ripped out of her face. Her eyes are wide open, and frightened. The other has bruises so bad her left eye is swollen shut. Her hair is the color of butter and corn. They are dressed identically in paper hospital gowns. White, naturally.
Neither girl meets his eyes. The blonde probably couldn’t if she wanted to; the purple-haired one seems too frightened.
That’s the moment he knows the world’s pretty much ended, and he was on the losing side. He’s not sure who the skin shedders are, but he does know Tess and the Fantastic Four (Royal Four, whatever) were Roswell-and Earth’s-last chance. And he’s not sure why there are two Tesses here, but he is sure it’s a bad sign. Somehow, the pod squad missed the meaning of Nasedo’s warning; they lost the war without even fighting a battle.
Max, Michael, and Isabel failed. They left town the day after Tess vanished-up till now, he’s sort of been hoping that Tess was with them. Like Maria-he hopes to God she went with her Spaceboy, because she hasn’t been seen since Isabel’s birthday either. And last he saw her, Liz Parker was catatonic, unable to explain why Max had abandoned her, where her best friend was, or why any of this was happening.
Failing escape with her pod-pals, he’d held onto some hope that Tess would get away from the men who had taken her. Because, yeah, it was a pain to have her and her girly things around all of the time, but he hadn’t wanted anything bad to happen to her.
He’s not sure what’s going on-all this light is overwhelming after his dim cell. That’s probably the point.
He’s pretty sure they’re being watched. So he doesn’t say anything meaningful. He cracks a nervous joke because the twins are the first people he’s seen in a while and he wants them to look at him, even if they are aliens, “So, Tess, who’s your friend?”
The girls turn their heads toward each other, but not him. “Sister.” The purple one (not the one he used to live with) answers. It sounds like she’s choking on the word. Maybe it’s because her tongue is bleeding.
That’s when a kid enters the room. He looks to be about fourteen. He’s skinny, like Whitman, and Kyle briefly wonders if he’s been on the receiving end of too many swirlies. It would explain the I-hate-the-world attitude vibrating off of him. As if he knows what Kyle’s thinking, the boy sneers more. “Glad to see you’re getting acquainted.” His voice doesn’t break, though Kyle finds himself hoping it will. “Ava, you always were a consummate hostess.”
The girls look back at the floor. There’s a pause.
In the silence, Kyle’s stomach grumbles. “So,” He comments, “We’re in a white room. Where are the black curtains? Eric Clapton would be disappointed.”
“Do you even know who you’re talking about?” The boy rolls his eyes, clearly dismissing Kyle as stupid. Good. When you’re being held prisoner by aliens, it’s usually a good thing to be underestimated.
Kyle’s stomach growls again, louder. “Got any food?” He asks, feigning hope. The protein/vitamin cubes have all the nutrients he needs, but his stomach constantly feels empty. And he really misses eating.
He asks because 1) he’s hungry 2) it’s now obvious to everyone he’s really hungry and 3) anything he can do to seem like a dumb jock seems like a good move.
The boy laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound. Neither girl looks up, but Kyle notices that the blonde (Tess) is tensing up, like she’s holding something in. Purple-Tess-Ava-bows her head.
The kid says, “Just tell us what you want.”
Kyle takes him up on it. He describes in loving, lavish detail, the perfect sandwich. He recounts his memory of the perfect pretzel roll, its crust and texture and temperature. He details the deli ham he wants-wet-cured first, then smoked, and sliced thin. But the sandwich shouldn’t skimp on the quantity, just because it’s sliced so thin. Then, domestic Swiss, two or three thick slices. He’s not picky, he tries to say graciously. He describes the coleslaw he likes-the one at Albertsons, with the little caraway seeds in it. He gives specific directions about the order of assembly-Slice the roll, layer meat on both sides, add cheese, toast, then add coleslaw. He goes on for at least ten minutes. When he finishes, he can tell he has irritated the kid.
Damn alien probably doesn’t have taste buds.
Good.
“Shut up.” The boy bites the words out. He’s fuming.
Kyle hopes he still gets the sandwich.
They sit in silence for a while. The boy leaves.
The purple-haired girl sneaks a glance at him. The white room blinks out for a second, while she pulls a mindwarp, just long enough to tell him in the thickest New York accent he’s ever heard, “I’d’a axed for pastrami on rye. With a pickle.”
Which, you know, he can respect.
And Kyle does get the sandwich. Eventually.
When he finishes his food, and the cherry coke that came with it, he settles back in his chair, as comfortably as anyone can while he is handcuffed and chained to a chair. “Well, I’ll give you this. When I get out of here, I’ll have to start making T-shirts to advertise that alien abductors make good sandwiches. I don’t know if there’ll be much of a market, but I know someone who’s always up for distributing stuff with lots of local color.”
He sees the corner of Tess’s mouth twitch, though she doesn’t actually bare her teeth in a smile.
“You’ve been fed. Now tell me what you want.”
“A million dollars and my planet would be nice.” Kyle is impressing himself with how cool he’s being. He kind of wants to huddle in a corner and rock, but he might be the only human left. He doesn’t know.
The boy slaps the table, like maybe he’s been watching NYPD Blue reruns for tips on how to interrogate humans or something.
“Where is the granilith?” He snarls.
“The what?” Kyle isn’t even feigning ignorance.
The girls are even more careful about not looking at him.
“We know it’s here. Vanessa led us to it; we can feel its energy.” The boy sounds desperate.
“Who’s Vanessa?” Kyle asks. He has actually forgotten that that was Congresswoman Whitaker’s first name.
He flies backward then. His legs are still shackled to the chair, so he lands in an awkward heap, with his breath knocked out of him.
The kid kicks him, and Kyle’s endured enough sports injuries to realize that’s going to leave a mark. The boy starts pacing, and ranting. Kyle watches the moving feet, trying to think of a plan that isn’t stupid.
The alien boy explains, “We tested your blood; yours and Sorenson’s. You are different than the mammals who populate this world, but you’re not alike. You’re not even like those hybrids-,” He spits in the general direction of the girls at the table.
Kyle’s kind of glad he isn’t capable of answering. Though when the gist of the boy’s rant gets through, all Kyle can think is “Shit.” He must be changed from the healing.
The boy’s words filter in while Kyle tries to breathe again, “Sorenson’s blood yielded traces of gandarium; he’s nothing in himself. You should be happy to hear we’ve contained it. For now.”
Kyle wheezes. But if Sorenson is different too… Was gandarium kind of like the alien version of an STD? Had he picked it up from Isabel? “Hnh,” Kyle grunts.
The kid picked Kyle’s head up off the floor and spoke the words very clearly. “Listen. I’ve been in this body for fifty something years. You are going to tell me where the granilith is so I can get off this rock and into my own body. Cooperate, and I won’t release the gandarium to exterminate your race. Resist and you’ll find yourself a test subject, like your friend.”
As if that were a cue, a video begins playing on the ceiling. Kyle finds himself kind of impressed by how disorienting it is to be flat on his back and watching TV. Then, his brain processes what he’s seeing. He feels sick.
Liz Parker is weeping on the screen. He can’t see what’s hurting her, or hear the words they’re saying to her, but he can hear her. He doesn’t love Liz Parker; sometimes liking her is a stretch. But seeing her suffer is painful.
Kyle wonders if Liz’s pain has also been chosen for Tess’s benefit.
The image flips to Grant Sorenson, who is strapped to a gurney, screaming. Machines whose purpose Kyle couldn’t even begin to guess are attached all over his body-how very Matrix. Protruding from his chest are the kind of nasty blue crystals that are featured on kid’s home science/crystal growing kits. He’s writhing and screaming, claiming innocence, begging for death.
The pictures cut off. “Tell me what you know.” The boy demands.
Kyle recites the three universal truths of Buddhism, “Nothing is lost in the universe. Everything is change. Every action has an equal, but opposite reaction.” That last one sounds more like science class than religion, but it makes his point.
This time, he’s more ready for the kick.
“Idiot.” His tormentor seethes. “Do you, or do you not understand that I have the power to crush you? To end your miserable existence?”
“I get that.” Kyle breathes through the pain. “But it’s two of the four noble truths. There is suffering, common to all. And we are the cause of our suffering.”
The boy blew a Bronx cheer. Still prone on the floor, Kyle couldn’t guess what his fellow prisoners were thinking. But he could see their feet and ankles-obviously they’d been broken and not allowed to heal, probably to prevent escapes.
“Ava one.” The boy is clearly addressing the girls. “Ava two. Reason with the human. You’ve seen what happens when they resist.”
Tess’s smoky honey voice sounds strange, like there’s gauze in her mouth. “Nick-lath, he dudn’t know an-thing.”
“How stupid do you think I am?” The boy-Nicholas-makes a gesture and suddenly, Tess is also on the floor. Kyle turns his face to look at her. She doesn’t have handcuffs, but her mobility is compromised by those busted ankles. “You were living with him, Ava. He must mean something to you. And I remember you. You weren’t like your sister-in-law at all. Family first, that was you. Of course, since you were nothing but a jumped-up domestic, I guess that made sense.”
Nicholas’s feet are turned away from the prisoners on the floor, and Tess makes a frantic gesture at Kyle. She seems to be encouraging him to keep talking. Or squirming, perhaps.
“I wouldn’t have minded a go with you.” Nicholas drawls. “For all your bad breeding, you were a pretty little thing. And your Zan always looked rather smug after a night in your bed. So you must’ve been good for something.”
The pacing pauses, and Kyle tenses. But then Nicholas resumes his monologue, “Or maybe not. You never did present him with an heir.”
“You used that one already.” Miss New York informs him. “You oughta think up some better insults.”
That leads to Ava joining them on the floor. Nicholas approaches Kyle again. “See what they’ve become?” He sneers. “Once upon a time, people lived and died by this woman’s whim. Now she grovels on the floor, like the animal she is. She’s polluted by flesh. Human weakness.”
Finally, Nicholas is in range. Kyle trips him with a sweep of his (still chained) legs, that motion possible because one chair leg cracked in the tumble. He pounces on the kid. Nicholas is flat on his back, with Kyle straddling his stomach. He uses the chain of his handcuffs to cut into the boy’s throat. It’s violent, vicious, and ugly-so far from the dumb jock who ate a sandwich and the passive prisoner who quoted Buddhist teaching that Kyle’s own head is spinning.
Like a dream, he notices Tess squinting her eyes shut, and he guesses she’s mindwarping the observers.
Ava grabs the chair leg that broke off. “The side.”
“Was it you?” Kyle hisses to Nicholas, absorbed in getting his own revenge. “Are you the one who killed my father?”
“No time.” Ava says. She sounds sympathetic, which he didn’t expect.
Nicholas is kicking and struggling wildly, but Ava’s put some kind of shield around Kyle, because the feared alien powers aren’t hurting him. Kyle inches up the body, trying to make Nicholas’s side accessible for her to bash it, while refusing to release his chokehold.
Ava tries, but her force is totally insufficient. Her muscles are weak, and she can’t stand up to get the leverage she needs.
“Hurry.” Tess begs.
“Hold him.” Kyle orders.
Ava frees Kyle from the cuffs, and then twitches them harder against Nicholas. Kyle stands, grabs the chair, and slams it into Nicholas’s side-the same place the alien kept kicking him, as a matter of fact. Nicholas drops into dust, and Ava’s hands slam into the floor. He hears a crack-probably her wrist, if the pain on her face is a reliable indicator.
She crawls to Tess on her knees, and puts her hands to Tess’s cheeks. They touch foreheads and close their eyes. It’s oddly intimate. In another lifetime, he’d have found the sight erotic-the kinds of magazines that lived under his bed made lots of money on photos of identical women embracing.
But right now, he doesn’t even look. He’s shaking a little, and his stomach, so long empty, is threatening to reject the sandwich, coke, and chips. It hardly matters that Nicholas was evil or that he wasn’t even human. Kyle is a murderer, a cold blooded killer. Serious bad karma.
After he pulls himself together a bit more, he watches the bruises shrinking on Tess’s face. Ava seems to be drawing strength too-her wrist isn’t at such an ugly angle.
“What now?” He asks.
“We escape.” Tess says, and her voice is stronger. She’s still mindwarping somebody though-he can see she’s only half with them. “We gather what’s left of Roswell’s people and form a resistance. We fight them.”
“Not to point out the obvious, but that strategy didn’t work out so well for you last time.” Kyle feels perversely dissatisfied with this solution. “And my feet are still chained.”
Tess is sweating with the strain of the mindwarp. Ava frees his legs.
“Last time, we didn’t fight.” Ava says. “The other three fought, but we died in the first battle. Then we woke up on this planet.”
“Speaking of the other three. Or six…” He leaves the tentative question hanging.
“Dead.” Tess says in a clipped tone, “I think.” He can’t tell if she’s sad or angry, “I know Isabel pulled a kamikaze. Max was captured trying to get her body. He died during a session like this.”
“They made us watch.” Ava supplies.
Kyle wonders how entangled their identities are. They keep saying “we.” It’s getting creepy.
“We don’t know about Michael.” Tess continues briskly, like she didn’t watch the love of two lives die in front of her. “Courtney said he’s gathering troops out there. But, you know, she followed him here from another planet, so you can’t always sort out what she wants to be true from what is true.”
“Courtney’s an alien?” Kyle stared.
“A rebel skin.” Tess confirmed. “Luckily, she doesn’t know anything compromising.”
“Maybe not so lucky for her.” He says, remembering Nicholas’s kicks. “What about yours?” He looks at Ava, easily accepting that if there are two Tesses, there are probably two Maxes, and so forth and so on.
“Lonnie joined them. And where Lonnie goes, Rath follows.” Ava explains, in a matter-of-fact tone. Fear later; planning now. “They locked Zan up. We haven’t seen him in six days. Don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“So, we free him and he helps us.” Kyle says. “Oh. And what was that about galadrium stuff that’s sticking out of Grant?”
“Gandarium.” Tess corrects. They’re healing each others’ ankles now, so they’ll be able to walk or run out of here.
“What is it?” He presses.
“What made us.” Ava answered.
Tess elaborates, “It fused our alien and human cells so we can exist. The skins don’t know how to use it. They’re dying; they want to find out what we did to make it work for us. But they really want a magic cure and a trip home.”
“The grain thing.”
“The less you know about that the better.”
“So why’s this blue stuff so scary?”
“Its job is to add alien matter to human DNA. But not every human is set up for that, and it kills them.”
“Would it kill you?” He asks, concerned.
“Buddha Boy, you better pray we don’t find out.” Tess suggests.
“I don’t think praying really works like that in Buddhism.” Kyle says. He watches the girls stretch their feet and ankles. They stand up together, testing their healed joints. They hobble at first, like newborn foals finding their feet for the first time. They become more confident, walking around the room more quickly.
“Shouldn’t we try to kill this gandarium, then?” Kyle asks.
Tess shakes her head, “It’s too late-they dumped some in the water. It’s just a matter of time now, till we find out if it’s as bad as we think.”
“Great.” Kyle fumes. “Great.” He pauses. “What is she doing?” He asks Tess, while pointing at Ava.
“She’s searching for Zan. She hears him in her head, sometimes.” Tess explains. “If he’s alive, we try to grab him, and then we run. We stick together if we can, but no matter what, we make sure that one of us lives to tell this story to the resistance.”
“Agreed.” Ava says, though she’s still frowning, making faces.
Both of them look at Kyle. “I don’t really want to leave you.” He protests.
“Do we really have to explain this situation to you?” Tess sounds incredulous.
“Fine, I agree. I’ll leave you to die and then I’ll go running around the desert in the dark.”
“Stop being so melodramatic.” Tess rolls her eyes.
“It’s the end of the goddamned world. I think that calls for melodrama.” Kyle sniped.
Ava comes out of the trance-like state. “He’s not here.” She concludes. “They moved him to New York. Khivar called a summit. He wants the planets to agree to our annihilation for our carelessness in letting gandarium infect Earth, since now it has to be quarantined.”
Tess raises an eyebrow. “How pissed is Lonnie? All that and she’s still stuck here.”
Ava nods reluctantly. “What do we do about the host?”
“Nicholas is dead.” Kyle says, because he can’t think of another host.
“She means Grant.” Tess translates.
“It’d be best to kill him.” Ava says. “I know he’s your friend, but we can’t get that thing out of him and have him live. And if we kill what’s in him, it might kill some of what’s out there trying to kill us.”
Kyle stares. He’s having enough trouble with killing an enemy. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to kill Grant Sorenson. But on the other hand, if he was the guy strapped to a gurney and alien machines with Kryptonite growing in his chest cavity, he’d rather be put out of his misery than learn from that suffering.
Maybe he isn’t a very good Buddhist after all.
“I won’t do it, but I won’t stop you.” He says, and his voice sounds like his father’s-like a man’s.
Part 2