Chapter Text
December 19, 1958
“Michael, you’re going to be late!” Louise called up into the barn’s clean hayloft.
“I know, Ma, I know!” Michael yelled as he scrambled to put the last of his things into his duffle bag, powers fritzy he was so excited; he nearly drove his drafting pencil straight through the side of the bag before he took a deep breath and calmed down.
Michael looked around the loft, which he’d turned into his bedroom about six months after the night his family had sheltered Alex Manes up here. Max had shown Elizabeth Ortecho his Mark that night, and she’d shown him hers, and together they’d discovered her atomic clock had the flicker of starlight behind it and had been on 00:00 since the day they'd met at the playground. That had been great for Max’s love life, but his constant attendance at Arturo’s dinners had made sharing a room with him a difficult prospect, so Michael and Walt had spent a long weekend converting the hayloft into a new apartment for them to share.
But they’d kept the ladder; Michael said it was because it was efficient, but really, it was because every time he overtopped the platform, he remembered seeing Alex Manes’s sweet smile, looking down at their two sleeping bags. And that was as good a reason as any for architectural choices in his book.
He secured his Mark cover, a dark blue made from one of Isobel’s old dresses, slung his bag over his shoulder, and hopped down off the top of the hayloft, gently gliding to the floor.
His brothers and sisters, mothers and father, were all standing out by Arturo’s old turquoise truck -- or, Michael’s new truck, since he’d bought it off Arturo a week ago, using wages gained from three years of selling his own crop of wheat at market.
He walked down the line, getting warm, tight, silly, happy, sad, but always tight hugs from every single one of his Mark mates. Except maybe one, said the voice of hope in his heart. Except maybe one. He twirled Patricia around, accepted Isobel’s kiss on his cheek, and loaded himself and his bag into the car.
“See you in two week,” His Mom called and he grinned at her as he shut the door.
He had a five hour drive ahead of him, since the interstate got him nowhere near where Alex was staying now, and plenty of time to think about what he’d do when he got there.
In the three years Alex had been living with Harrison in the Dinétah, he’d managed to visit every month, sometimes -- when he had the money for gas -- every weekend. He’d brought Alex his mail and guitar and new comics subscriptions and books and fresh fruits and veggies from his back garden. They’d worked long weekends together, studied together, gone hiking, explored pow wows, cooked, and eaten. They’d made time while camping, hands and mouths warm and close, bodies singing with it.
They hadn’t shared their Marks yet. Alex hadn’t offered, and neither had Michael; even when everything else was bare, there was something holding them back. Michael suspected some of it was Alex’s fear -- never far in those first few years -- that Harlan would find a way to drag him back away from the Dinétah, especially after he’d gotten Greg free of him a year after the night of the dance. The sense that he was owned by his father pervaded a lot of the stories he’d shared with Michael, in the spare quiet of a campsite or over the hard labor of farm work. He knew Alex had shown his birth family his Mark, his mother and father, his aunts and uncles, grandparents, and cousins. He knew because Alex had told him, sobbing into Michael’s neck in relief, how much it had meant that his had matched theirs, at least in part. But even then, even as Michael had held him, hummed tunelessly until he found fitful and finally deep sleep, they hadn’t taken off their covers. For Michael, it was so much bigger than his Mark. When he shared it, he wanted to share everything. And after three years, his family had finally agreed he could, once Alex was fully free of Harlan.
Today Alex’s 18th birthday today. No one, anywhere in the world, would give Harlan Manes legal control over Alex’s life ever again after tonight.
And so tonight was the night that Michael would show him. Would see, if this was a connection blessed by the Mark, or one made in spite of it. No matter the outcome, no matter what happened, he’d still love Alex. And he knew Alex would still love him, even if they hadn’t said the words yet.
But first, he had to get to the Dinétah.
--
Alex had gotten one of his cousins to lend him his small house, tucked up against the windbreak of a mesa, for two weeks, and that's where Michael met him. Michael reached it just as the sun was setting behind the table’s edge, sky a thousand, thousand colors of purple and red and orange and yellow, all flaming and cooling and burning and easing their way into the evening dark. As he pulled up, he saw a man step through the front door.
His hair was longer than it had ever been at New Mexico Military Institute; his shoulders broader for every year he worked on the land; his hands harder. But his smile was bigger too, his posture more relaxed, his body and mind easy. Harrison and his family had taught him in three years what Harlan and Barbara had tried to hide from him his entire life: that he was loved, that he could feel safe, that he was good just the way he was. Michael liked to think he’d helped with that last one, lavishing all the love and praise and affection he had to give on the man every chance he could get.
And now he got to see it reflected back. Not in the eyes of a cautious boy, but a growing, confident man, a man becoming sure on his land, a man more secure in his family every day, and a man who was finally, finally, finally free.
Michael realized he’d been staring through the windshield at Alex’s smiling face, the full glory of a Dinétah sunset behind him. He shoved his way out of the truck, stumbling as he dragged his bag behind him. Alex laughed, jogging the last few feet to meet him, taking his bag from his arms and gently setting it on the ground.
Then Alex's warm hands were on either side of Michael’s face, fingers easing into his curls and pulling him close, resting their foreheads together for a long moment before pressing a kiss to his lips. Michael returned it, tucking himself tightly against Alex’s body, opening for him as sweetly as he knew how, welcoming Alex inside.
Michael pulled back, heart beating so fast he could barely speak, but he forced the words out: “I brought you a present.”
And Alex grinned at him and looking around. Michael shook his head a little, and brought his Marked arm between them. Holding Alex’s eyes carefully, he said: “I don’t care if we’re Mark mates, I don’t care if your Mark is a Victorian timepiece or a nuclear countdown or a tree growing and branching with the seasons. Because I love you. I love being with you, however that works for us in the future. And I want you to know, I want you to know this, and some other things about my family. About who we are.”
He took a deep breath, and twitched his fingers, using his powers to unwrap his cover. Alex gasped, then slowly, slipped his fingers under each new fold in the cover as Michael unwrapped it, pressing his hands against the tug of Michael’s unseen power.
“How?” Alex asked, pressing his hand over Michael’s Mark without looking, the tender skin coming alive under his touch.
Michael swallowed: “The Event. It -- it was me. Us. It was my people, arriving, from,” and he pointed his free hand up towards the sky where the first few stars were blushing to life on the far side of the horizon.
Michael worked his jaw: “We have different powers. And there -- there was a man. An evil man, who did one good thing in his entire, misbegotten and misbegetting life. He was on our ship, stowed away, crashed us, killed so many people, tried to kill my Mom and Ma, Max and Isobel and I; but Mom, she stopped him. She didn’t know if she could. But after the Event, after spending a year seeing so much of the world change for the better, more people getting to love more publicly than ever in Earth’s history, she knew she had to try. She forced him to -- to wipe the minds of men who found the crash. Your Dad, Valenti, everyone. He’s why Tripp doesn’t remember my Mom, he’s the reason we could all grow up safe and happy and whole as a family. And, on our planet, where we’re from, we were so used to everyone being Marked, we had no idea our very presence would introduce it, that when our ship broke up, we’d impose that on a society that didn’t have it.”
He gave Alex a small smile: “And our Marks, they all matched. Everyone in my family, we’ve all got the same ones. No countdowns, no leaves falling, the same thing; the sky, the way it looked, the instant we landed, got stranded, on earth. The clear night sky above Roswell on June 14th, 1947.”
And then Alex -- he held up his Marked arm.
“Unwrap mine,” Alex said, voice clear, eyes intent.
Michael realized he was wearing the same Mark cover he’d left the Bronson household with that pre-dawn morning, jittery and excited and worried about the prospect of being free. The denim was worn now, but had been clearly and carefully mended.
Michael reached for the cloth, but Alex shook his head, holding his arm up closer to his chest.
“With -- with your powers.” He gave him a quick grin: “Like Captain Comet, right?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret hauling your monthly subscription of Strange Adventures up here, aren’t I?”
“Probably,” Alex said, eyes twinkling. Then he jiggled his arm a little: “Come on.”
“Bossy,” Michael said, eyes crinkling with his smile as he began to unwrap Alex’s Mark cover.
“You love it,” Alex said, looking into Michael’s eyes as the last of his cover slipped off and fell to the red earth at their feet. Neither man looked down. Alex took Michael’s hand and carefully placed it over the untouched skin where his cover had just been.
“I do.” Michael said, leaning in to give him a soft kiss.
Alex’s smile made Michael’s heart thrum against his breastbone, tripping into a racing beat when he said: “And I do, too.” A deep breath. “I love you too, Michael. I have, for a long time. And now no one can break us apart, I want to say it. I love you.”
Michael closed his eyes, letting the warmth and sparkle of the feelings that flow through him, letting himself just enjoy the luxury of hearing those words spoken, out loud, in a place where Alex was safe and happy and free.
“We can look together on three?” He asked, voice quiet, easing in closer so they were sharing the same air.
Alex nodded.
“One,” they said together, leaning in closer.
“Two,” they said, lips barely touching.
“Three,” and they both looked down, foreheads tight together as they both slipped their hands away.
And there, shining in the starlight, between them was the same starscape. Alex’s was cut through, highlighted with curves and lines, the shapes of the mesas and horizons the stars had appeared above that night at Foster's ranch. Michael’s were simple dots, but bright against his skin, blues and golds and silvers and turquoises, powered by the same cosmic energy as lit-up the stars, humming softly beneath their skin. Marked and together, different and the same, the two men stood, bodies close, breath warm between them, and watched as the stars that brought them together shone and lit up the whole world.