Melinda Metz - The Watcher

Max nodded. He'd only done it once, besides practicing with Ray. And that was to spy on Liz when she was out with another guy. Max glanced over at her, and she smiled at him. He knew she was thinking about the same thing.

"Anyway, I thought all of you could go out to different bars and stuff looking like the guard I saw at the compound where the ship is kept. His face is burned into my memory," Maria explained. "Then maybe somebody who knows the guard, the real guard, will come up and start a conversation. If it's somebody he knows from work-"

"We could get some key information," Michael interrupted. "I think it's definitely worth a shot." He turned to Max. "Want to try it?"

"Why not?" Max asked. Then he remembered. The akino had destroyed his power. How could he have forgotten that? "You and Isabel will have to do it for Liz and Alex and me," he admitted. "I can't do… anything like that anymore."

"Just tell us how," Isabel said quickly.

He hated feeling so helpless. What was next? Would someone have to spoon-feed him? Wipe his butt for him? What?

"It's not that much different from healing," he told Isabel and Michael. "Except instead of squeezing the molecules to close a cut or something, you squeeze them and push them to form the skin and bone into different shapes."

"I'll try it on Liz," Michael said.

Max got up and traded places with Michael so he could be next to Liz. He wasn't too happy with the idea of Michael connecting to Liz, touching her. But he knew he was being a big baby, and he told himself to just get over it.

Maria described the guard with enthusiastic hand movements. "All right, so he had roundish, middle-aged cheeks… and deep laugh lines… and a flat, wide nose."

Michaels eyes widened as he touched his fingertips to Liz's face. His hands began to massage her cheeks, kneading them like dough. He listened to Maria's suggestions and sculpted Liz's face accordingly. In no time Liz's face looked like a middle-aged man's. Michael pulled back his hands and showed Maria the results.

"No, no, no. I'm sorry. It just doesn't look like the image in my head. What if I connect to you, Michael, and transmit my mental picture to you?" Maria asked.

"Let's try it," Michael said.

Maria connected to Michael. He placed his hands on Liz's face again, and it slowly began to morph-the eyes from blue to brown, bushier eyebrows, and a slight double chin. "That's it, that's it," Maria urged him on.

Michael's hands glided up into Liz's hair. It turned mottled orange, then lightened to dishwater blond, and finally changed to white, shrinking in length as it made the color switch. The final result was bristly, just longer than a crew cut.

"Perfect. It's like that doll," Maria mumbled. "You know the one where you could sort of reel its hair back into its head to make it short?"

Liz glanced over her shoulder at Max. "How do I look as a blond? A practically bald blond, I mean," she asked, running her fingers over her buzz cut.

"I wouldn't kick you out of bed," Michael answered before Max could.

"Come on. Let's get on with this," Isabel demanded. "I want to get out of here."

After a couple minutes' work Liz was ready. The Maria-Michael connection moved on to Alex. Isabel decided to morph herself.

"I'm going to get something to drink," Max said. He felt so useless here. Maria giving instructions. Isabel and Michael working on Alex and Liz. And him sitting there twiddling his thumbs. The word loser came to mind.

He slowly made his way into the kitchen, his feet feeling as heavy as cement blocks. He dropped down into the closest chair and rested his head on the table. In here, alone, he didn't have to pretend that he wasn't absolutely exhausted, to the point where just sitting up and breathing felt like a workout.

"Max, your turn," Michael called. Max jerked up his head. How could they be done with Liz and Alex already? He checked the clock on the kitchen stove and realized he'd been sitting there for almost half an hour. He must have dozed off. Usually he couldn't sleep more than his two hours a night even if he wanted to. Now he was dropping off without even realizing it.

Max shoved himself to his feet, and a tremor sizzled through his legs. He took a deep breath and focused on making it into the living room and keeping the fear off his face. "I think I'm going to have to stay here," he admitted as he lowered himself to the couch.

"I'll stay with you," Liz immediately volunteered. At least he thought it was her. The words had come out of the mouth of a burly blond guy with a husky voice and a nondescript gray security guard's outfit. Michael obviously hadn't missed the vocal cords when he made the transformation.

"I don't need a babysitter," he answered, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone. "Getting information on the ship, that's the most important thing you can do for me," he added, trying to reassure her.

She nodded and turned to the other two "guards." Isabel had already finished the job on Alex and done herself. "We should pick different parts of town," Liz told them. "Two of us can't show up at the same place." They began dividing up the town's bars and clubs as they headed out of the room.

"Be careful," Max called after them as they left for their mission. "Call if… you need something."

Like there was anything he'd be able to do if they did.

"You can be our Charlie, and we'll be your Angels," Alex called back. At least Max was pretty sure it was Alex. The voice was the same as Liz's, but it was an Alex kind of thing to say.

"You better catch up with them and get an assignment," Max told Michael. "Liz is right. It could be dangerous if anyone sees two of you together. I'm not sure if the Project Clean Slate agents know we can change our appearance. But if they do, and they see two guards-"

"I'm not going out," Michael interrupted.

"You're not staying with me," Max protested.

"So do you want to lie on the couch? Or do you want to go to bed?" Michael asked matter-of-factly.

Max gave up. "Bed, I guess."

Michael crossed over to him and reached out his hand. Max took it and let Michael help him to his feet.

Alex had a moment of anxiety when he walked into Moe's, one of the few places in Roswell that didn't have some kind of alien theme going on. Then he realized that there was no way he was going to get carded. He was, like, thirty years old or something.

He headed up to the bar and ordered a ginger ale. He figured the color could pass for a mixed drink, so he wouldn't feel like a total wuss.

Alex did a quick scan of the room. Whew, no Dad. He thought he might see his father there because Moe's was the hangout for the town's retired military guys. Alex didn't know if Project Clean Slate had any military connection, but it seemed likely that it could, so he figured Moe's was a decent place to find somebody who knew the guard.

He tossed aside the ridiculously thin straw and gulped down some of the ginger ale while he took a slower look around. He was hoping someone would give him a nod, or a half wave, anything that showed they had seen him-the guard-before. No dice.

If the guard came in here often enough, the bartender would probably recognize him. But the place was packed, so the guy had just slammed Alex's drink down and raced toward the end of the bar. So Alex couldn't get a sense of whether he recognized the guard or not.

When I get a second round, maybe I'll pretend like I have amnesia and ask him if he knows who I am. Alex snorted. He could just picture himself reeling around the bar with his hands pressed to his temples, murmuring, "Where am I? Who are you? Who am I?"

Maybe it would have been better to keep searching the area around the rock. But they could go back to that tomorrow. Alex couldn't help wondering how much time they had left.