The puke-and-rally was something Poe was familiar with, though it had been a few years since he'd been through it himself, and at the time it had been the end result of wanting to kill a few brain cells, and he was reasonably sure he'd managed it.
Once they'd arrived, his only question was: "You want me to come with in case you need to pop me one, or stay here in case we need to make a quick getaway?"
He turned his head to press a kiss to Michael's palm, "Okay, I'll circle around and find a place to park just so I'm not freaking anybody out by loitering out front with the engine running."
It would also give Poe something else to focus on even if it was just for a few minutes, and sometimes a few minutes was all that was needed to take concern down to a simmer from a dull roar.
Michael was in with Liz for quite a while before he came back out. It felt like an eternity really as he explained what had been going on and everything. What they thought might be causing it and Michael looked maybe a bit too hopeful that he might be dying instead of being pregnant with a half-alien baby that would be in constant danger on top of just having one terrible parent even if Poe would be a fantastic one.
By the end of Liz' examination, it was more and more apparent that the suspicion they had was correct. Michael reluctantly agreed to a blood test that she could use for confirmation but there was little else that seemed likely.
Liz thought it was good news and Michael was just being his general brooding facade over it rather than actually distressed about it. He made her promise not to tell anyone -- especially Max -- before he headed back out to wait for the Poe's car to come around. He felt queasy still but there really wasn't anything left to throw up so he just crossed his arm as he settled into the car once it was there.
Poe's conclusion was a quiet, "So you're not dying." Mostly because he figured if that were the case Michael would have said so.
He just nodded, making a quiet, thoughtful sound before asking: "Where do you want to go?" Poe would happily take him to his trailer just as easily as to the homestead, "Because if you don't answer I'm just going to keep driving because I'm pretty sure we won't run out of gas before we get to Amarillo." A one-shouldered shrug, pulling back out onto the street, "If we go that direction, could go get lost in the woods if we head west instead."
"I'm not dying," Michael muttered, his hand clenching and then unclenching repeatedly. Saying that out loud almost made him get sick or maybe that was in his head but the fear at the whole situation was starting to surface as his primary response and he wanted to drown it out but now knowing for sure what he knew his usual go to of whiskey probably isn't on the table. He probably shouldn't start any bar fights either.
"Fuck," he exhaled, feeling his eyes watering again and he stared out his window trying to ignore it as if that would mean he wasn't about to cry. He wasn't usually particularly ashamed of tears but these felt different.
"We can't just leave Roswell."
Michael exhaled a little as he tries to compose himself. "Airstream," he does provide. He felt the urge to go to the bunker which maybe he'd let Poe in there for the first time. He hadn't even told him about that yet. He probably should.
He hadn't been thinking of running forever, just for a day trip, but he nodded at the actual answer all the same, "Alright." That at least was an easy drive, even when there was traffic, which at that time of day there really wasn't much of, and it was only a few minutes before he was pulling in next to Michael's truck, the same spot he always took when coming to visit, regardless of how long that visit was going to last.
Even as he cut the engine all he asked was: "What do you need?"
At this point, Michael didn't even think he should leave for a daytrip. Suddenly the entire world including Roswell felt more dangerous and even Roswell wasn't safe. He pushed his fingers through his hair again, his knee bouncing as the other drove.
"A fucking shot," he muttered his answer before getting out of the car. He slammed the door a bit harder than absolutely necessary and winced at himself for doing so.
Instead of going into the airstream he glanced around just to make sure no one else was around before he starts moving the trailer off the entrance to the bunker without actually explaining what he was doing to Poe first.
He did wince, just a little at the force behind that door-slam, but that was the extent of it, just giving a little shrug as he followed, "I won't tell you not to, but I'll say it's probably a bad idea."
Though that was all he had to say, brow creasing at moving the entire trailer not sure at first if this was some kind of attempt at letting of steam or what, at least until the entrance came into view and both brows just arched, "You have a fallout shelter."
Michael actually rolled his eyes at that. "I can't fucking drink." They don't have any way of knowing if alien biology is going to be any different in how alcohol might affect a baby but he's not going to risk it. He'd seen what could happen. So as much as he feels a desperate need to drown himself in a bottle he doesn't.
Michael shrugged at the question and he's opening it up and going down, assuming Poe will follow him inside. He doesn't feel the usual sense of peace that he usually did in his workshop or whatever someone would want to call it but it's familiar. He moves immediately to pull the tarp off the console, his fingers going to touch it.
There's something soothing in that contact and he relaxes a little bit but all the anxiety and fear about the situation was still there.
It hadn't exactly been a question, but it had certainly been curious, and he did, indeed, follow Michael down with the ease of someone used to the descent, waiting until he was actually on the floor to say: "There's one under the garage at the homestead, grandad was paranoid as hell."
If he'd been planning on saying anything else it just trailed off into silence, just watching as the half-constructed ship was revealed, brows lifting again at the way it responded to Michael's touch, "So..." A nod, biting the inside of his cheek just briefly, "That's a ship. Part of a ship."
Michael is quiet. It doesn't surprise him either to know there's a bunker at the homestead. He drops his hand away from the console and exhales a little.
"Just a control console. I think..." He's pretty sure but there's no way for him to be completely sure. The nearby table had plans strewn over it and it was clear what he tended to do down here primarily.
Poe had seen at least one of the notebooks, which was probably why he wasn't entirely surprised to find that it wasn't just theoretical, he nodded at the statement, "So the most important part of the ship. Besides engine, and uh, hull. Life support." It was supposed to be a tease, but he knew it fell a little flat, which was why he followed it with: "But it's a sanctuary."
That was what the place felt like, somewhere quiet and safe instead of empty and isolated like some kind of fortress of solitude.
Michael just lifts his shoulder. Maybe if he weren't so stressed out and feeling so terrible he would have been better at presenting this whole thing, at being amused by Poe but he just felt stretched thin and like he was going to come apart at the seams. He can't remember the last time he felt so scared. Maybe he'd never been this scared and that made him feel weak.
"Something like that," he mutters, frowning. "Just have always needed answers, think I needed them in a way that Max and Isobel never have but they had each other in a way I didn't have anyone..."
That's not true anymore. He has Poe now but there's still the part of him that doesn't feel like he truly belongs.
He finally eased forward a little, hand settling lightly at Michael's hip to draw him closer, "You didn't, but you do now." His brow creased for a moment, but he was still trying for some kind of levity, even while being entirely serious as he added: "And if I have to learn to read this chicken-scratch so that I can help navigate, I will."
A little one-shouldered shrug of his own, "I mean, I'm that asshole who learned Tengwar on a whim in middle school. Could probably still remember most of it if I had to."
Michael's eyes flicker up to meet Poe's for a brief moment. He's having a hard time letting the levity take any hold but he can see what Poe's trying to do. He exhaled, drawn closer to him and eventually just dropped his head onto his shoulder, closing his eyes.
"Our kid is going to be such a loser," he muttered in response to the other's admission, because, of course.
He looped both arms around Michael then, just keeping him close but ready to let go so he could move if it was too much touch at once.
The response was enough to rattle a brief, almost-surprised laugh out of him, however, just shaking his head, "Yeah, well, they'll have an easier time of it than we did. Probably." If nothing else, they'd have better self-defense reactions, but that wasn't the kind of thing he was going to think about yet, that was in the far future and there were a lot of other things to worry about first.
Michael let Poe wrap his arms around him. He leaned into him and there was a comfort in Poe's closeness, his warmth and the scent of him. Michael tried to focus on that and not the panicked anxious thoughts that were speeding a million miles a minute through his head.
"You'll be a good dad anyway," Michael mumbled. "More than I had." And he was pretty sure that would be enough to make sure that his kid at least had a better life than he had had. If they could keep him safe...
He turned his head a little, mostly just so that he could rub his cheek and jaw against Michael's hair, meant as a comfort as much as anything, "Hey, you know what not to do, and that's a better idea than a lot of people have when they start out."
Poe had some idea as far as what to do, but there was also the fact that after the initial leave period, his parents hadn't actually been parents until he was three or four, and then his mother had passed before his birthday the year he turned eleven.
But he wasn't going to think about that at the moment, instead he was just going to let one hand splay against the middle of Michael's back, drawing him a little closer, "I bet my old crib is still in storage, and we can repaint my old room for the kid."
Michael rolls his eyes but he doesn't have the energy to argue how ridiculous that was. Poe would see the bright side or whatever and believe in Michael. That's probably why things would be okay.
He continued to let Poe hold him, feeling his hand on his back and he nuzzled his face into the crook of the other's neck biting his lip for a moment and he furrows his brow a little as the weight of the other's words hit him. He almost pulled away, there was that ridiculous surge of emotions that almost had him crying again and he isn't sure if the nausea is from sudden anxiety or actual 'morning sickness' again.
"What? We're not going to raise the baby in the airstream and cottage?"
It's clear it's hard for him to believe what the other seemed to imply so he questions it more indirectly.
"We could, sure." He agreed, nodding even as the hand at the middle of Michael's back lifted to sweep gently through his hair, drawing it back from his face and up off the back of his neck, something to help regulate Michael's temperature, because he was pretty sure that was a sudden flush he'd felt, and wanted to make sure it wasn't the precursor to more barfing.
"But there's literally a perfectly good house just, I mean, right there, basically going to waste." Which wasn't entirely the reason he hadn't sold it yet, or something, but was good enough for the emotional workarounds they were using.
Michael exhaled heavily and he was thinking they should probably get out of the bunker sooner rather than later. It felt strange to talk about any of this. He still was processing the fact that it's happening. Everything was crashing down on him so fast.
"Of course." That one was the easy answer, Poe had always wanted to start a family, and maybe this wasn't the best way to do so, but it was far from the worst.
He shook his head just a little a moment later, still running his fingers through Michael's hair, "But it isn't just up to me. You're the one who's going to have to carry it, and I'm not going to be the asshole who makes someone do that because I haven't given up on the dream of a white picket fence life."
“I’m not gonna get rid of it,” Michael says and he knows it’s an option but it doesn’t feel like an option. He can’t imagine doing it and maybe that’s selfish because what’s he dooming a half alien baby too? Even max and Isobel grew up with good parents but being alien was a burden none of them could escape.
“I just don’t know if we’ll manage to have a white picket fence life.”
Michael can’t even imagine what that’s like but beyond that their kid would be in danger and could be dangerous honestly. They don’t have any way to know.
"Picket fence wouldn't look right for the homestead anyway." He replied, a small smile emerging as he pressed another kiss to the top of Michael's head, "And Bee would probably be really upset if we tried to replace him with a dog."
Another head-shake, as if he had to knock himself back on track, "And just because I haven't given up on it doesn't mean it's something that's actually viable, and maybe I'm going to have to adjust my expectations. That's not a bad thing."
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Once they'd arrived, his only question was: "You want me to come with in case you need to pop me one, or stay here in case we need to make a quick getaway?"
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“Stay here,” he said because well, he’s not sure ... maybe he’s just being defensive and pushing Poe away a little bit the other would be there after.
He reached over to brush his hand through Poe’s hair. “You’re too good to me,” he mumbled before opening the door so he could head inside.
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It would also give Poe something else to focus on even if it was just for a few minutes, and sometimes a few minutes was all that was needed to take concern down to a simmer from a dull roar.
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By the end of Liz' examination, it was more and more apparent that the suspicion they had was correct. Michael reluctantly agreed to a blood test that she could use for confirmation but there was little else that seemed likely.
Liz thought it was good news and Michael was just being his general brooding facade over it rather than actually distressed about it. He made her promise not to tell anyone -- especially Max -- before he headed back out to wait for the Poe's car to come around. He felt queasy still but there really wasn't anything left to throw up so he just crossed his arm as he settled into the car once it was there.
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He just nodded, making a quiet, thoughtful sound before asking: "Where do you want to go?" Poe would happily take him to his trailer just as easily as to the homestead, "Because if you don't answer I'm just going to keep driving because I'm pretty sure we won't run out of gas before we get to Amarillo." A one-shouldered shrug, pulling back out onto the street, "If we go that direction, could go get lost in the woods if we head west instead."
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"Fuck," he exhaled, feeling his eyes watering again and he stared out his window trying to ignore it as if that would mean he wasn't about to cry. He wasn't usually particularly ashamed of tears but these felt different.
"We can't just leave Roswell."
Michael exhaled a little as he tries to compose himself. "Airstream," he does provide. He felt the urge to go to the bunker which maybe he'd let Poe in there for the first time. He hadn't even told him about that yet. He probably should.
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Even as he cut the engine all he asked was: "What do you need?"
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"A fucking shot," he muttered his answer before getting out of the car. He slammed the door a bit harder than absolutely necessary and winced at himself for doing so.
Instead of going into the airstream he glanced around just to make sure no one else was around before he starts moving the trailer off the entrance to the bunker without actually explaining what he was doing to Poe first.
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Though that was all he had to say, brow creasing at moving the entire trailer not sure at first if this was some kind of attempt at letting of steam or what, at least until the entrance came into view and both brows just arched, "You have a fallout shelter."
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Michael shrugged at the question and he's opening it up and going down, assuming Poe will follow him inside. He doesn't feel the usual sense of peace that he usually did in his workshop or whatever someone would want to call it but it's familiar. He moves immediately to pull the tarp off the console, his fingers going to touch it.
There's something soothing in that contact and he relaxes a little bit but all the anxiety and fear about the situation was still there.
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If he'd been planning on saying anything else it just trailed off into silence, just watching as the half-constructed ship was revealed, brows lifting again at the way it responded to Michael's touch, "So..." A nod, biting the inside of his cheek just briefly, "That's a ship. Part of a ship."
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"Just a control console. I think..." He's pretty sure but there's no way for him to be completely sure. The nearby table had plans strewn over it and it was clear what he tended to do down here primarily.
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That was what the place felt like, somewhere quiet and safe instead of empty and isolated like some kind of fortress of solitude.
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"Something like that," he mutters, frowning. "Just have always needed answers, think I needed them in a way that Max and Isobel never have but they had each other in a way I didn't have anyone..."
That's not true anymore. He has Poe now but there's still the part of him that doesn't feel like he truly belongs.
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A little one-shouldered shrug of his own, "I mean, I'm that asshole who learned Tengwar on a whim in middle school. Could probably still remember most of it if I had to."
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"Our kid is going to be such a loser," he muttered in response to the other's admission, because, of course.
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The response was enough to rattle a brief, almost-surprised laugh out of him, however, just shaking his head, "Yeah, well, they'll have an easier time of it than we did. Probably." If nothing else, they'd have better self-defense reactions, but that wasn't the kind of thing he was going to think about yet, that was in the far future and there were a lot of other things to worry about first.
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"You'll be a good dad anyway," Michael mumbled. "More than I had." And he was pretty sure that would be enough to make sure that his kid at least had a better life than he had had. If they could keep him safe...
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Poe had some idea as far as what to do, but there was also the fact that after the initial leave period, his parents hadn't actually been parents until he was three or four, and then his mother had passed before his birthday the year he turned eleven.
But he wasn't going to think about that at the moment, instead he was just going to let one hand splay against the middle of Michael's back, drawing him a little closer, "I bet my old crib is still in storage, and we can repaint my old room for the kid."
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He continued to let Poe hold him, feeling his hand on his back and he nuzzled his face into the crook of the other's neck biting his lip for a moment and he furrows his brow a little as the weight of the other's words hit him. He almost pulled away, there was that ridiculous surge of emotions that almost had him crying again and he isn't sure if the nausea is from sudden anxiety or actual 'morning sickness' again.
"What? We're not going to raise the baby in the airstream and cottage?"
It's clear it's hard for him to believe what the other seemed to imply so he questions it more indirectly.
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"But there's literally a perfectly good house just, I mean, right there, basically going to waste." Which wasn't entirely the reason he hadn't sold it yet, or something, but was good enough for the emotional workarounds they were using.
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"Are you sure you'd want to...?"
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He shook his head just a little a moment later, still running his fingers through Michael's hair, "But it isn't just up to me. You're the one who's going to have to carry it, and I'm not going to be the asshole who makes someone do that because I haven't given up on the dream of a white picket fence life."
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“I just don’t know if we’ll manage to have a white picket fence life.”
Michael can’t even imagine what that’s like but beyond that their kid would be in danger and could be dangerous honestly. They don’t have any way to know.
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Another head-shake, as if he had to knock himself back on track, "And just because I haven't given up on it doesn't mean it's something that's actually viable, and maybe I'm going to have to adjust my expectations. That's not a bad thing."
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