A/N: Hey guys! I've, uh, had a rough month, to say the least. So I had emotions to vent and this is what happened.
It was also inspired by a blurb in my other, longer, story (the one I actually work on), Wish Gone Awry, where Max mentions a mug of cold coffee that Jeb left on his desk the morning he left, and the Flock didn't have the heart to move until it molded over.
I really liked the idea of Jeb trying to give the Flock therapy of some kind for their inevitable PTSD. Obviously the point is moot after he leaves.
I'm blaming any slight OOCness on Max being younger. (Psh, what is canon?)
Max woke up with a start, feet tangled in her sheets and hair plastered to her face. She took a few deep, gasping breaths while the remains of her nightmare burned itself into her memory. The palms of her hands pressed into her eyes to try and keep the extra fluid from spilling out. Fang would never let her live it down.
She frowned. He always hears when she has nightmares, and he's usually here before she wakes up this much, a comically groggy Jeb in tow. She squinted in the darkness – an unnecessary gesture, since her mutations gave her the ability to see in the dark, but she'd seen Jeb do it enough that she picked up the habit – and realized her bedroom door was shut.
Her heart sped up again. She clumsily tried to pull her limbs from the mess of her sheets, then gave up and just pulled them off with her. She never shut her bedroom door while she was sleeping. She wasn't used to privacy, and she liked to be able to hear and see everything going on in the E-shaped house. She wanted to be there when the kids had nightmares, or Iggy needed help finding something, or Fang wanted to go flying. Her feet were silent on the wooden floor as she crossed the room.
She paused at the door to listen for movement. There was a slight shuffling. The rustling of fabric. One of the kitchen cabinets opened and closed. It should have been enough noise to wake all of the birdkids – they were especially sensitive to bumps in the night – but not a sound came from the direction of any of the other rooms. Max tensed her shoulders and tightened her hands into fists, steeling herself for confronting the intruder. If it was a human, she would attack. If it was an Eraser, she would get Fang, and he would wake everyone else up while she attacked. Easy, peasy. But no room for mistakes.
Footsteps, coming towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Now or never. Max clamped her hand around the doorknob and twisted, swinging the door wide. She stopped short of her charge at the sight of Jeb's startled expression.
"Oh."
Jeb shook his head as though to clear it, then asked, "Max? What are you doing up?"
Max blushed crimson and mumbled a reply. Jeb raised an eyebrow, asking without asking her to try again. Max looked at the floor and coughed lightly. "I, uh, had a nightmare."
Jeb's expression softened, and he gestured for her to come closer. Max obliged readily, almost throwing herself into Jeb's arms for a warm hug. With a light grunt, he picked her up so her head rested on his shoulder and made his way back into the kitchen. She allowed it. This was normal; routine, almost, with how often Max's sleep was interrupted by nightmares. She relaxed, letting her eyes drift shut, the smell of Jeb's shampoo wash over her, the familiar rock of Jeb's gait set a rhythm for her heart. It was enough to make her sleepy again.
All too soon, he slid her onto the counter and pulled out a mug and a packet of instant hot chocolate. She turned so she was leaning again the fridge, too tired to support herself. While she waited, her left foot swung out and back, bouncing lightly off the cabinet beneath her.
"Max. Shh." She looked up to see Jeb gesturing back towards the other bedrooms.
"Sorry," she half-whispered, stilling her leg. She kept looking back at the hallway, though. "Jeb?"
He hummed an acknowledgement while he filled the mug with water.
"Why are the doors shut?" She wasn't the only one who slept with an open bedroom door; it was two-way communication, after all.
Jeb paused, but covered it up by setting the time for the microwave. "I shut them."
Max, in her drowsiness, didn't notice his hesitation. "Why?"
Jeb sighed, picking up his own mug of steaming coffee and taking a long sip before answering. "I knew I was going to be up late tonight, and I didn't want to wake all of you up. You've had a long day."
Max's lips pulled upwards. "Can we go back to the blueberry bushes tomorrow? I want to see if we can figure out where those baby bunnies live."
Jeb chuckled. "I don't think so. We can't keep pets," he gave her a pointed look over his glasses. Max pouted. "And besides, tomorrow is Wednesday. You have training."
Max groaned and dramatically slouched against the fridge. "But we trained yesterday!"
"Use it or lose it."
Max frowned, but then her eyes lit up. "But tomorrow is my birthday!"
Jeb raised an eyebrow. "We celebrated your birthday a month ago."
Ready to spout out excuses until something stuck, Max opened her mouth. But the microwave beeped, and Jeb pulled her mug out and handed it to her. "Drink up." She took the first sip tentatively, wary of the warm temperature, but it was just right, as usual. There was a lull in conversation as Jeb drained the last of his coffee and Max drank her coco. Now was the hard part.
Jeb refilled his mug of coffee from a half-full pot and turned back to Max. She squirmed in her spot on the counter, knowing what was coming. Jeb sighed, then boosted himself onto the counter next to her. Max startled, then relaxed a little more, turning perpendicular to the counter to give him more room. Jeb rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Tell me about your nightmare."
She stared into her coco. Shuddered. Took another sip. Started to kick her feet again until Jeb stopped them. Then, when she still didn't answer, he tried again. "Max. . . "
Max huffed out a breath and set her shoulders back stubbornly. "It was the same one. The forest, the Erasers, dogs chasing me. The same thing as always." She looked up and met Jeb's eyes. "I thought. . . you said it would go away."
Jeb nodded and brushed off the accusing look in Max's eyes. "Yes, I know. And it will. These things take time, though." Neither of them mentioned that they didn't know how much time any of them had before their expiration dates kicked in. "Have you been keeping up with your journal?"
Max nodded briefly. "Yeah, but it feels stupid."
Jeb scrunched his eyebrows together. "Why?"
Max pursed her lips. "Journals are for heartsick teenage girls who have crushes on boys and plan their weddings in their free time. And I write practically the same thing in it every time."
"That's okay, keep it up and it will help. And Max," he looked at her over his glasses again to prove his sincerity, "anybody can keep a journal."
Max snorted into her drink. "Does Fang have to keep a journal?"
To his credit, Jeb managed to keep a blank face. "You know the rules, Max. I don't talk about what happens with the rest of the Flock, and I don't tell them what happens with you."
Instead of answering, Max tipped her mug back and finished her drink. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. A yawn broke across her face, but she hid it from Jeb by pretending to take another sip from her empty mug. It was rare that she got to spend time alone with Jeb; he was usually looking after the kids.
"So, what were you working on?"
Jeb stretched and slipped off the counter to put her mug in the sink, ignoring her blatant change in topic. "Groceries, mostly."
"Mostly? What else?"
Jeb gave a half-smile. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Max tried and failed to stifle another yawn. Her limbs felt heavy and warm; her eyelids were drooping. She hated to admit it, but she needed to go to bed, so she began to push herself off the counter, but found herself off-balance when she landed on her feet. It wasn't a problem, though; Jeb nimbly picked her up, again resting her head against his shoulder, and made his way back down the hallway. He shouldered his way through her bedroom door to find her sheets a mess on the floor where she had kicked them off in a panic. He sighed and gently laid Max on the mattress before getting to work re-making her bed.
She rolled over and watched him through barely-slit eyes. "G'night," she breathed.
Jeb finished tucking the sheets in around her and brushed her still-sweaty bangs from her forehead. "Goodnight, Max." Her eyes slipped shut.
Jeb ambled back out of the room, only pausing when he started to shut the door again behind him. He looked at Max tucked into her bed, trying to sear the sight into his memory. He hoped – and feared – it would be the last time he ever saw her.
With a sigh, he pulled the door shut all the way and made his way back to the office. Inside, the lights were up all the way, and it took a moment for Jeb's eyes to adjust. When they did, he resumed with what he had been doing before needing his coffee break and running into Max.
He opened the last drawer in the filing cabinet and finished stuffing the files into the more ragged of his two backpacks, along with every other file he had kept of the Flock from their time in the School and since. Then he made sure the cabinet was shut and locked; no need for the Flock to know he took everything with him. In his other backpack were his clothes, fake ID, and credit cards. He pulled the cash out of his wallet - including all the money he withdrew earlier from his meager savings - and left it on the desk. The Flock would need it.
With both packs stuffed, he made his way back towards the kitchen for another swig of coffee. He was on his fourth mug now; it couldn't be healthy, but he'd done worse to himself while he was planning the escape of the avian hybrids from the School.
Guilt heavy on his shoulders, he pulled the small prescription bottle of Rohypnol* from his pants pocket. It was for the safety of the Flock, he had to remind himself. If he hadn't spiked their drinks, they would have woken up and tried to stop him. He must not have given Max a strong enough dosage, or perhaps the adrenaline her nightmare induced burned through it too fast. And she's growing, Jeb thought. She's growing, and he won't be here to see it.
He pushed those thoughts down. He had made up his mind a long time ago. Max would have a lot of growing to do in the upcoming weeks.
In a moment of hesitation, he went back to the office and wrote a note, explaining why he left, though not where he's going or for how long. He told the Flock how proud he was of them, how much he lo—
He crumpled up the paper and shoved it in his pocket, next to the pills, before leaving.
Max found his cold coffee mug on the desk the next morning.
*Rohypnol (the date-rape drug commonly known as "roofies") is a sleeping aid, technically, in some countries. For obvious reasons, it's illegal in the US.
Any thoughts?