Author's Note: This had been a secret project of mine since I finished the 3rd book, about a week after I began the series :D. You know I love a ship when I start a fic about it a week after starting the corresponding series, so here it is. I update about once every week or so. Check my profile for other stories I've done for different fandoms.

That said, enjoy, folks!

Ella Martinez. July 3, 1:36 PM.

…

These were the days. Summer's days, that is. The days that I spent woodworking at my desk, which was at this very moment dressed in throws of sawdust and sandpaper, paint bottles and brushes of various sizes. A mild laugh came to me at my own messiness before I realized how close I was to being done. Finally. Okay, just another coat, and…

"There we go," Satisfaction welled in my paint-stained heart.

I sat proudly in my bedroom before my desk, holding a paintbrush dipped in light brown over the now finished wooden carving, in the form of a small bird. Beaming, I held my creation before my eyes. It was flawlessly coated in pale cinnamon hued paint with gray details, glowing under the light of my table lamp.

I weaved a brown string through holes in the wings I'd made earlier and switched off the radio that had been spilling jazz into my ears. Within the next few seconds, I had coaxed Magnolia off my lap and scuttled from my room, the gold hardwood floors and tiled gray-and-black details of the kitchen materializing around me. Nervous acid dripped in my stomach as if clocking me as I shuffled across the room toward the front door. I had to get this outside before the flock arrived, had to move, move, move… Not even the potent, hypnotic aroma of Mom's cookies saturating the air around me could stop me.

Mom sat at the kitchen table and folded her phone shut as I entered, watching me with her usual casual interest. "Hanging that to dry outside?"

I was speaking so fast, my voice sounded like it was being run off a motor. "Mhm… Say, Mom- when is the flock going to be here?"

Max had hit a bit of a dead spot in her undefined conquest of saving the world, and figured stopping here would help bide some time away while she figured it out. That, and the fact that we'd installed a pool this past spring. As for me? This would be the first time I ever met any of them besides her. In fact, the entirety of last night had been reserved for me clearing out the guest rooms, food shopping, dusting everything in sight, and now all I needed to do was get dressed. I was still in my smock (Well, I called it that. All it really was was an old green button down shirt, dirty with the occasional splatter of orange paint) and jeans folded up to my knees. No shoes- summer's heat permitted that kind of thing.

"They should be here in a few minutes," I half-heard her as I fumbled with the front door's knob. She let out a sigh of exasperation as I slung the door open. "And put some real clothes on. You look homeless, honey,"

By then, I'd reactivated my long-practiced talent off shutting off my ears. I muttered a rushed "Of course", and ran outside.

Did I mention the exact extent of my passion for summer? Barefoot and filling my sawdust-lined lungs with the lighthearted breeze, I made my way to the backyard. As I made my approach, my beloved 10-year-old sugar maple tree inched from behind the peach colored expanse of the house (which I'd helped paint myself). Standing at 16 feet, its emerald leaves glistening with sun-glossed dew, that tree was the epitome of beauty. Its long ash-colored branches held every little piece of art I'd ever made. Tiny wooden birds like the one I held, birdhouses, sock puppets, feathers, origami, you name it.

As I gently pulled down a branch to slip on the little bird, an angelic tinkling sounded from the wind chimes I'd hung, singing out a collection of notes I'd never heard before. Entrancement took over me as I stared at the effect of the sun dancing off their metal surfaces. Some days I would sit under that tree and paint, endlessly. As tempting as the idea was, it was sweltering. Only being out here for a moment had drawn beads of sweat to my skin.

It wasn't long before I noticed that the branch I held was already loaded. As I meandered over to the other side of the tree to do some hunting for free space, I heard the tiniest fraction of a flapping sound hover over my ears. Usually I would've completely ignored it, but the volume was increasing with alarming speed, so I wheeled around to stare headlong into the sky. It didn't do much to help me, though.

Before I had completed my 180, a hard, airborne weight slung into me and snatched me from my posture mid-turn. My spine rebounded with a shot of pain against a tree root with such dizzying force that I had to gulp in oxygen like a fish. Within only a moment I found myself flailing on my back like an upturned turtle, sandwiched between grassy ground and the object. I was slightly short for my age- 13 years old and only 5 feet- so I was used to taking some hits from petty bullies, but nothing like the blow I'd just taken.

For a moment I remained, suspended in my own gasping shock, before stammering apologies and gathering up my bird from the ground. I felt the weight clamber off me and rise to create a huge, human-shaped shadow over where I lay.

Holy crap.

Where I expected there to be a face was only the middle of the chest on the boy towering over me. From my position on the ground, straining my neck was the only means I had to look straight into his eyes. He looked to be a year or two older than my own 13 years, easily over 6 feet tall, cream skinned and dressed in slightly ratty clothes. His fair gold hair was tinged with the slightest bit of red beneath the sun's rays and was grown down to slightly graze his shoulders- a beautiful variation of strawberry blond. His expression was filled with confusion as I stared dumbly into his clouded, jewel blue eyes. I took note of the fact that his lean body was still lithe with the abruptness of a sudden stop; he seemed to have just arrived, withdrawing a wide pair of wings so quickly that I couldn't see the exact color.

He seemed almost flustered by my silence, grimacing down to where I was. "Um…"

Suddenly, I heard a pair of shoes touching down onto the yard behind us, followed by Max's voice. "Nice, Iggy. You landed right into my half-sister. You should watch where you're going,"

"Sorry. I'll be sure to keep my eyes open next time," he said over his shoulder in a voice laden with sarcasm.

Then I could see something in his blank gaze at it returned to me. Colorless pupils, staring vacantly through my own eyes. Max stepped forward and hauled me to my feet as I stammered out my conclusion.

"…You're… erm, blind?"

His eyes seemed to widen slightly at finally hearing my voice, and I braced myself for some biting sarcasm. I didn't receive it. "Uh, yeah. Sorry for that,"

Around the ensuing scene, 4 other flying humans landed on my front yard. The two directly in front of me turned around and beckoned to the new arrivals. Magnolia had scuttled out the open door of the house and was sniffing Iggy's shoes lazily.

"Ella, you've met the Sightless Wonder over here, so here's the rest of the flock. Fang, Nudge, Angel, and the Gasman. You can call him Gazzy," The people she described were a tall 15 year old clad in black, a 12 year old girl with deep tan skin and corkscrew curls, a little blond girl, maybe 6, and a boy between 8 and 9 that resembled the small blond girl.

"Nice to meet you all," I invited them all inside to meet Mom, who's dark brown eyes flashed in pure surprise behind her glasses as she jumped to greet them. Meanwhile, I took the lapse in my requirement to be present to rush into my room and change.

The second I had a closed door behind me, my exploration for some suitable clothing began with a vengeance. Clothes piled up on the floor as I flung my way through a collection of tank tops. I chose a patterned purple one and exchanged my smock for it promptly. My grubby shorts were ditched for some white capris as well. Next thing I knew, I was cramming my feet into caged brown sandals and muttering 'Good god, how embarrassing'. I realized, in a crippling wave of dismay, that he probably- no, definitely- thought I was an idiot.

A string of self-directed swears was still expanding in my head as I dared myself to return to the kitchen, where the flock had seated themselves in various places. As I sat down in my signature seat by the island, my gaze flickered to where Iggy was, sprawled on the couch and talking to the one called Gazzy, his brilliant blue eyes half-hidden by his eyelids. He would have been the human image of an angel to me, had he not been discussing bombs.

Mom was making friendly conversation with Max and Fang (who didn't seem to be the talkative type, anyway), so I crammed on the oven mitts beside the stove and set the freshly baked cookies on the stovetop.

Automatically, all conversation met a cease as everyone flung themselves for the cookies, Iggy included. I marveled at his competence as he was tossed a cookie, catching it without fumbling once. Had I not asked or gotten the oppurtunity to look so deeply into his eyes, I would've never guessed that he was blind. Upon realizing I was standing awestruck in the middle of a starving bunch of superhumans, I backed away from the chaos, my eyes still nonchalantly glued on him.

Of course, Max had half the batch shoveled into her mouth before the rest of the flock could get anything. Chuckling with the humor of it all, I began to pour glasses of milk for them. As I capped the jug of milk and put it away, Mom nudged my shoulder.

"Are the guest rooms clean, honey?"

The clarity of my answer was marred by my mouthful of chocolate chip delight. "Yup, I finished last night. I figured everybody would be able to decide amongst themselves where they wanted to sleep,"

Our house featured two spare bedrooms, two beds each. I had a bunk bed, so Max would probably be in my room, Iggy and Fang in another, and Nudge and Angel in the last. A sudden wave of less-than-innocent thoughts swept through my mind, drawing a deep blush to my face. We were going to be sleeping in the same house, possibly in rooms across from each other. I'd known that there were two boys near my age coming, but the concept hadn't really hit me until just now.

At this point I'd bitten down on the skin of my thumb to jolt myself from the perverted stupor I'd fallen into; a habit of mine. Suddenly, the slightly sharper tooth in the corner of my mouth dug into my skin, and I could hardly stifle the small resounding shriek. It should have attracted no attention whatsoever with the verbal clamor all around, yet everybody but Mom turned around instantly. Damned superior hearing.

Well, now I had to say something. Releasing my finger, I brought up the only thing I knew would divert everyone's attention. "Um, so I take it everyone is enjoying the cookies? I've got another batch ready,"

That was the understatement of the day. Little blobs of cookie dough were laid out in rows on yet another metal tin beside the stove. Smiling broadly at their eager expressions, I crammed the tray into the oven and reset the timer.

"Ella," Mom said from beside me. "I'm on call tonight, so if I have to leave, no wild parties,"

I laughed at her partially-joking tone. "You act as if you need to tell me that,"

Irony was a pulling factory in my life, it seemed, because guess who got called to work at about 10 PM that night?

The sleeping arrangements were exactly as I'd thought they'd be: Nudge, Gazzy and Angel were in one room, Max and I in mine, and Fang and Iggy in the other- at least until Mom left. Iggy was promptly kicked out of the room while Max and Fang "talked". I was laughing as I realized I was actually supposed to buy that.

The evicted and bitter teenager was left wandering the halls while the remaining two young girls slept. Me? Not an ounce of fatigue had seeped into my system, thanks to all the practice I'd had staying awake for late nights. The 4th of July was approaching, and the midnight fireworks would require me to exercise my energy and endurance. I was sitting on my bed sketching out a design for a wooden bird like the ones I'd used to make with my dad. The flock's very presence inspired me, particularly…

He walked past with an air of boredom surrounding him, into the kitchen. Reflex made me look up from my sketch, slowly setting it aside. I could spare a minute…

I stood up and wandered into the unlit kitchen. Even nighttime in this house was sweltering, and my pj's were accordingly lightweight to keep me from overheating. Not daring to do so much as hum, I busied myself with rummaging through the refrigerator for some leftover macaroni and cheese. I knew he knew I was there, even though he ignored me completely and effectively; it was only until I gave an awkward giggle regarding Mom's 90's R&B records playing over the stereo that we could ignore each other no longer.

It appeared as though he struggled with a small smile and muttered, "Hey, Ella,"

I moved across the room to flick on the light switch- 2 of the 3 kitchen lights having blown out- then fumbling with the controls on the stereo. "Good evening, Iggy. I was going to grab a snack, but let me just turn this stuff off first-"

Just then, my finger hit the NEXT button by accident, and my favorite song out of Mom's entire collection began with the drum intro. Light synth, jumping bass. I could never resist this.

I remembered, with blush spilling over my cheeks, how often Mom would tease me because I was always dancing to this. Currently, I'd danced to this in her veterinary practice, a supermarket, and a hair salon... But no WAY was I going to do it now. Shivers raced from the soles of my feet to orbit my head, demanding the full attention of my reflex to move. I had to do something. At last I gave in, not dancing, but sufficing to sing along casually as if I was alone.

Between the verses, I crammed the Tupperware container of gooey yellow pasta into the microwave and hit 30 seconds. Max and Fang were, er, busy, Nudge and Angel were fast asleep. We were close enough to alone. Again, I brought my teeth down on my thumb, hard, and tried my damndest not to utter any exclamation of pain whatsoever.

I was startled out of my focus by an ensuing bout of laughter from Iggy, leaning on the kitchen island behind me.

"You're doing that thing again. The biting thing,"

Blushing even harder, I retrieved my thumb, which now sported a second pair of ugly tooth-shaped indents. "Hehe… you heard that, huh? How did you learn how to do that kind of thing?"

"Hm… not really sure," I half expected sarcasm, but much like earlier, I didn't receive it. He'd been deadpanning all night, but never at me. "-It's like how people compensate for things when they lose a sense. That, plus the bird DNA, I guess,"

I realized that I was staring at my thumb-twiddling contest, perfectly speechless, as the sound of the dying music became studded with the microwave's beeping. Though I tried my hardest to ignore it, I was perfectly aware of the fact that he had his attention buried on me, waiting for me to reply. How rude do you get? I hissed at myself.

Just as I opened my mouth, a loud, passionate saxophone whine blasted from the stereo that nearly made me leap out of my skin. Usually, I loved romantic jazz like this, but not now!

"Oh, shoot!" I scrambled over to the controls in a rush, hitting NEXT. That brought me to something that sounded like Britney Spears.

Next.

Then Mariah Carey, in the middle of a deafening high note.

NEXT!

All I needed to hear was the beginning of a vulgar spanish rap before I smashed my entire fist into the STOP button, the music cutting off just in time to leave no sound concealing my very loud "God DAMMIT!".

Behind me, Iggy had burst into laughter. I blushed for easily the 4th time today, trying to chuckle. The sound felt nervous and out of place, though, and I settled to bury myself in the sound of his voice. It wasn't like I had the nerve to do so much as speak.

Vaguely, I grew aware of the microwave's persistent beeping as Iggy's fit of laughter died down.

"Did you rehearse that?" he chuckled as I pulled the container from the microwave and set it down on the counter to look for a fork.

Spoon. Spoon. Knife. Spoon… An unintended trace of Spanish accent latched onto my nervous voice as I answered. "Would you buy it if I said yes?"

He pondered. "If you wanted me to,"

The one fork I had found at that moment slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. This evening couldn't get more embarrassing. I made an instinctive but halfhearted reach for it, but he snatched it out of midair without fumbling once and held his hand open for me to take it. I felt like I was locked in the middle of a stupor, of a painting of disbelief. Upon feeling my prolonged silence, he spoke.

"Thinking about something?"

In a voice so low and yet so natural it could have been breathing, I found myself saying, "I think you're amazing,"