Chapter 1

And his fingers trailed lightly over her cheek, touching on every freckle, moving up to her brow, tracing along her perfect eyebrows. Pushing his fingers through her thick hair, entwining them together. And then disentangling them, and moving back down, feeling the curve of her jawline, and then the softness of her lips. He teased a smile out of her mouth, and then brought his own lips to hers.

"Iggy," she said, pulling away, "That's not what we're supposed to be doing,"

"Right," he muttered, slightly rejected, bringing his hands back to something less fun.

He heard her settle back next to him. The problem was, he wanted to see her. And touching was the only way he could. If he couldn't then her features just seemed to melt away, and she disappeared. He could only cling to the imagined version of her he had in his head - blue eyes, by the feel of it, and blonde hair, but it was vague and transparent. Sometimes he wondered if he imagined her being there with him. That was the thing - if you can't trust your own eyes, what can you trust. He trusted his fingers, only beneath them was she solid to him, and they told him she was beautiful.

He guessed he was lucky he found a girl that didn't mind being pawed, and his hands flitting over her face every second of the day, but she seemed to like it - she found him, and his fingers, interesting. More than once, she had removed his hands from her, to his embarrassment and dismay, only to then bring them up to her mouth and kiss them on the tips of the fingers. "I love your hands," she would say. They were long and thin. "Piano playing hands," she said.

And that was when - when he was fifteen - they had discovered Iggy had a talent, not just for bomb making, but for musical instruments. He had been interviewed for a scholarship into the music college. The interview had not gone well. He thought it had gone downhill when he'd answered, "What do you think about the placement of crescendos in modern composure?" with, "Yeah, I like it when things explode, in music too."

He'd got in though, thanks to a bass guitar and something about the percentage of ethnic minorities. Yeah, he was sure Avian Hybrids were in short supply at any school. Whilst being shown around, or rather led around the school he had bumped into her, literally, and the relationship had started from there.

Her name was Henrietta Nightingale, appropriate because she sang like one, and how he loved to hear her sing! More often though, she answered to 'Henny'.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when her hands touched lightly on top of his. He realised he'd heard her move, but hadn't really been paying attention - It had been a long time since he'd had to listen for the growl of erasers and had gotten used to fazing out background noise.

"You're frowning. What are you thinking about?" Henny asked quietly, playfully, in that way that girls do.

He was sure she wouldn't want him recounting bloodthirsty eraser trips, so Iggy just said, "Nothing,"

She pulled his hands back to the braille, "What's this one?"

"Treble clef?" he hazarded a guess.

"Right!" She cried, he could hear the pride in her voice when he got it right.

"Can we make out now?"

"No," she said. Iggy stiffened at the harsh dismissal, curling his hands back against her. "I'm smiling Iggy," she said quickly, putting his hands back to her face so he could see that she was. "I was joking. I'd never blow you off, but what does that say about me? That the only guy I can get is blind!"

"Is that the only reason you're with me? Because you can't get anyone else?" They were both joking dryly, but there was still questions there with some seriousness.

"I wouldn't want anyone else Iggy. I love you,"

"The wings aren't a turn off?" Iggy asked, ruffling his secondary feather in her direction.

"You know I think you're amazing. Seriously though, you have to memorise this for the recital,"

"No I don't," Iggy replied, "I'm blind, I get allowances. And if I screw up I'll just snap out the old bird-busters and everyone goes crazy for me,"

"By 'bird-busters' I assume you mean that wonderful fifteen foot wingspan you're sporting this season?"

"Right," Iggy nodded, grinning, but then his smile faded.

"What?" Henny asked, concerned.

"I've been asked to do a charity Air show. And... I'll see the flock again. Do you... do you think I should go?"

"Well, why do you ask? Wouldn't it be great?"

"It's just that two years is a long time," Iggy was silent for a while. "And my parents'll probably turn up again, and they always insist on calling me James, even though they know I hate it,"

Henny seemed to take pity on him, taking his hand again in reassurance. "Okay, enough reading for now?"

Iggy shrugged, and then asked tentatively, struggling to get his words out, "Will you come with me? I mean, I'd like them to meet you,"

"Sure," Henny said, flattered, "I love watching you fly, and I'm sure the flock'll be happy to see you,"

Iggy said nothing. He was sure the flock thought he had ditched them for the quiet life. He didn't even live anywhere near any of them, and he did miss them, but did they miss him?

"I'm starving," Henny groaned, packing away the braille. "Come on Chef,"

Iggy sighed, and got up slowly. "I'll make suffle," he said, heading back down to the kitchen.

To come: The flock reunite with Iggy, meet Henny, the Air show goes bad, and Max buys Iggy a seeing eye dog.