A/N: Hey, it's been less than two weeks since my last update. Is it sad that that's pretty good for me? Oh well.
Anywho, here's chapter nine.
69
It took me no time at all to fall back into the platonic, got-your-back relationship that I'd had with Fang before I'd gone and kissed him on that beach in New York. It was easy. Almost too easy. Whenever I stopped to think about it, I realized that it all felt sort of unresolved. But Fang didn't seem to feel it, so I ignored it, like I'm so good at doing when it comes to feelings. Besides, I was happy enough with the rest of my life that I didn't really feel like stopping to think about the more confusing aspects of it.
Until one Monday morning, anyway. Though 'morning' was a relative term for me. Now that we were perfectly safe, I'd taken to getting up around nine o'clock, and you couldn't count on me being ready for anything until at least noon. So when I say 'Monday morning', I really meant around twelve-thirty or one.
"Hello, Max," Dr. Martinez said cheerfully, coming into the kitchen with her arms full of grocery bags. "I see you're finally up."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, yawning. "I'm a lazy bum, I know."
She smiled at me. "Quite." She turned around and started distributing her purchases onto their respective shelves in the cupboard.
I was about to offer to help when a sudden pain hit me like a hammer in the stomach. It felt like something was crawling around inside me, poking the walls of my stomach with something sharp. Gasping, I sank into the nearest chair, clutching my middle with both arms.
Hearing my exclamation, Dr. M turned around, a surprised look on her face. "Max? Are you alright?"
I shook my head mutely, the sharp pain making it hard for me to talk.
She frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Stomach," I managed. "Sharp…pain."
"Are you sure?" she asked. What kind of question was that?
I looked at her as indignantly as I could manage. "Yes."
"Okay, okay," she said, obviously getting the message. "Well…can you make it to the couch at least? It's closer than your room."
I nodded, hoping I was telling the truth.
I was, pretty much. I managed it, at least, but it wasn't pleasant. Gazzy was on the couch happily watching cartoons, but he jumped up as soon as we came in.
"What's wrong with Max?" he asked Dr. M, the worry evident in his tone.
Dr. M shook her head. "I have no idea. Go get the Tylenol out of the bathroom cabinet for me, please."
Gazzy scurried out of the room, and I flopped gratefully onto the couch, moaning. Dr. M crouched down next me, her expression anxious.
"Has anything like this ever happened to you before?" she asked.
I shook my head, not even having to think about it. Our health was incredible. None of us had ever gotten sick before. Injured, sure, but never sick.
So what was wrong with me now?
70
"Jones, get your ass in here now!" Professor Henry commanded into his headset. "We have a situation!"
The speakers crackled to life, the doctor's voice coming through loud and clear and annoyed. "But I think I've got something on Angel's case. Possibly breakthrough material."
"Trust me on this one," Professor Henry said. "You want to be here for this."
He had been watching Max's monitor when she'd suddenly grimaced and dropped into a chair. He had quickly turned the mute off and watched as Dr. Martinez helped her to the couch.
Something wasn't right.
By the time Doctor Jones burst into the lab, the entire flock had gathered around Max, all of them worried. The professor was worried too. It was weird enough that she'd gotten sick with her impeccable immune system, but one, it wasn't a normal illness, and two, the machines that were keeping them in their separate fantasies was also supposed to regulate things like this so that nothing would affect their perfect life.
"This had better be good," the doctor said, his breath rather short from running all the way to the lab.
"Not good, no," Professor Henry said, frowning. "More on the bad side, I think." He pointed to the monitor. "Have a look."
Doctor Jones squinted at the screen. "What's wrong with her?"
"Extreme stomach pain," the professor replied. "Sharp and debilitating, apparently."
"That's not good," Doctor Jones said.
Professor Henry raised an eyebrow at him. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. The question is, why is it happening?"
"Maybe the machine is malfunctioning," the doctor suggested. "They aren't exactly well-tested."
Professor Henry shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. They may not be well-tested, but they're certainly well-built. It seems odd for it to be acting up so soon."
"Soon?" Doctor Jones said. "It's been nearly three weeks."
"I know," the professor said. "Don't you generally expect things like this to last at least a couple years? We're in the timeframe now where they've been running long enough that we know they work fine and therefore aren't malfunctioning, and are obviously too new to be breaking down already."
The doctor inclined his head, conceding the point. "So what could be the problem?"
"I'm guessing," Professor Henry said, "that it's more a problem with Max's brain than with the machine." He typed a few lines of code into the computer that was connected to Max's monitor, opening up an information screen. He scanned it quickly, then looked up at the doctor. "Right here," he said. "It seems to be having trouble holding onto Max's consciousness. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that she'll start having hallucinations of the lab soon if we don't do something."
Doctor Jones shook his head, frowning. "This doesn't make sense. They were hooked up to a very similar machine for four years, and we never had any problems like this."
"They were all together then," the professor said. "Maybe that helped to strengthen the link or something. That's not really the point; the point is that we need to get them out fast before Max's brain overloads our system. I don't think we'd be able to hide that from the Director, do you?"
"No," Doctor Jones agreed, "probably not."
"Right then," Professor Henry said. "We'll shoot Max up with some painkillers to stop a bit of the agony, but then we really need to get Angel up and going."
Doctor Jones nodded. "Let's get to work."
71
The pain was awful, and only getting worse. It had spread into my chest, and it felt like a large dog was sitting there, making it hard to breathe. Obviously, as the great Maximum Ride, I wasn't crying, but with every passing moment of this, the tears got closer.
Dr. M was trying to help, but the most she seemed able to do was give me a couple Tylenols and hope that they would make it a little less awful. From what I could tell, they had done absolutely nothing.
Fang was sitting in a chair next to me, one of his hands wrapped around mine. I didn't care about where our relationship was at the moment, it was just good to have someone there.
I looked up at him. "Thank you," I said, my voice hoarse.
He looked surprised. "What for?"
"Being here, I guess."
He smiled. "You know I've got your back, Max. No matter what."
"Thanks for that, then," I said, then winced as more pain hit my stomach. "Ow."
His smile faded. "I wish I could help."
"I wish you could, too," I said. "Anything to make this pain go–" I stopped, surprised.
"What is it?" Fang asked. "Did it get worse?"
I shook my head, a grin spreading slowly over my face. "No, it…it went away." I swung my legs over the side of the couch and stood up, stretching. "It's gone."
He raised his eyebrows. "Weird."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Definitely not normal, but hey, I'm not going to complain." I grinned at him. "Wanna go for a fly?"
He grinned back. "Why not?"
A/N: Hm...I have nothing to say. I don't even need this AN, except then I'd have no place to say that I have nothing to say...and I must be going insane. Jeesh. (muttering) No place to say I have nothing to say...Feh.
