guess what? in two days i'll have been on fanfiction for a whole year! woo!

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

10. do what you have to do

Very slowly, the darkness began to recede.

I realized I could sense again--I could feel the cool cement beneath me, hear the ringing silence of whatever room I was in. My whole body ached.

Cement? Silence? Wait a. . . I went into high-alert, wondering just where the hell I was now. After Con had. . .well, you know. . .I'd, like, checked out of my body for a while. It'd been kinda weird--like, I had a vague idea of what had gone on around me, but not really. It's hard to explain.

But then I'd woken up in some weird little clearing next to a stream, and Sy had been there--only he hadn't been Sy, exactly. He'd been. . .red-eyed Sy. Artist formerly known as Sy.

Or, so it's easier to distinguish them: Dylan.

I held very still, keeping my eyes shut tight as I tried to remember what had happened after the. . .incident in the cave and before this. In the clearing.

It'd been like just a few seconds ago: the gradual awareness of my surroundings, the realization that I was actually alive and breathing. (Ah, breathing. To be able to fill your lungs to their complete capacity with fresh, clean, life-giving air. . .ahhhh. 'Tis a sensation I won't be taking for granted again for a while, if ever. But anyway. . .) I could hear the light rush of running water, feel a slight breeze over my skin. I could tell I wasn't in the cave anymore--I was outside, in open air.

It was only after I sat up that I knew I wasn't completely healed--pain had exploded in my side so intensely I'd nearly passed out again. Then I heard Sy.

At least, I thought it was Sy--he was sitting back against a tree, head bowed over so I couldn't see his face. His hands were all twisted in his shiny silver hair, like he had an overwhelming migraine. He was muttering something; I barely caught words like, "No, no, no," and "get out, get out, get out!"

Despite my first impression--that he'd suddenly gone schizo on me--and despite that I'd been pissed at him for leaving me--again--I was happy as hell to see him.

"S-Sy!" I said, wincing as a light pain wave passed through my chest. I scrambled to my knees and moved closer to him. "Sy, you have no idea how happy I am to. . .see. . .you."

My voice trailed off as he ignored me. His muttering continued, and he really did sound like a crazy person: "Get out of my head, get out of my head!"

"Sy?" I touched his shoulder and he flinched.

"Get away from me!" he yelled, so forcefully that I jumped.

"Sy! What the--"

"I said get away!" he repeated. My eyes went wide as he started to rock back and forth, still holding his head, beginning to talk to himself.

"You bastard, you said you wouldn't fight me!"

"Yeah, well, I lied!"

"Get back in my head, dammit!"

"No, you get back!"

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"Sy, you're freaking me out!" I said loudly. He continued to mutter crazily to himself until I lost my patience and smacked him upside the head. "Snap out of it!!" I yelled at him.

He almost toppled over sideways, but flung out his hand in time to keep himself up. Then Sy shook his head, trying to orient himself--I got to my feet, all positive feelings about seeing him again evaporating.

"Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but you'd better pull yourself together before I kick your ass!" I snapped. Sy's head barely lifted; I could see part of his face, but not his eyes. "Now, I'm pretty sure Con and them have the flock, so we have to find them and save them! So get up!"

There was maybe a millisecond of silence before Sy sprang into action. His foot snapped out and took out my ankles, sending me to my knees. Then he leapt up and tackled me back to the ground before I could regain my footing.

"OW!" I shouted, instinctively beginning to struggle. It wasn't much of a fight, though--my arms were stuck at my sides, and my shoulders were pinned to the ground, and no matter how hard I kicked I couldn't come in contact with anything. Plus, my strength hadn't fully recovered from my fight with Con. "What the hell was that for?! Let me go!!"

Sy chuckled and I glared up at him. Then I froze: his eyes weren't blue. Rather, they were red. Like rubies. Like Ariel's eyes. Like a monster's eyes.

"Sorry, Sparky. No can do," Dylan said, smirking coldly. He lifted one hand from my shoulder and used a finger to tilt up my chin. "Poseidon's not in control anymore; I am."

I jerked my head away from his hand, and then did something I haven't done to a kid since I was still in the foster care system: I bit his fingers.

"Ah!!" Dylan jerked his hand out of my mouth, expression twisting from cold and cocky to pissed and in pain. "God, you stupid. . .!"

"Go to hell!" I yelled, spitting at him. Then I raised my voice, as if sheer volume could make it through Dylan's head and back to Sy. "And Sy, if you let him kill me I'll haunt you for the rest of your life!!"

Dylan jerked as he grabbed up a rock. His free hand came up to grab his head as his red irises shimmered, turning blue for just the slightest second.

But then it passed, and he slammed the rock into the side of my head. "He's not gonna have a life for you to haunt!"

And then I'd woken up here, in this stupid cell, with no idea where I was, how long I'd been out, or even if I had any friends nearby.

I let out a small, slightly pathetic groan as I pushed myself up. My head was throbbing and I touched my temple--I felt dried blood stuck to my skin and in my hair. Gross.

There was a slight shuffle and I looked up--my eyes found a pair of scruffy track shoes I was all too familiar with. I instantly tensed.

"Constantine, you have two seconds to commit suicide," I said evenly, my knuckles turning white as I clenched my fists. "And if you don't, I'm going to kill you."

"You're. . .you're supposed to be dead," Con said haltingly.

"That's it!" I snarled, and then I ignored my pain and hurled myself at him.

Spark moved faster than he could react, slamming into him so hard he lost his breath for a second. Then she spun and kicked him, and Con reeled back into one of the walls of the cell. She aimed a punch at him, and he dodged it, but it was only a feint--she socked him hard in the gut and he almost doubled over, once again trying to get a breath of air.

Then Spark pinned him to the wall, her forearm like an iron bar across his neck, crushing his trachea. He gagged and she relented--but barely.

"I agreed to a fair fight back in that cave, Con. And you. Cheated," Spark said slowly. "And for that, you have to endure a penalty game. I call it, 'How Long Does it Take for Me to Strangle You Until You Die!' "

"That's kinda a mouthful, don't you thi--gck!" Con coughed as Spark's arm tightened across his throat, sliding him up the wall until he was barely on tiptoe.

"Give me ooonne reason, Con," Spark said softly. "Just one reason why I shouldn't murder you right here and right now." She lessened the pressure on his neck so he could speak.

Con glared at her. "K-killing me right now just isn't worth it," he said, his voice rasping. "Whoever's in charge will just kill you, too."

"That's not a good enough reason!" Spark snarled, eyes burning with rage. "I've escaped before, and I can do it again!!"

"Not without help!" Con snapped. "You're just not that good on your own, I know you had help every time you escaped us! So unless you have a death wish, killing me would be useless!"

Spark went as still as a statue. After a long, long moment, she dropped her arm; Con's feet came back to the floor and he coughed again, rubbing his neck.

"Fine," Spark mumbled, stepping back. Con thought she was going to turn away and ignore him, but instead she doubled back and kicked him where he did not like to be kicked.

"Shit!"

Con's surprised yell of pain soothed my fury some. I let out a breath and allowed myself a tiny smirk--beating people up has always relaxed me. (Again, I wonder at the word "sadistic". . .)

He dropped to his knees, hunching over as he tried not to vocalize his pain. I turned away, my eyes darting about to inspect the cell. It was the usual--four walls, designed by somebody who is either color-blind or just wants everybody else to be. I crossed over to the wall and lay my hand upon it--my fingers tingled, and I somehow knew the black paint was at least semi-metallic.

It was almost a full minute before I heard Con gingerly get to his feet, and I could just feel the death glares stabbing at my back.

"Wh-what are you. . .doing here?" Con finally asked, his tone forcibly calm.

"I am here to steal all the spots off the hundred and one Dalmatians so Cruella cannot turn them into coats," I said absently, turning my back to the wall and leaning back against it. "Why? Did you think I'd been kidnapped or something?"

"Will you be serious for five seconds?!" Con demanded angrily. "I meant what are you doing here alive? I killed you, I know I did!"

I narrowed my eyes. "I wouldn't remind me of that if I were you," I said frostily. "Or I may just have to do more than kick you."

"Look, we've already established that killing me won't do anything for you!" Con snapped. "Let me just find out what happened, okay? How the hell did you survive?"

"None of your bee's guts," I retorted defensively. Last thing I needed was for somebody to know Dylan had issues keeping his head around me--if anybody found out, they might keep him from me, and there goes any chance I have of escaping. Con was right--I would need help if I had to get out of here.

"I stabbed you right here," Con said, jabbing a thumb at the spot where I'd been knifed. "And because I stabbed up, your lung should have collapsed and you should have died! So how the hell did you survive?!"

"Through the power of. . .friendship?" I guessed. Con's fists clenched in anger, so I went on. "Yeah, friendship. The magical bonds between me and all my friends has healed me! Take that, medical science!"*

"Oh, my. . .seriously? How do you even function?!" Con asked exasperadedly, staring at me like I was something far freakier than a girl with wings. "What is your problem with answering a direct question?!"

"I think it's psychological," I said after a pause. "And having something to do with my childhood. Perhaps it's my way screwing the rules of normal conversation."

"They did this on purpose," Con said, more to himself than me. "They want to drive me insane. Well, that's just perfect, because I'm already halfway there!!"

It cheered me even more to see Con in turmoil such as that in which he was now--he laughed almost hysterically to himself as he turned and paced to the wall behind him, banging his forehead once against it. He was still for a second, and then he took a deep breath as if to compose himself.

Turning back to me, he said, "If we're going to get out of here, I need to be sane. So stop. F*cking. Annoying me. Okay?"

"I shall try to restrain myself," I said lightly, smirking. Con raised his hand as if he wanted to jump across the room to smack me, but (with what seemed like an effort) he refrained from doing so.

"Like that," he said tightly. "Don't do that. And if you won't tell me how you didn't die, will you at least tell me how you hit your head? 'Cuz I know I didn't do it."

A myriad of silly retorts flickered through my mind, but through sheer force of will I ignored them. "I, uh, don't remember," I lied. "Maybe it happened while they kidnapped me." I reached up and I rubbed the side of my hand against my head, trying to wipe the blood away. "Man, one of these days I'm gonna be more scar than skin," I grumbled to myself.

"That's not gonna scar, so stop complaining," Con said, rolling his eyes. Then he glanced at me and jerked his chin. "You missed a spot."

"Where?" I dragged my knuckles over my temple, then inspected my hand. I frowned and wiped the blood off on my jeans.

"Still there," Con said dully, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the wall.

"Where?!" I whirled around to inspect myself in the one-way mirror that usually dominated one of the walls only to find myself staring at a large expanse of nothing. Huh--that's weird, I thought, momentarily forgetting about the supposed blood on my face. If there's no window, how can they watch us? Unless there's a camera. . .

"It's right there, by your eye," Con told me, zapping me out of my thoughts.

"Fine," I said absently, brushing my fingers over the corner of my eye, looking up and around to the upper corners of the room. Then again, if it's a camera then it's probably too small to see. They'd want us to think we're alone.

"Seriously? Just wipe it off. It'll bug me if you don't."

"Mm." I dimly registered Con's words as I moved toward the corner to his right, eyes on the ceiling. Was it just me, or was there a little shiny spot amid the black and cloudy gray?

"Okay, what are you doing?" Con said irritably, hastily distancing himself from me.

"No mirror means there's gotta be a camera." I squinted up at the ceiling. Yep, that was a lens, all right. "And it's right there," I said, pointing.

"Wooow," Con said, the sarcasm practically pooling on the floor. "Your investigative skills are truly amazing."

"Sarcasm not appreciated," I stated, pressing my hand against the wall. If the paint was semi-metallic, and the camera was vulnerable to electric surges, maybe I could short it out. Though how it would help us was kinda a mystery at the moment. . .

"Noted and ignored. Now, will you please wipe that blood off your face? It's really starting to annoy me."

"Just shut up about the blood already!" I snapped, turning around to glare at him. "Look, like it or not we're kinda trapped here together, so like it or not we're gonna have to work together to figure out a way to escape!"

"Your point?"

"My point is that it would be helpful for you to think of stuff to do to escape!" I practically yelled at him. "Rather than giving yourself an ulcer about some stupid blood on my face!" I dragged my hand across the scrape on my head yet another time, wincing as I did it too hard.

"Well, it's kinda hard to think with you fighting everything I say," Con said flatly, eyes narrowing.

"And it's kinda hard to not fight everything you say," I replied. He frowned at me and, for maybe the first time, I felt a little guilty. "Sorry."

Con blinked, taken off guard by my apology. ". . .Okay," he said slowly, for lack of anything else to say. Then, eyeing me warily, he said, "Um, if we want to get out of here, we should just wait around for a while, and, um, see if anybody comes by to--okay, I'm sorry, but it's bugging the freaking hell out of me!"

"What?" I asked in surpise.

"That stupid trickle of blood! Please, just wipe it away!"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at him. "It's annoying you that much?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No, it's. . .ah, just let me do it!" Con said, taking a half-step forward and raising his hand.

"Na-ah-ah-ah-ah," I said, taking a hasty step back--I didn't have much room, so I bumped into the wall. "No no no. You are going to stay away from me, got it?"

"Oh, come on, what am I gonna do?" Con demanded, rolling his eyes. "My killing you won't do any good right now either."

"So? I can get it myself!" I dragged the heel of my hand across my temple again.

Con's jaw clenched. "Well, apparently not, because it's still there. Now will you just let me get it before I go insane?"

"Geez, OCD, much?" I asked sarcastically, lowering my hand. I tried not to flinch away as Con used his sleeve to clean away the last of the blood.

As soon as he was finished, I hurriedly sidestepped around him and increased the distance between us. With a slight shudder, I said, "Never do that again, okay? Ever. It's weird when you're not hurting me."

"Deal," Con said shortly. Then, he cracked a smirk. "And for the record, that's what she said."

"Oh, my. . .good God, would you grow up?" I cried, rolling my eyes and turning my back on him. "We're supposed to be figuring a way out of here!" In spite of myself, though, I smiled. For like a second.

"Oh, yeah, this coming from the girl who once said 'missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me'?" Con prompted.

I turned back around, ready to retort, then paused as I tried to remember when I'd said that. Oh, yeah. "I was high on sugar when I said that. Doesn't count. And before, I meant that ever since I met you, all you've done is try to kill me. And I'd like to keep it that way, so. . .yeah. No more touching."

"I have not always been trying to kill you," Con said defensively.

"Capture, kill, same diff. Let's just leave it at that."

"Fine."

"Fine." I took a deep, calming breath before crossing my arms and propping myself up against a wall. "Now, how long d'you think it'll take for somebody to come talk to us?"

"Hm. Well, if it were me, I'd let us stew in here for a while. An hour, maybe two."

I frowned. "Ick. What're we supposed to do until then?"

". . .Uh. . ."

*yu-gi-oh abridged reference! haha. . .

and so we wrap up chapter ten. next chapter will have flock/anti-flock interaction, promise. (and how well d'ya think max and blaze will get along?)