A/N: (Throws confetti in air and blasts 80's rock in celebration.) Yes! I have reached 50 reviews! Whoop whoop!

Thanks to all my anonymous reviewers, and all you named ones too!

Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride; James Patterson does.

Claimer: I do own the plot and words, so no stealing!

Oh, and, uh...well, let's just say I warned you last chapter with the Dragonology's Dictionary...so don't kill me!

Chapter 10

A rough buffet of wind smacked the side of my face, but Fang quickly adjusted, flying beside me.

An awkward silence passed. Sheesh, god forbid he start a conversation.

I was perfectly calm, completely in control of my stupid mind and memories. No panic, or fear, or flashbacks. No worries. I wasn't screaming at myself to get a grip.

And if you believe that, you need to reread the past nine chapters.

"So," I said lamely.

"You should go into rhetoric," he said, deadpan. "You just have a way with words."

"Look who's talking." I scowled at him.

When he spoke again, he was serious. "You okay?"

I snorted. Why'd he always beat me to that question? "I've been worse."

"You've been better."

"So have you."

He tensed, not looking at me. "I'm fine."

"Sure."

He glanced at me again, expression a little softer. "Voice said anything yet?"

"More than I need to hear." Of course, one word would be more than enough, but still.

You need to hear what I say; I can tell you what he won't.

He talks to me, I said, churlish. I was a little hurt at the thought of the Voice hiding less than my best friend.

"Earth to Max." Oh yeah. I blinked and pulled myself back to the present situation.

"Just now?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He watched me with that heavy gaze, the one that always pried my mouth open.

"It's bugging me."

He continued to stare. Crud, this was going to sound so weird.

"About you," I grumbled.

Something flickered in his dark eyes, but it was too fleeting for me to make out.

"And…?" he asked, sounding just mildly curious. Which meant he was absolutely dying to know.

He was going to hate this. Well, he was the one interrogating me—curiosity killed the bird-kid.

I still didn't want to talk about it, but he picked up on my hesitation and guessed anyway. His face hardened.

"It's still threatening you."

"Not directly. More just rubbing it in."

I've said nothing of the sort.

You're being delicate.

"Max," he growled, grinding out each word, "I'm. Fine."

"You are now." Told you he'd hate it.

"Voices can't do anything."

Something in the way he said that made me snap.

"Can't do anything?" I hissed furiously, forcing myself not to yell and upset the Flock. "This voice seems to be keeping its threats. This one managed to give you a freaking seizure, but I don't know what the hell actually happened, because you're being thick and won't talk!

"And then there's all the rest to think about! What if it goes after Angel or Iggy or Nudge or Gazzy next? God knows what Itex put into us. And it's not even the Voice doing it­; it's them. The Voice is just a stupid messenger that doesn't know when to shut up. But they can do things, Fang; you would know."

Wrong thing to say.

The whole time I ranted, I watched him curl up inside, drawing his already limited expressions into himself, leaving a stony face and a cold distance to his voice. He'd frozen over, staring ahead, eyes blank. Like my burst of emotion was backing his emotions into a corner.

The last time I'd seen him like this, he'd been at the School.

There was a painful, silent lull where I eased my heavy breathing.

"Sorry," I said gruffly. I hadn't realized just how open he'd become around me these past couple weeks.

"Don't be." The stiffness was harsh.

"Well, I am anyway!" I snapped.

It had no effect on him.

I tried a different tactic. "I'm stopping early to try and find a lead—something that might lead us to some more information. And we can work on those papers some more, try to decode them."

He nodded curtly, then tilted his wings up, slowing his flight, falling back to his usual position. Leaving me.

Leaving me upset. Upset at myself for breaking down like that, and just plain ticked at him for being such a mute jerk. It wasn't that hard to talk; I'd just proven that with my—ahem—pleasant little spiel.

You told me you didn't want to know what happened.

I imagined just what else that Voice was implying—mostly thoughts happening to deal with dead Flock members.

Dragonology's Dictionary: "It does not take much strength to do things, but it requires great strength to decide on what to do." –Elbert Hubbard