I don't own Maximum Ride. But, damn, do I wish I had wings.

The dark night's wind whipped my hair furiously. It was a warning that I didn't take. I didn't want to take it.

The moon is just a silver sliver in the black sky barely illuminating the house and its surroundings. The thin wispy clouds shadow the ground in a foreboding scene you might see in a movie. Gray shadows dimming bright green grass. It was another sign that I shouldn't do what I came out here to do.

It was another sign that I ignored.

My talk with Leader washes through my mind. Leader might not know that I can see through him. He doesn't know that I can understand what he's really saying. I know I'm not like myself.

My eyes search the dark sky with its bright studs of stars for any sign that this might turn out good.

Did I find any? Nope. Nada. Nothing. Zilch.

Does that mean I'll turn around and go back? Does that mean I'll climb back off the roof and down the tree to my room? Does that mean I'll give up?

Hell no. It's time I start acting like myself.

It's cold on the roof despite the leftover heat on the shingles from baking in the summer sun this afternoon. The wind could be described as freezing, but I've been through worse.

I'm stalling.

Do I want to jump off the roof?

Yes… and no. Yes because there is always a slim chance I'll fly. No because slim is the key word in the last sentence.

I walk back to the middle of the roof and shrug off my jacket exposing bare arms to the wind. My coat -just a thin sweatshirt- falls to the lukewarm black shingles from my slackened grip.

My head is locked in an eternal debate. To fly, or to fall, that is the question.

I guess we'll find out who wins.

I take a step toward the edge and freeze stock still with fear. My legs won't work, paralyzed. My heart hammers in my chest, petrified. My eyes are squeezed shut with panic. When I finally come to my senses I let out some very… colorful words. The kinds that make sailors and truckers shake their heads in disgust. What can I say? You pick up things here and there.

I'm not so much afraid of the pain that will come if I fall. Sure, it's something to think about, no one likes breaking a rib jumping off a two story house at three in the morning. It's the not flying that scares me, not the pain that will follow it. Because, well, if I fall that's it. There's no again for me if I fall. There's no trying again. If I fall there's no hope left; no wishful thinking. This is it.

It's fly or fall. It's fly or fail.

I don't want to fall.

I roll my neck, stretching out my arms and my wings. It's a failed attempt to loosen myself up, to relax. It hard to imagine back when flying had been so reflexive for me; so easy. There had been no fear; there had just been something as easy as breathing.

I take a step back and attempt to swallow the lump in my throat -it's ultimately unsuccessful, my mouth is too dry.

I keep trying to convince myself I won't fall. It's pointless, really, I know I will.

Yep, that's me, the eternal optimist.

I know I just have to be the Little Engine that could and believe I can do it. The cynic in me wonders how many kids killed themselves doing stupid things -like trying to fly- because they believed they could from some stupid little children's book.

I'm stalling again.

It's not completely stupid for me to be jumping off the roof -I do have wings. I'm just not sure they work the way their supposed to.

I'm just a flightless bird.

I'm bouncing on my heels nervously and quietly. Nervously, because I can't help it. Quietly because I really don't want to wake anyone up.

Too late.

"What are you doing up here?" a voice asks, a familiar voice. It's not like Max's voice; it's not inside my head. I still turn around, even though I know who it is.

It's Iggy, or course.

I have no excuse as to why I'm up here really. To me it's pretty obvious.

I think he knows it too; he just doesn't want to admit it.

"I… uh." is the raspy sound that comes out of my throat. My mouth is still dry. He's standing there in his pajama pants and an old t-shirt that has seen better days. I can see his wings hanging loosely. His milky blue eyes are fixed on me, though I know he can't see me.

It's amazing really, how he does that. My sense of hearing is awful -for bird-kids-, most of the time I end up looking in the wrong direction for the source of the sound.

"Please don't tell me you're doing what I think you're doing." his face scrunches up a bit. I give him a sheepish look - a look that's wasted on him, but I don't care; I'd waste a thousand looks on Iggy.

"Well…" I trail off. It's answer enough for him and he shakes his head.

"I'm glad I came up here. Do you realize that you could have hurt yourself?" he's just a little angry, I can hear it distinctly in the edge of his voice. It's subtle, but it's there.

My chin perks up a few degrees. "I know." I sound a little stubborn as I repeat the words he said to me yesterday in the car. It aggravates him that I answered his rhetorical question.

"Come on, let's go inside." he gestures to me, his irked expression fading fast.

I shook my head. "No." I still needed to jump. I still needed to see because if I didn't I would never be able to sleep.

Irked expression returns. "Fine, go on, jump; fall and crack open your head." He's being sarcastic.

I take his advice and jump because, truthfully, all I needed was a little push. Even if it was sarcastic. Because I could never do this alone I realize as my scared wings spread open wide and my feet leave the rooftop.

And because I know he'll catch me if I fall.

(A/N: Will Odd fly, or fall? Will Iggy catch her? And if so, in what way?)