happy fourth of july!

at least i'm still updating. i haven't abandoned this, i swear.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

14. this love, this hate

One of Dylan's eyebrows quirked up as he smirked. "Hey, Spark. Lookin' good."

My eye twitched-which, to many who know me, is a sign that I'm about to blow a gasket. I opened my mouth to breathe fire at Dylan (figuratively, not literally-though wouldn't that be sweet?), but Con touched my clenched fist. So I clamped my jaws shut and resigned myself to glaring. Oh, man, if looks could kill he'd be dead ten times over by now.

"It's sweet that you specially requested to extend our lives, Dyl," Con said coolly. "And I always thought you didn't like me."

Dylan glared at Con, fire dancing in his red eyes. "I didn't do it for you, asswipe. I did it for her." He jerked his head at me.

"Aw. And that's even sweeter," Con replied, faking a touched tone. Then he put a hand up to his mouth, as if by blocking me from seeing it I wouldn't hear him. "But just so you know, she likes me better."

I found I was able to smile at the way Dylan scowled. Guess I know now where I picked up all that darling prisoner's charm from!

I inspected Dylan closely, once again so disturbed by the fact that this face could be so, so different than the face of my Sy. Dylan just looked so cold and cocky and. . .well, kinda like Con. They both pulled that same expression when they were in charge, when they were taunting their captives (i.e., me). Whereas Sy would never look at me like that-he only smiled at me. And laughed at me. And sometimes rolled his eyes at me.

Dylan's eyes flickered over to me, and I frowned.

Note to self: I now hate the color red.

"My hand's fine, by the way," he said, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers. I blinked and saw faint blue bruises marring his slender, pale fingers, bruises that were shaped like my teeth. That's right, I thought, remembering. I bit him. In that clearing.

"I'm fine, too," I told him sincerely. "I thought for sure your blood would poison me."

He shrugged and crossed his arms. "I'm just glad you didn't give me rabies."

"I still could," I snapped, baring my teeth in a very feral, animal-like way. Con elbowed me warningly and I fell silent.

"Just what is it you want with us?" Con asked coldly.

"Yeah, you interrupted my beauty sleep," I added, and a small smirk played over Dylan's lips.

"I'm so sure," he said quietly, speaking only to me, as if Con and the whitecoat weren't even in the room. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Other note to self: I will never, ever wear rubies.

"What is it you want with us?" I asked, echoing Con. Because I was curious now, too, behind all my anger. Did he just come in here to bait me and mess around? Or was there a real purpose? And why, as the whitecoat had said, did he put in a "special request" to keep us alive?

"Oh, you know." Dylan turned away and wandered around the room, trailing his fingers along the wall, meandering over to where Con's and my shoes were still lined up along the back wall. "Just came to say hi."

I leaned back on my hands. "Cut the crap, jerkwad. I know you guys're taking us to that stupid thing in London so Itex doesn't lose funding for its genetic experiments. They want us alive to compete, don't they?"

"I know you won't agree to it," Dylan said absently, bending down and picking up one of my shoes. My fists clenched-I don't like people touching my stuff. Especially people who take over the mind of my best friend. "And once you guys officially say that to the Director, I have permission to kill you. You have big feet," he added thoughtfully, turning my shoe over in his hand.

"All the better to kick you with, my dear," I said vaguely, not really up for any super-witty comebacks. I glanced over at Con. He was still, staring off into space. I hoped he was coming up with a plan or something, 'cuz I really had no idea how to get out of this one. Every time I've been cooped up in one of these places, it's always been Sy to save me, either directly or indirectly. But now that he was gone and Dylan was in control. . .If all we had was Frankie and Joey, then. . .

I jumped a little as I heard a loud thwack! I looked around and saw Dylan had simply dropped my shoe back to the floor. Shaking myself free of the muddle that was my thoughts, I said, "Either way, right now, we're still wanted alive by people more important than you. When that dude over there-" I nodded over to the whitecoat, hanging back by the door. "-said you specially requested to keep us alive, does that mean you won't kill us after we refuse to compete?"

Dylan shrugged, turning and leaning against the wall so he could face me. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just screwing with you and Poseidon."

I went still and Dylan's eyes gleamed.

"Yep," he said casually, though I could see his excitement. He knew he'd gotten me with that, and he was going to use it any way he could. "Even now, I feel him trying to regain control. Just seeing you is torture for him. He misses you." Dylan laughed. "How pathetic is that?"

Not pathetic at all, you stupid, idiotic. . .stupid. . .GRAH! I yelled every obscenity I knew in my head, careful to keep my face as blank as possible. My fists were so tight my arms were quivering, and my fingers were going numb.

"If you have nothing useful to say, you should leave," Con said emotionlessly. He straightened up, turning his head so his neck cracked. Me, Dylan, and the whitecoat all flinched. "This is getting boring."

"It really is," I agreed. Yawning obviously, I leaned my head on Con's shoulder and closed my eyes. "Wake me after you're gone, or at least done spewing crap in the form of words from your mouth."

"Get off me," Con mumbled half-heartedly, jerking his shoulder. It was a good thing he did, too, otherwise I wouldn't've opened my eyes and seen the momentary flash of blue taint the red of Dylan's irises.

I went momentarily still, my hands clenching on the edge of the cot. Just because I'd touched Con, Dylan had. . .hmm.

Interwesting.

Perhaps something could come of this. . .

Almost as a test, I dropped my head onto Con's shoulder again, this time watching Dylan carefully.

And again, I saw the tiniest flicker of sapphire behind those ruby eyes. And, because I was looking closely, I also registered the tiniest jerk of his head.

"Seriously? Get off," Con snapped, much more forcefully this time. He even slid away from me so I wouldn't try again, but I really wasn't paying attention to him anymore. I'd found a tiny window past the Dylan persona, a tiny window to Sy.

(Never took him for the jealous type.)

Now, if I could only break it fully. . .

I smiled.

Because, even though I'd never do it under normal circumstances because Con would pretty much kill me dead, it'd be kinda fun. Just to see their reactions.

I heaved a sigh and leaned back on my hands again, purposefully laying one over Con's fingers. He tried to twitch away, but I tightened my grip so I was practically holding his hand. I glanced quickly at Dylan out of the corner of my eye, smirking to myself as I saw him go still, putting a hand to his head as if it pained him.

Come on, Sy, you can do it, I thought. I'm right here waiting.

Con snapped his hand from my grip, hissing at me, "Why do you keep touching me?"

"We're wasting time here," said the whitecoat, eyebrows skeptically raised at me and Con. I quickly tried to look my innocent-est. Most innocent. Shaking his head, he turned, and went for the door.

My heart leaped. If we were fast enough, maybe we could. . .

Damn. The scientist hesitated before opening the door, looking over at Dylan. "Come on. I told you you could have five minutes."

"It's been four," Dylan said softly, his eyes never leaving me. Again, I shifted uncomfortably; then I got an idea. I slid over close to Con, wrapped my arm through his, and stage-whispered in his ear, my eyes always keeping watch on Dylan.

"He keeps staring at me," I said. "It's creepy."

Dylan's jaw clenched, his eyes changing. Come on, come on! I thought. You can do it! You can beat him, Sy. I know it's making you all jealous to see me doing this, so make me stop!

But then the blue swirled away into red, and a shiver passed through Dylan's frame. He momentarily bowed his head to compose himself, and I tried not to curse aloud, let any frustration show on my face. Dammit!

"What's. . .creepy is you being all over me all of a sudden!" Con said back to me. He seemed to know I was up to something, because he was speaking softly enough so only I heard him, but his dislike of my touching him was overwhelming his ability to blindly follow my lead. He hurriedly detached his arm from mine, nearly falling off the end of the cot in his haste to escape me.

I bit my lip to hide a smirk, because, well, it was funny. Especially since I knew I used to be the same way-almost phobic of other people touching me, even my friends.* But I'd just given up, though, because the more I avoided being touched the more they tried to touch me. Apparently they did it part to annoy me, part to see my reactions, and part to actually help me get over my fear of hugs.

Con glared at me and I winked hugely-his eyes widened a fraction and I bit my lip again, this time so I wouldn't laugh.

"Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do, Spark," Dylan said in a low voice, and both Con and I looked at him. The fish hybrid pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room until he was standing just before the cot, paused as if he was deliberating whether he should hit me or not. (I wouldn't be all that surprised if that's really what he was thinking about.)

"Westerfield," the whitecoat at the door said warningly. He opened the door and waited. "Time."

"I have thirty seconds," Dylan snapped, glaring over his shoulder at the whitecoat. I glanced at Con, who'd tensed-he, too, saw the open door. And the lack of any robots and backup guards beyond it.

I looked back up at Dylan. Feigning innocence, I said, "What is it I'm supposedly trying to do?"

He smirked down at me. "You're trying to get him back."

"Get who back?" I asked, playing dumb. I quelled the urge to twirl my hair around my finger and say "like" unnecessarily like some dumb blond. Throwing caution to the winds I grabbed Con's hand again, slipping my other arm around his waist as I leaned against him. "I'm really fine like this. Who're you talking about?"

Con whipped his hand out of mine so fast it was like I'd burned him. He stumbled to his feet and backed away from the cot, his steely gray eyes telling me I'd just signed my own death warrant. I would've laughed, but Dylan-who apparently didn't care one way or another if Con was even in the room-drew my attention away by uttering a single word.

"Poseidon," he whispered, ruby eyes sparkling with malice.

All urge to laugh evaporated, and I glowered up at Dylan as best I could, fists clenching in the thin sheet on the cot.

"You miss him, too, don't you?" Dylan leaned slightly downwards, so his face was more on level with mine. Still smirking, he continued in the same low, measured voice. "I bet you hate me. Hate that I'm stronger than him. That I'm in control. That they're my eyes you're staring at. My voice you're listening to."

He must've done this a thousand times before, because everything he'd just said, and the way he'd said it, had struck home. I did miss Sy. And I did hate Dylan, and the fact that he was in control, and the fact that his eyes were that stupid color red, and that his voice was so quiet and benevolent and. . .and. . .f*ck!

I lost it for a second and backhanded him across the face. His head snapped aside and I dimly heard Con yell at me, but his words didn't process. All I heard was Dylan's low chuckle, his satisfaction that he'd gotten to me.

I glared as viciously as I could as he straightened up, cool as ever. For a second I was glad to see that his cheek was red from my blow, but then I saw he was still smirking that annoying, cocky smirk, and I hated myself for letting him get to me.

"I hate you," I spat at him.

Dylan grinned mischievously, his eyes glinting with delight.

I wanted to hit him. Again.

"I know."

And then, all of a sudden, the lights went out.

The sudden contrast from light to dark left spots dancing in front of my eyes, but that didn't mean nothing had moved. On impulse I raised my legs and snapped out a kick, connecting with Dylan's waist. I heard him grunt in pain and fall back to the floor, but then the next thing I knew someone had grabbed my hand and was dragging me in the direction of the door. (And I think I kinda tripped on Dylan in the process. Serve him right.)

My first instinct was to do what the whitecoat did-curse, demand what was going on, etc.-but then I heard him fall, too, and me and whoever was dragging me along whooshed through the open doorway and I realized what was happening:

We were making our escape.

"C'mon, you idiot, run!" Con hissed at me, pulling on my arm. "We only have five minutes!"

As to be expected, I didn't take that lying down. (I took it running! Ha, ha. Stand in awe of my silly literalness.) In a whisper I snapped back, "Well maybe I would run if you weren't trying to lead me like a little kid!" I tried to pull my hand away, but he just kept his grip.

"You're no use in the dark right now!" he snapped. "I bet you still can't see a thing, so just shut up and run!"

He was right (sadly). My eyes were adjusting much more slowly than I was used to-all I saw was black, and more black. A flicker of my childhood fear of the dark rose in me, and suddenly the fact that Con had my hand didn't seem so bad.

"What the hell's wrong with my eyes?" I cried out in frustration. I dragged my free hand across them, as if rubbing them would help.

"It's the hypomaladrine," Con told me, dragging me around a corner. We didn't slow down for a second, because in the distance we could hear people yelling and feet pounding and other ominous noises associated with humans stumbling around in the dark. "I told you it slowed us down, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but still," I said, aware of how annoyed I sounded.

Then, totally taking me by surprise, Con chuckled.

"Don't worry," he said, his tone darkly amused. "I'm not gonna try anything in the dark."

"Oh! You little. . .dirty-minded freak!" I kicked at him, but because I couldn't see I couldn't aim, and he easily dodged it, snickering again. Stumbling, I snapped, "I really wish you'd just grow up!"

"Hey, at least I'm saying something," he said in his defense. I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Unlike some people."

"I was doing that for a reason," I said sharply. "And not," I added quickly, "because you're just so incredibly good-looking." I hoped he saw the roll of my eyes to accompany the heavy sarcasm.

"Fine then," he said lightly. "But enlighten me. Why did you throw yourself at me?"

"I did not throw myself at you," I said indignantly. Then I hesitated. "Well, maybe I did a little," I amended. Then I shook my head. "But that doesn't matter. Point is, when I put my head on your shoulder that first time, I saw Dylan's eyes turn blue. It was only for like a second, but it still happened. And it kept happening just about every time I touched you."

"So your plan was to pretend to be all over me so you could make him jealous and get him back," Con recapped. He scoffed. "Sounds like a Disney sitcom."

"I wish this was a Disney sitcom," I said. "At least then our biggest fear would be cheesy jokes and bad acting. And I was not all over you."

"Was that last part necessary?" he asked.

"That was to see your face when I did that," I replied dryly. "And let me tell ya, it was priceless."

"Whatever," he growled, giving up. "Don't do it again. I hated it."

"Yeah? Same here," I replied, but then I slammed into him. "Ow! Why'd you stop?"

"There's a vent," he said. He knocked lightly on a wall, telling me where it was, but he hadn't needed to-my eyes were finally adjusting to the blackness, and I could just make him out, a darker figure against the pale wall. "At the top of this wall."

"So?" I said, waiting for the brilliance of his plan to unfold.

"So now we can stop running and actually try something productive," he explained, dropping my hand. He turned toward me and hunched down, his hands laced together in a cradle. "Okay, up you go."

I stared at him. "Up I go? Up you go!"

"Do not argue with me," he said flatly, though I could hear the irritated edge to it. "You're lighter, and even if you can't pull me up I can jump it. In your current condition, you can not. So up. You go."

"Your. . .mom," I grumbled, putting my hands on his shoulders and my foot in his hands.

"Creative. Really," he said, easily lifting me up; I quickly released his shoulders to brace my hands against the wall. I hesitated, blinking as I tried to re-orient myself. I found myself level with a dull metal grate, barring the way into the vents of the ship. (Sometimes it was kinda hard to remember we were on a boat.)

I shook my head, then glared down at Con for his remark. "I will kick you in the face."

"I dare you," he challenged, and I momentarily stopped my fussing with the vent's grate to draw back the foot he wasn't holding. He flinched. "Okay, no, I lied."

"That's what I thought. Dumbass." Still bracing one hand against the wall, I dug through my pockets with the other, searching for anything that would be able to unscrew the screws holding the stupid grate in place. I came up with a pop tab-you know, the little whatever-it-is that opens aluminum cans.

"Would you hurry up?" Con said impatiently. I wasn't particularly worried that I was too heavy for him-I was light, and he was strong. He was just getting annoyed that it was taking so long.

And it was kinda weird that I knew that.

"Only if you would shut up," I shot back, working the pop tap around. Slowly but surely, the screw came loose, soon falling from the wall to land with a little clinking noise on the tile by Con's feet. I quickly undid the other three screws, very aware of the fact that time was ticking onward, and that our five minutes of lights-out was getting closer and closer to being used up.

"Shit!" I cursed and wobbled as Con suddenly switched from holding me up with two hands to holding me with just his right; the left had reached up to take the unscrewed vent grate from me.

"Just shut up and get in there already!" he snapped, pushing on my foot. Tossing a scowl at him I clambered into the vent, then turned around and leaned back out so I could help him up. He didn't even hesitate to grab my hand.

Which, again, was kinda weird.

But I digress.

I hauled him up after me and without so much as an exchanged insult, we started crawling-yet again, for me, because I just can't can't seem to get enough of the place-through the wonderful world of Air Duct Land.

*i really am kinda like that. i don't like people touching me much. but i couldn't help myself. haha. . .poor con. torturing him was just too good to resist ;)

spark and con are unconsciously growing closer. . .whatever will become of it?

this chapter seemed kinda weird. maybe even a little boring. all it really did was re-establish what everybody already knew and set up an escape. don't tell me i'm losing my touch. . .?