Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride or any of the characters, locations, or original conceptions therein. I do not own any (real) brand names, restaurants, etc.

A/N: I only truly own my brain and my guitar, and a few other things. And my guitar frequently goes out of tune, and my brain is losing its potency with frightening rapidity, so my apologies for anything that doesn't make sense. Or everything, if it so goes.

Claimer: I own James.

"Here we are," announced James. I looked up and my jaw dropped. This was, like, a really nice 'casual' place. I mean, judging from the number of paparazzi outside, a lot of well-bred, luxurious celebrities liked it. So…

We entered. "Oh, hello, James," said a well-dressed, well-groomed woman. "Nice to see you without your cakes. Would you like your regular table, or somewhere more private, or somewhere more public?"

James turned to us. We just looked back at him.

"Oh, are they with you?" she asked. She gave us a friendly smile. What is it with these cheerful, smiley people?

"Yeah," he said. "They're good friends of mine, passing through. I figured I'd give them a taste of L.A.'s best." He winked.

"How about a big table, then?" she asked. "There's one really good one left, just right for Oxville's best."

"Is he flirting, or just flattering?" whispered Fang.

"Flattering, I think. I think he's gay."

"Really?"

"Cakes?"

"Point conceded."

We followed him and the hostess to a table near a pillar. It was in perfect view of the rest of the restaurant. Nudge zoomed around to the farthest side, so she could see everything going on. James followed her. Apparently he liked talking to her and listening to her, and seeing people. Iggy sat down on his other side, guided by Gazzy, who sat down next to him. The hostess handed us a stack of cute menus.

"Usual rules, guys," I reminded them. Nudge started explaining to James just what this "usual rules" concept meant.

Fang turned to me, barely taking his eyes off the demi-Eraser. "Do you trust him?" he whispered

"Angel does."

"Angel's seven!"

"I don't have to remind you that Angel can read minds!"

"Maybe he's hiding something from us. From her."

"He seems nice enough, and smart, too. Most of the others are –were- all into grunting and slashing with their claws."

"You're not saying that because he's pretty," said Fang, as a question.

"Of course not!" I said out loud. Lowering my voice, I added, "He's gay."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"He decorates freakin' cakes! And did you hear his lisp?"

"What does a lisp have to do with anything?"

I sighed and shook my head. "Never mind."

Fang caught me as I turned away. "You're going to let him come with us, aren't you?"

"So what if I am?"

"He's an Eraser!"

"Yeah, and he's alone, and there's six of us."

"Whatever. You're the leader."

"They've all been terminated, and he's all alone!"

"He seemed to be getting along just fine before we came along."

"Yeah, but now that he's met us, he's going to want companionship. Besides, Nudge and Iggy already worship him."

"Yeah, but they're not supposed to worship him. They're supposed to worship you, Max, because you're the one who's saved the world."

I looked down in frustration. Saving the world. That. It kept following me around. Thankfully, once most of everything was saved, the Voice had disappeared.

Fang put his arm around me unexpectedly and cradled me to his chest for a brief second before letting go.

"I trust you, Max. Though sometimes I wonder why."

"Oh," I said, my snappy comebacks making a quick return. "Maybe because… I've saved your butt so many times?"

He snorted. "As I recall, it's pretty close."

I shoved him playfully. "So it's settled, then? EraserBoy is allowed to come with us."

"If he wants."

I rolled my eyes and turned to the waitress, who had conveniently appeared at my side. I ordered, my flock ordered, James ordered. It looked like a real party was in store.

"Ohmygosh!" squealed Nudge. She pointed at a tall redhead leaving the restaurant, with a trail of worshippers following. "It's… it's… Laura."

"Laura… Laura who?"

"Laura, just Laura, that's all she goes by, you know, sort of like Madonna. Laura is a singer. She's got soul."

She went on talking about Laura until our food arrived. Then there was no more talking. I mean, we'd been well fed over the past few days, but still, there's something about living with too little food for too many years that, you know, kind of engrains the instinct to EAT.

So dinner passed with James, Nudge, and Iggy doing most of the talking. Fang and I watched James carefully, but he seemed perfectly lie-free. I asked Angel to do a little probing around in his mind. She was surprised that I was actually letting her read his mind, but did my royal bidding nonetheless.

Her little blonde eyebrows rose in surprise a few times. Then she turned to me and whispered, "He likes guys!"

"That's okay," I reassured her.

"He doesn't want to kill us or hurt us. He's surprised he ran into us. He kind of wants to come with us, but he doesn't want to ask."

"Okay," I whispered. "We'll talk about it more later."

James looked up from his conversation with Nudge (they totally redefined the word 'conversation') and grinned at us. "Dessert?"

There was a chorus of assent from my bird kids. I smiled back at him encouragingly. He flagged down the waitress, who was also, apparently, a good friend of his, and leaned over to whisper something into her ear.

"See?" growled Fang into my ear. "He has friends here."

"This argument is so over," I said. Which it was. Because, a few seconds later, the waitress came in with a big cake, a whole cake, a whole, really pretty cake.

"Whoa," said Gazzy.

Iggy looked irritated. Nudge started describing it to him. The waitress handed James a knife and left, with a Botoxed smile at all of us.

"I made this," said James with a little, embarrassed smile. "The bakery I work at supplies this restaurant with baked goods and desserts." He expertly dissected the cake and separated it onto seven plates.

It was then that I heard the whispers all around us. "That's James and his new boyfriend and his boyfriend's family."

"That's James and his long-lost sisters and brothers."

"That's James and his girlfriend."

"James doesn't have a girlfriend."

"He does now."

"He's gay!"

"That's James, the top pastry artist in L.A."

I raised my eyebrows at the last one. "So, James, m'dear. You're the top pastry artist in L.A.?"

He kept his eyes down. "About that," he said. "Well."

"Way to keep a low profile."

"I tried," he said. "But people liked the cakes."

"I do, too," said Iggy.

My jaw dropped. I had never heard Iggy compliment someone's cooking, other than my mom and her cookies. Then again… we'd never really had anybody else's good cooking.

We devoured the cake, happily and sadly. Happily because it was sooo good, but sadly because it was sooo pretty.

After the cake, we made our way outside, everyone parting in awe before James, the Cakemeister. We said fond goodbyes outside and went our separate ways forever.

Not so.

We made plans to meet up with James again (Iggy's idea) outside the Neiman-Marcus rotunda (Nudge's idea) to scout out somewhere for lunch (my idea) because he had his own work hours (his idea). After lunch, we might hang out for the rest of the day or get in a quick fistfight and depart, all parties stiffed a good time.

Then we parted ways, the flock headed off for a deep, well-earned sleep, and James off to sleep or to work. He had left that kind of ambiguous.

Nighty-night.