Chapter Fifty
Uh, wow? Chapter fifty? Not that it didn't take me long enough to get here… Quick thank you to everyone who reviewed and read and favorited (I know who you are, but I think you want me to get going with the story, huh?)
Though quick suggestion before you go: if you like to read/write go to teenink dot com. Cool stuff.
The cheap thrill I had felt after each of us had been taken away separately, given fresh clothes and a bathroom break and then dunked in warm water enough to be clean was quickly wearing off with yet another chorus of eight year old humor.
"Why was Cinderella bad at soccer?" Gazzy crowed, tossing his shoe at Iggy when he rolled his eyes. "C'mon, guys. Why?"
"I dunno, Gaz." Mom sighed heavily, leaning her head back against the wall in defeat. "Why?"
"Because her coach was a pumpkin! Geddit? Her coach was a pumpkin! Like, the thing you ride in to balls, and the person who teaches you how to play…"
I stifled a groan.
"How about this, Gasman." Ella proper herself up, not minding the chains at her wrists and ankles, but there was clearly a challenge in her eye. "Why was Cinderella bad at lacrosse?"
He grinned merrily. "I don't know!"
"Because she only had one shoe."
It was a sign at how lame this joke was that I managed a half-laugh.
"How about this," He began, clearing his throat. "Knock-knock?"
I sighed. I thought we had finished the knock-knock joke section an hour ago.
"You gotta say 'who's there' or it doesn't work." He pouted, which prompted a dull, "Who's there" from Angel.
"Garden!"
"Garden who?" She asked.
"Garrrden your treasure, matees!"
"Attention mutants!"
We all jumped, rattling the chains, as the crackly voice came over the intercom. I didn't see why they couldn't improve their intercoms so that the scratchy sound didn't impale sensitive mutant eardrums every time they decided to grace us with their presence, I mean, they obviously had enough money. I rolled my eyes in Fang's direction and began to run through a mental list of punches I could throw with my hands restricted by chains. Lamy entered a moment later with a little Cubik, which simultaneously dimmed the lights and flashed a projector onto the blank wall while the man addressed us.
The blue light from the blank screen reflected off of Lamy's glasses as he rubbed them clean with his jacket. Total coughed, "Sloppy," In a not very discreet way.
"It has come to our attention," He began, glaring at Total, "That you have recently taken it upon yourselves to watch videos of your younger selves to see if there is anything you can gather that will help you save the world. The Director instructed me to show you this, because since you obviously don't have any problems invading our business, you need to learn a lesson in privacy. Cue number nine-three-zero-zero-seven, Cubik."
He turned from us, leaving enough time for Fang and I to exchange a WTF glance and then turn back to the screen as it flickered to life. I had all intentions of ignoring the video and making small talk with Ella the entire video, until I saw the starring character.
It was Fang, sitting in our familiar E house kitchen and flicking half-heartedly through a newspaper at the table. It was either really early or really late, the sun wasn't out yet. He had turned a side lamp on, casting weird shadows against the stairs behind the kitchen and the lumpy furniture in the attached living room. Snow was piled against the big picture window. He had just gotten up, grabbing a glass bowl from the cabinet when another door off the kitchen opened to reveal Jeb-dressed to kill with a suit and the Dreaded Briefcase.
My mouth had dropped, speechless, at this unprecedented violation of our home. But Fang on screen was oblivious to his recording, whipping around and dropping the bowl. It shattered on the wooden floor but was forgotten as he fell into an instinctive defensive stance. When he realized who had surprised him, his eyes flickered in recognition and-I was sure I was the only one who could tell-embarrassment that he had let Jeb catch him unaware. With a dark look for a ten year old, he swept the bowl fragments into the trash and quickly made for the stairs.
"Fang?"
He paused, one foot on the first step. Jeb had lowered his case and was watching him with concern. When Fang didn't reply, he plowed on.
"Why are you awake?"
A shrug. He didn't turn around. From the angle of the camera you could see half of his face and his carefully measured expression that was much too mature for a kid his age. I glanced at the fourteen year old, handcuffed nearby, and their faces matched. It made my heart ache to see the same closed expressions, to remember how early we had to learn to cope with all the crap that gets thrown at us. On screen, Jeb cleared his throat.
"Is everything okay?"
A quick nod. As if he would say anything else. I could tell this irked Little Asian Man.
Jeb tried again. He was always doing that, trying to get Fang to talk more as if speech were a muscle he was stretching. Fang hated it. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"
He shook his head and began to look hopeful as a moment passed and Jeb didn't speak again.
"You're up awful early."
His lip twitched. I could tell how the comment angered him.
"So are you."
Jeb smiled to himself. "I'm an adult. You're a growing ten year old. You need your sleep."
This didn't exactly produce what Jeb had been looking for-a sardonic snort of disbelief. Jeb frowned, wondering what he had said that provoked this reaction. After a moment of contemplation, he must have decided it was too early and sat at the kitchen table, across from the seat Fang had vacated.
"I'm tired." Fang said stiffly, still not turning. His eyes were glued to the top of the stairs, willing Jeb to leave him alone.
"But you have no intention of sleeping."
Fang rolled his eyes, but made no reply.
"I've noticed how little you sleep, Fang." Jeb continued conversationally, as if this was normal. Who knows? I didn't remember any such confrontations, hearing about them or witnessing. For all I knew, this had been common between the two. I tried to catch Fang's eye, but he was looking at the pattern of the tiles on the floor and wouldn't look at me. If these were common, I knew it was by no fault of Fangs.
"You don't act lethargic, but your eyes are swollen and shadowed. You can't fly as far as I know you should. Max beats you in almost every fight nowadays."
This last comment visibly angered him, a small line puckering his brow.
"Something's up. Bad dreams?"
A shrug.
"Scary things?"
A shrug.
Jeb rolled his eyes, realizing where this was going. "Terrorists invading your room and setting up camp, singing Sesame Street songs?"
Fang was consistent. He shrugged again. Jeb took a sip of his coffee. "I can pick up some medication when I'm out if you want."
Although Jeb had wanted a legitimate response, this was obviously the wrong kind. The entire Flock and I had winced at this comment, and I had a pretty good guess at what was coming. Fang spun around, his hands gripping the railing tightly as he practically snarled, "Typical."
I knew this expression, this asking for a fight tone. I knew how screwed Jeb was, and how screwed up Fang must have felt to use it.
Jeb set his coffee down with a frown. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Is that supposed to be insulting?" Jeb asked him, rising from his chair. Fang raised his chin.
"Depends on how you interpret it."
Jeb bristled. "And how do you?"
Fang looked torn between insulting him further and staying silent, which he knew would irritate Jeb. The question is, which would be worse?
"You push drugs because you're a whitecoat at heart." He said, dangerously quiet. "All this," He gestured around him with a jerk of his head, "Is just to satisfy your inner scientist. That's where you go, isn't it? Back to the School, back to meetings with other whitecoats."
Jeb was speechless, gaping like a fish, but Fang plowed on.
"We're not stopping you." He spat. "Go buddy up with your old friends."
"Don't you dare take that tone with me!"
"Is that a threat?" Asked Fang in a feral sort of way. "Like you didn't have enough of that back at the School."
I looked at the pair of them. Fang's normally expressionless face was contorted with fury, his shoulders hunched and his fists clenched in a way that made me wonder if Jeb had gotten of this unscathed. Next to Fang's ashy face, Jeb more resembled a tomato pulsating with rage-at being addressed like this? I couldn't tell anymore-he had stood, vibrating with tension as he stood down my best friend.
"You have no ideas what I went through at the School." Jeb hissed out of his clenched teeth. He raised his fist. "You have no idea what I faced-"
"What you faced?" Fang's voice had peaked with his anger, but due to our training and paranoia, neither he nor Jeb were shouting outright. I wondered how long it would last. "What you faced? You weren't the one locked in a cage. You weren't the one tortured day in and day out for the sake of science! You never fainted halfway through a test-because you were never tested like we were! Don't try to sell me any more total crap. I have my limits."
Jeb seethed, grabbing his head and pacing in a circle before looking again to Fang. "Aren't you a part of that Flock upstairs?"
Fang was past not speaking. "More than you ever will be."
"And goddammit, Fang, do you care about them?"
A nod of the head.
"And don't you trust Max?"
This was where Fang's breathing stopped. His dark eyes met Jeb's. Finally he drew a shaky breath.
"Max can be wrong sometimes. Told me herself."
"Do you trust her?" Jeb repeated firmly.
"I just said-"
"You didn't answer the question-"
"Yes, I do!"
Their voices had escalated into shouts, echoing in the glass and tile kitchen. At the same moment they seemed to realize their mistake, just as stumbling footsteps were heard over head. A light pitter patter.
"Fang?" Nudge called through a yawn at the top of the stairs. "'S everything okay?"
"Yes, Nudge." He called back, no longer shouting or even angry but in his usual calm and no nonsense tone. "I just stubbed my toe. Go back to bed."
She may have replied, but it was garbled and a few seconds later in the silence of the kitchen, you could hear her door click shut. It was Jeb, mopping his brow, who finally spoke.
"Fang, I don't understand."
Nudge had restored his sense. He didn't speak. He watched. He waited. Jeb spoke.
"Everyone up those stairs trusts me. They listen to me and high five me. They let me make waffles for them, instead of skipping breakfast when I do." Jeb had slowed his quiet tirade, looking at Fang with a shaking head as he collapsed in a chair. "I don't understand what I did to make you me so much."
Fang didn't look shocked, not even raising his eyebrows to give away any feeling. But his turned back said everything as he began to walk up the stairs. Jeb took one look at his retreating form and jumped to his feet.
"Fang! Please! I'm not placating you." He pleaded. Fang paused. "What did I do?"
Fang turned, shooting him one last icy glare. "You really don't know?"
Jeb shook his head.
"I'm not going to waste an explanation on you."
He darted up the stairs before Jeb could speak again, and then the screen blinked blue with a "No Signal" box and the whitecoat turned the lights back on. He smiled at us maliciously.
"Something to think about. Have a nice day."
Iggy was first to speak in the stunned silence that took over after the doors shut. "Was that real or did they photoshop it?"
"They're not that good." Nudge shook her head. "I could see the stain on the table where I spilled Kool-Aid, and the dishwasher was open. We had all those colorful plastic plates shaped like flowers, remember? And newspapers were covering the island countertop from when Angel, Gaz, and I made paper airplanes and hats. And then-"
"I get it, Nudge!" Iggy snapped. I didn't bother to rebuke him, for a number of reasons, numero uno being that we were all stressing out on how they'd manage to film this video, and if they had any others. Plus I had my mind on other things, namely Fang. When did this happen? How? Where was I to placate the pair of them? And why had I never heard of it until now, and through whitecoats, of all people? I knew that Fang had never really felt comfortable near Jeb, and he certainly openly despised him our first year of escape, but I figured he either mellowed out or kept it disguised as we grew older. Having seen the clip, which couldn't have been longer than six or seven minutes, I was beginning to believe the second option.
But now wasn't the time for such questions. Now was the time to ask whose head I should rip first for violating my best friend in such an awful way. Our home had been our sanctuary, and to learn that the whitecoats had somehow gotten their gloved hands on a secret video of our lives was the most disturbing thing I had seen in a long time. And if Nudge's description of the house wasn't enough, Fang's expression was. To everyone else, he was blank. But maybe I'd learned to interpret some of the emotions flitting in his dark eyes or maybe I'd learned a bit about him over the years. Either way, I could tell he was angry, hurt, worried, conflicted, wary, and utterly confused. He caught my eyes, but looked away before either of us had the chance to say anything. He didn't need to. I understood in the gesture just how lost and hopeless he really was.
"Fang?" That was mom, jolting me away from Thought Land with a very motherly voice.
"You can ask." He said very abruptly, though quiet.
She frowned, puzzled. "What?"
He sighed, taking a moment to reply. "What he did. You didn't do it, so I don't expect you to know."
I looked from one to the other, torn between curiosity about the truth behind the question-I had guessed but never confirmed, it wasn't my business-and defense of Fang. No matter how tough he was, he had just watched a video clip of himself, taken by his enemies, in the one place he had ever felt safe. I only knew how he felt because I felt it myself.
There was a soft expression in mom's brown eyes, the same look she gave me when she gave me a band aid for an insignificant cut or poured me an extra glass of lemonade. That motherly kindness that somehow felt almost as safe as our E house.
"I was going to ask if you still have trouble sleeping."
This seemed to amuse him for some reason, closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly. "Not really."
I coughed. He managed a real smile, though small.
"Not as badly." He amended. I nodded.
"Well, Fang," Total coughed, announcing his presence for the first time and making me roll my eyes. He shook his coat out, licked a paw, then sat back on his haunches. "I am curious as to if you always so ardently despised Jeb. Was this fresh after you escaped, did you always, or was that just a moment of anger that Jeb read too much into? He truly was clueless-"
"I never trusted him, Total." Fang interrupted quietly, surprising us with the vocal answer. Usually he would have blown Total off, but maybe it was so he would stop talking and everyone would leave him alone. I wasn't sure. He coughed a few times and continued. "I only realized I hated him at the E house when he was playing saint."
I remembered how much this attitude used to irritate me, me who so blindly put my faith in the Jebster. Fang and I would actually get into fights because of something he said or the way he acted even though I would sometimes take his side or pose as Switzerland in the ongoing battle between the two. Looking at him now, the bruised face, crazy black hair, simple black clothes, the scars on his forearms, his long and slender fingers, I couldn't believe I had ever doubted the one person who I utterly and truly trusted in the entire world. He seemed to sense something and his eyelids flicked open and, for a moment, those dark obsidian eyes caught mine and he smiled my smile, and then Angel giggled and I turned my head slightly to glare at her.
"Well," Nudge broke the silence again. No surprises there. "I trust you, Fang."
He didn't move, but a moment later, he whispered, "Thanks, Nudge. I trust you, too."
Which, in our family, is basically like saying "I love you." But the Hallmark moment wouldn't be complete without Gazzy.
"Knock knock!" He giggled.
"Who's there?" Ella groaned.
"Thumping!"
…
"Guys, it doesn't work if you don't-"
"Who the hell is so important, Gasman?"
"Language, Iggy.
"Sorry, Max."
"Guys…"
"Who's there?"
He laughed, already in on the bunt of the joke. "Thumping green and slimy is crawling up your neck!"
