A/N: Hi! Great to hear from you. Thanks for sticking with me. I promise you guys, no one is angrier about my stories than I am. I would attempt to literally re-write Reunion, but I know you guys would remember details I wouldn't and it just wouldn't be the same. It's such a shame that a story can't ever be written the same way twice.

I have no idea if you guys are going to like where this is headed. I am writing and uploading, no plot framing. I am hysterically writing at this point and I have an idea and I am worried you will be like "….What?"

Anyways. Time jump here, because you were right! I was writing myself in circles.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info.

M

I flip my phone over on the desk, the glare making me blink my eyes repeatedly. The laptop screen is naturally darker and doesn't get nearly as bright as my smart phone. I only just realize what time it is, how dark it is outside. I turn to tell Iggy and realize he's already way asleep in the chair next to me.

It's almost three in the morning, says my disturbingly bright phone. Angel had called it a night three hours ago, and Iggy had succumbed to sleep without me even noticing – who knows when.

"Iggy," I mumble, realizing it's been awhile since he's responded to anything I've been telling him. I'd been scrolling through a rather long account of Jeb's "findings" about our initial eating habits. You know, once he started actually feeding us to fulfill our nutrition limits, not just to keep us barely alive. When we were in cages, we were lucky to get two "meals" a day—if you could call them meals. From what I could tell, Jeb never had any idea our regular caloric intake or other nutritional needs until removing us from the School. He learned and documented all that information after moving us to the E house. And, according to the "submission records" he kept track of, he was actively sending data to the School.

The School.

I look up around the room. We had plastered the walls with large sticky pad sheets and posters, making lists and highlighting connections. The sad thing is, it really does make us look like crazy conspiracy theorists. But Iggy, Angel and I are on a mission to piece together every loose end – until there are no more. It may look crazy, but there was a method to our madness.

We'd only been going through research for a week. The second night of looking through evidence, after getting lost and needing to dig back through the files to remember details, I'd decided to get a little more visual with our puzzle.

With the large white posters we had left over from Nudge's run for student president last semester, I was able to start piecing together lists of related evidence. Angel discovered me the next morning, standing before a wall completely covered in posters. Each of our names along the top. I'd started logging any mention of superhuman abilities, DNA mutation or intended "skills". Incredibly, once we saw it all laid out before our eyes, we realized that each one of us had a list of at least fifteen "potential" powers and abilities that Jeb had hoped to see based off their gene-splicing and his research. Some powers we knew about, some we had never imagined.

The lists grew, after that. Now covering most walls. Pictures, maps, bits of important or seemingly important information. There was also an entire timeline, helping us piece together our memory of being at the house and the records of experiments and studies that took place there.

I look at Iggy again, then back to the laptop. After a moment of warring with myself, not feeling tired at all, I close the laptop.

"Iggy," I try again, a little louder, tugging on his jacket sleeve. He startles awake, silent but alert in a moment. I tap his hand and say softly, "It's late. We should sleep."

"How long was I out?"

"I have no idea," I say sheepishly. "I got a little ahead of myself there. We can go over it tomorrow."

He nods, looking exhausted, and shifts in the armchair he'd pulled around the desk to be beside me. "Gimme a minute."

I grin and get up, sliding my phone in my pocket. I step over him and ease the door open quietly. There is a soft glow from the dining room light down the hall, half-dimmed. I move down the hall to the kitchen to get a drink of water. The last time I was outside the office, it was the middle of the afternoon.

I glance at the calendar hanging over the trash. It is a CSM issued calendar that Val gave us, with pictures that Fang had taken from our flights last year. This month's picture was a gorgeous view of the forest right on the brink of winter. The trees are still full of color from autumn, not a soul in sight. It's a breathtaking picture. I slide my gaze down to the current date. It's Friday. I look to Saturday and see it circled hastily with a bold-point red marker. Inside the circle it says Bon Voyage, Fang!

I roll my eyes. Nudge is always so dramatic on the family calendar.

I see Iggy finally slinking out of the office, pulling the door shut firmly behind him. I move into the dining room to check the alarms and then flip the lights off, following Iggy up the stairs. He turns right to go to his room, and I swing left, not bothering to knock before entering Fang's room.

It's quiet. I can see him lying in bed, thanks to the moonlight flooding through his open blinds. I slip off my sweats and crawl in beside him, seeing his sleeping form respond to my movements.

"Hi," he murmurs, making space for me beside him. I crawl in, eyeing his suitcases by the door as I get comfortable next to him.

"Hey," I whisper. I turn and give him a soft kiss. "Sorry."

"Why?" he whispers back, raspy with sleep. "Time is it?"

"Doesn't matter." I pull his arm around me, willing my brain to calm down and let me rest. My mind is still racing, and it battles over obsessing on Fang's impending trip or Jeb's files. Things I still don't know.

Things I now do.

I swallow, sighing and tucking my face in his chest.

"Max," Fang says softly, sounding more awake now. He runs his hand down my arm. "You've barely slept this week."

I don't retort because I don't have one. He's right.

I find myself gazing directly into his eyes when I tilt my head to look up, fingers finding the front of his shirt under the blanket. I pull myself up to him, so his breath is on my lips. He blinks at me, eyes so soft.

He's worried.

I smash my mouth to his, swallowing him up. He responds just as eagerly, but his touch is gentle as he cradles my head. He rolls over, leaning against me, pressing against me, letting his hands trail up my sides. His arms wrestle with my wings for a moment, attempting to snake around my waist. Suddenly I just need to be close to him. I pull him closer, and I think about trying to get even closer…but I remember what time it is. What tomorrow is. I push his shoulder gently, and roll him off me, to my side, and snuggle into him. My lips never leave his.

Soon it's just one soft kiss after another, less hungry but unable to let this one be the last one. Feeling like I've always taken advantage of having him by my side.

Do I sound ridiculous? I think I deserve a pass, considering we have only ever been split up under dire, life-threatening terms. This time is different, I try to tell myself while I lower my lips to his shoulder, kissing through his shirt. He rests his head by mine, fingers tracing little circles on my back. This time will be normal. This will be good.

It's late, so I don't try to keep him up. Instead I hold him close, running my fingers through the hair at his neck, willing myself to sleep for at least an hour or two. We have an early morning.

Anything good last night?

I slide my gaze to Angel, who is watching me. How long has she been in my head? I swallow my paranoia and blink, trying not to think of it. She's sitting at the table, scarfing down a bowl of cereal. The others are in varying stages of getting up and getting ready still, and the house is relatively quiet. Fang's three bags are stacked by the door, ready for our departure after breakfast.

Nothing special, I think pointedly, still keeping eye contact with her. Studies Jeb conducted at the house on our health, diet and metabolism. Eating and digestive habits, which he tracked way too closely.

Angel raises her eyebrows, looking down at her cereal with a troubled expression. Second thought, tell me the details later.

I nod in agreement, moving to pour coffee into my travel thermos. I'd packed a few more bags for Fang, along with his clothes. One with bedding and towels and just other home things, one with a few non-perishables from the pantry. I feel like I'm dropping my first kid off at college.

Well, I guess technically, we are dropping him off at a college.

Amazingly enough, we'd managed to get through the week without any kind of fallout. No one tried to seriously protest Fang's move (although I can't say anyone is happy about it), no one lost their shit about the case, and mostly we are maintaining normalcy through all the recent changes. I am really starting to think this is possible for us. Maybe we can have it all.

I scoff at myself, only to be interrupted by Nudge's excited squeal followed by a deep croon of "Coffee!"

I wince at her, watching her enter the kitchen. It's early, way too early for squealing, and she's dressed and ready to go. She takes the coffee pot from me, taking a long whiff before pouring herself a mug.

"Anyone know what the weather is s'posed to be like? I couldn't decide what to wear, and I wanted to be prepared but also stylish because," she wiggles her eyebrows at me over her mug, "you never know who's going to be there."

I roll my eyes.

"Right now, it's cold and a little foggy," Angel answers promptly. She moves to pick up and tilt her bowl, drinking the sugary milk that's leftover. She drops her spoon into the bowl, making a soft clang. "By the time we get there it should be sunny, partly cloudy. Mid 60s. You'll probably want a wind-breaker, maybe something heavier over that just for the morning chill."

"Oh. Thank you, Weather Woman," Nudge says unknowingly. I see Angel grin at me behind her back, and refrain from letting myself feel any guilt from not telling Nudge.

We'd discovered days ago that Angel can kind of read the weather perfectly. Like, walk outside, and know what the entire day's forecast would be. And be deadly accurate. She has no idea when this power kicked in, and never really noticed that her feelings or "predictions" of inclement weather were out of the norm. When Iggy and I told her we couldn't do the same, she was appalled.

It had been mentioned in one of Jeb's files, a mutation that makes her super-sensitive to the atmosphere. Her other animal mutations played into this skill, like the air sacs and the gills. Each morning this week, she'd given us relatively specific predictions for the day's weather in the area after a brief stint of walking outside.

She hasn't been wrong once.

Not to say that each new super-skill mentioned in the files was one we actually possessed. Out of all the possible mutations, we'd developed—as far as we knew—less than half of them.

It's been impossible to keep these new things from the others. For me. Angel is clearly giddy with knowing something the others don't—I wonder how she could've grown to enjoy that feeling—and Iggy figured that each of them had excused us from any blame when they'd written off the case without even looking.

It's their fault they don't know this stuff, Max. They specifically said they didn't want to know. That's not on me, Iggy had said.

So we lie about who we are? I'd retorted. He had called me dramatic when I said it, brushing me off. But to be honest, I didn't feel like I was being overly dramatic here. We were discovering things, so many new things, and so quickly. Some of this stuff felt like part of our identity. And it felt wrong to hide anything that was important to our programming…or even our future.

I force myself to block my change of thought, actively thinking about the scent of dish soap at the sink while I stared at it. I glance up and curse aloud, under my breath, while actively staring at the bottle of soap. She is staring right at me.

Morning Citrus, Morning Citrus, Morning Citrus—Max, what are you hiding!—Morning Citrus, Morning Citrus—

"Max!"

I look up to Nudge, startled. "What?" I blink, hard, and burst, "Angel, out of my head!"

Angel looks at me with horror, first, at the outburst. She and Nudge both. After a moment, I see the realization on her face, and she smacks her hand on the table.

"Fine, I'm out," she admits angrily. "But we had a rule!"

I tighten my lips into a thin line. I look over at Nudge pointedly and then back to her. "This is another one."

She's talking about rule number two: Don't hide any information or evidence from each other; as in, Iggy, Angel and me.

I was referring to the first rule: Don't talk about anything related to the case in front of anyone who opted out. Fang, Nudge and Gazzy.

She stands and without a word stomps her way to the office, leaving the door ajar. I curse her in my mind, giving Nudge an apologetic look before following her into the room.

She's standing there with her arms crossed, looking at me expectantly. "Already, Max? Really?"

I shake my head, pushing the door shut behind me. I don't even want to do this. "Angel—"

"No hiding evidence and no exceptions!" She looks at me with a disciplined look of disappointment on her face. "I can't believe you."

"It's not about any of you. As far as I can tell…just me," I say flatly. I hope she's still respecting my mind space. I watch her, but it doesn't seem like she's picked up on anything yet, so I'm assuming she's either staying out or not understanding my rambling thoughts.

"Max?"

I reach for the laptop, swinging it open and turning it on. I go to a file I'd created with a password the night I'd stumbled upon the document. Angel watches me the entire time with a very disapproving look.

"Iggy is going to be furious," she says firmly.

I spin my head to look at her, pausing my entry of the password. "You aren't going to say a word."

Her mouth drops open. She looks at me incredulously and then decides finally to say nothing and look past me at the screen. I hit enter after typing in my password and open the single document. A short, off-handed note about my own reproductive system; a note dated from when I was eleven.

"It refers to a different document I…couldn't find. Not in this batch. I asked Alana to look for it," I gulp out. Suddenly I realize I didn't try hard enough to keep this a secret, because Angel's face contorts into the most pitiful look of sadness reading it.

I clench my teeth, my jaw locking as I feel myself sink into embarrassment and despair. Simultaneously.

"Due to procedure X30067M," she pauses, looking at me levelly, "Max has lost all reproductive functions. Unfortunate, but unavoidable given the circumstances. Check the reference for samples 12-15; possible viability." She skims the next two lines, which hold practically no useful or decipherable information, both referring to the procedure.

"Oh, Max." Her voice is really soft, sad and gentle. I shake my head. She already knows this is exactly what I don't want to do. And absolutely can't handle.

"Please," I say offhandedly. She never breaks eye contact, so I stutter out more. "I'd always figured we couldn't anyway. I don't know. But apparently something different happened to me." I look down, closing the file and shutting the laptop. "I've found nothing about any of you guys. This is a me thing."

She just watches me.

"We still need to tell Iggy," Angel says finally. "And figure out what this procedure was."

I could only imagine what kind of procedure it was. Did they sterilize me? Mess with my insides too much? I shake my head at her, and hope she's in my head this time. This discovery, though not world-crushing (I practically have four kids already), has really gotten to me. For some reason, the cryptic note has only revealed more questions than answers.

I already told Alana to look into it.

Angel nods, hearing my inner thoughts and the one directed at her. "Fine. But we should still mention it to Iggy. The longer he doesn't know the angrier he'll be."

I hate that I worry for a moment about telling him. I wonder if he'd ever mention it to Fang. I wondered if Fang even cared. I didn't even know I cared at all about the idea until just now.

"Max, it'll be okay," she says in response to my fast-track thoughts. "I'm sorry I got mad."

"No, I know," I say quietly. "And I don't want you guys hiding anything, so I get it. But I just…some of this stuff is hard to see."

Angel nods, looking down at the piles of printed out documents and note pads with scribbled notes and testimony.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg," she says solemnly. She then pats me on the arm and moves out of the room without another word. I sigh and look at the mess of the desk, leaning over to organize it a bit. I'm hesitant to go back out there before I calm down and arrange my composure.

I can barely stand not knowing what all I was created to do, not to do. It's pure torture uncovering documents in a random order, getting half-explanations for things and meanwhile finding many more unknowns lurking within.

It all feels wrong, with each deeper dive it feels like something very irreversible is happening to me, and I wonder if this is all a mistake. I wonder if it's too late to back out and try to just hold the government accountable.

The government. Everything we see in these files, they've seen. Everything we're learning about ourselves—the good, the bad, the dangerous and the unexpected—they're learning, too. I can't help but feel uneasy that anyone else is seeing this stuff before us. What if they don't trust us? What if they want to use us?

As I'm shuffling things on the desk, losing my mind, Iggy comes into the room and immediately makes a full stop in the doorway.

"What's wrong?"

My lips twitch. I glance over his shoulder, where under his name in a list of possible mutations is Empath? It always just seemed like Iggy was just a great listener. I'm sure that's still the case, but it is true that now, when I look for it, it seems that Iggy can sense certain moods in the air. His usual sarcastic comment about me stuffing up the room with worry may not be that far off.

"Updates for ya. Since you passed out on me last night. We'll go over them when we get back," I say shortly, without even a scent of nervousness. I hope.

Ig glares in my direction, calculating. He takes a moment longer than usual, now that he knows he's supposed to be—or could be—an empath, he is really trying to get there. Again, Jeb's notes had hinted that it was related to his other senses, but strangely never elaborated further than "Refer to subsection 10A in procedure X30015I." Iggy figured that was when he was accidentally made blind in the attempt to give him better night vision, but no mention of his blindness yet—that happened at the School, Iggy remembers for a fact. We haven't seen those files yet.

Most of the things we'd read through so far had been from the first few years of being at the house. Disturbingly enough, half of the evidence that Alana gave us is surveillance of our every day lives, sometimes with Jeb's own recordings of notes and observations. I can't remember when he would've snuck off to do these things…but there were times, often times, especially in the beginning, when Jeb would go off to his office. And shut the door.

He'd be in there for hours. I guess I, always the optimist about Jeb, had imagined he was working hard to continue to fight for us. He was our superhero, our savior.

But in reality…

It's sickening realization, and it's hammered in over and over with each new piece of evidence. The crazy thing is, I'm seeing Fang and the others' perspective more and more each day. We have enough on him already. Maybe this is pointless. Maybe this is unnecessary torture.

"Max, you need to breathe, I think," Iggy says. He reaches for me and his fingers are ice cold on my skin. I find that my breath is coming a little too fast, and try to focus and count. Four long seconds of inhaling before pushing the air out of my lungs with a whoosh.

"He's gonna be fine," Iggy says, sounding reluctant with the words. "I mean, he will. We're not that far. And we're going to rig the place up," he says, patting his backpack. My eyes widen.

"Iggy, you can't—"

"Not bombs, Max," Iggy chuckles, turning to head out of the office. I follow him, trying to shake off my emotions. I need them to take a backseat to all the emotions that will come this afternoon, as I drop my boyfriend and personal rock off at college.

Nudge fills in for him where he leaves off, explaining about what's in his backpack. "Max, we got the alarms you wanted for the apartment, plus these really cool Wi-Fi alarm that will alert us the moment anything alerts him. Seriously, it's going to be tedious how safe his apartment is. He's gonna hate you. But he should have pretty fair warning if anything is trying to get in. We also got him a taser, because…why not?"

Fang walks into the room, grunting as he hears Angel call out good morning. He's fresh from the shower, having been up and in the bathroom when I woke up earlier. I rub his lower back, my fingers brushing his soft feathers, watching him fill up a thermos like mine with coffee. He takes a large gulp and then caps the thermos tightly, dropping it in the holder on the side of his pack.

"Good morning," he says gruffly, to no one and I assume everyone. I move over to the steps, ready to call Gazzy down. Angel interrupts me before I can start to call for him.

"He's…busy," she advises, moving to the sink with her bowl in hand. She points down the hall to the other bathroom. I nod, grimacing at the implication.

"Everyone ready? Whenever Gaz is done," I say.

Fang is smearing cream cheese on a bagel. Iggy and Nudge are already lounging with their packs on, ever the punctual, reporting-for-duty type these days. Angel loads her bowl into the dishwasher, humming a cheery song as she does so.

"I'm sorry," Gazzy groans from down the hall behind the closed bathroom door. Nudge makes a face at me.

"You're okay, buddy, take your time," Iggy calls kindly, snickering when Nudge elbows him.

"Gross!" she hisses under her breath.

"Thank you for understanding," Gazzy grumbles.

Fang smirks at me over the room as the kids erupt in disgusted laughter. I return a smile, and then look away, eyes landing on the bags by the door. I try not to let the smile fall in any immediate, obvious way. But my stomach is turning.

We finally hear a toilet flush, and the kids take that as a sign to get going. I scoop a pack off the floor and onto my shoulder, ushering kids out the door and simultaneously checking window and doors locks manually.

When I reach the door, Fang is picking up his last bag. He leans over me and without a word grants me a deep, toe-curling kiss, unabashed and truly telling. I blush under him, grinning against my will and anxious stomach. He pulls away and steps out the door. Gazzy is last, running past me with another quick "Sorry, guys." He carries a faint but gnarly stench—I hold my nose as he goes by. I set the alarm after double checking the perimeter and saying a quick prayer to any higher power to let this not become a total disaster.

Once I shut the door, I turn to see my family already disappearing into tiny dots in the morning sun. I sprint off into the yard to join them, swallowing the feeling of unease. Whether we like it or not, this is our life. Be it a mistake or not, we're in it together.