A/N: Happy Birthday, staphylococci!

Well, I'm pissed. I had quite a large chunk of this chapter written and my file got deleted. As if I don't already have enough PTSD from deleting my own work, right? It's never as good the second time, but here we go.

Glad to see some more of you come back out of the quiet and give some feedback! I live for it. Keep doing that!

Ha! Slow burn. Also, it is going to get worse before it gets better. I love watching you guys guess what's going to go wrong first.

Only one more torture chapter of waiting before the unraveling starts. Enjoy it.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the Maximum Ride characters and all recognizable canon info.

M

Nudge is not home by two.

In fact, she's home last, around four PM. She slips in the back door, disarming the alarm and slipping her bag off her arm quietly. Suddenly she seems to realize we're all standing in the kitchen, gathered around the counter talking and snacking on some snacks Iggy has pulled from the pantry.

She starts casually, saying, "Hey, guys, sorry I'm late—" Her eyes land on Fang and she gasps, looking surprised. She jumps on the balls of her feet, giving an excited squeal before hurrying over to hug him.

"You're here!"

"You too, finally," Fang quips. She flushes, looking around at the rest of us and our assuming expressions.

"Dean didn't drive you home?" Iggy approaches her, feeling for her with one hand gently before dropping both hands down on her shoulders and squeezing. "What a Prince Charming."

She elbows him, chuckling. "He has practice."

Iggy drops his grip on her shoulders just to smack his own forehead. "Great, a football player."

"Soccer, actually," she corrects smoothly.

"Great," Fang chimes in, making Gazzy snort behind me.

"Okay, okay," Nudge berates, eyeing my uncomfortably, waving her hand at us as she blushes. "That's enough from you two."

Fang raises an eyebrow, looking over at me. Iggy slips away to the pantry, walking in mumbling under his breath about scraping together food for us.

"I don't know," Fang says, mischief in his eyes. "He apparently likes to bring you back at three AM?"

Nudge's jaw drops, and she glances at me again, this time in surprise. "Well—"

Fang lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. He takes a pretzel from one of the bowls on the counter and pops it into his mouth. "It's alright, Nudge. I know that Max has been a deadbeat Mom, lately."

Now it's my turn to jaw-drop, and Nudge is laughing. She stops suddenly and lowers her voice, looking at him relatively seriously. "You have no idea how bad it's gotten."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, that's enough from you two."

Iggy emerges from the pantry and sighs, moving into the kitchen. He claps his hands to get attention, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

"We should order dinner tonight. I have limited options…we haven't gone to the store in a while."

I glance sheepishly back at Nudge and Fang, very clearly proving their point. Nudge raises her eyebrows at me with a knowing look, then shrugs back at Fang hopelessly. "See? This place has gone to shit without you, dude."

"What are our options?" Gazzy chimes in, sounding optimistic.

Iggy winces slightly, and says, "Soup?"

"What kind?" Angel asks.

"Whatever-Iggy-can-find-in-the-kitchen soup," he admits, shrugging.

Angel hums, tapping her chin. Gazzy makes a gagging noise.

He frowns in Gazzy's direction. "Okay! Fine, I have a lot of food for an incredible breakfast buffet tomorrow, but we can't do that tomorrow if we—"

"Breakfast for dinner, ugh, yes," Gazzy croons. "Please! Do we have bacon? Do we have pancakes? Do we have eggs?"

Iggy looks defeated, but spins and begins retrieving the ingredients from the fridge. "Yes, fine, but no one gets to complain when there's nothing but cereal tomorrow. And I better have some volunteers to help. You, Nudge—you have to help because we've been waiting on you."

Nudge rolls her eyes, moving around into the kitchen to assist. Angel jumps up to do the same, and Gazzy hops up into a bar stool, sitting next to Fang. He smiles up at me, and gives me a sheepish, suspiciously sweet smile.

"How was your day, Max?"

I glare down at him untrustingly.

"Fine," I say. "What did you do?"

"What? I'm just catching up—"

"What?" I say with dread. He grins wider and pulls from behind his back a red folder. Great.

"I did something at school today."

I groan, throwing open the folder to look at the detention slip inside.

"Gazzy! Detention?"

"I know, I'm sorry, but listen—something cool happened," he says excitedly. I see Angel, working beside me on the island countertop mixing pancake mix. She looks at me meaningfully, then back at Gazzy. She says nothing.

"What happened?" I demand, looking at the Gasman levelly.

"So we're outside, after school. I'm walking to meet Angel. These two guys got in a fight right next to me. This bigger dude slammed into this other dude," he explains this excitedly, seeming thrilled. He's using his hands to act out the interaction. The entire thing is laughable, but I am still not laughing at the detention slip. "Anyways, this dude is flying right at me, about to knock me over. I threw up my hands to protect myself and whoosh!" He throws up his hands, and I nearly flinch, expecting it to happen again. It doesn't. He continues, "Like, I didn't touch him! My principal didn't believe me, clearly, because he gave me detention. But it was like… the wind! He flew like three feet!"

I raise an eyebrow at him, sliding my gaze over to see Fang looking down at Gazzy incredulously and Angel, smiling at me with a sly, knowing look on her face.

But… I think I would remember if Gazzy's files had mentioned a telekinetic power that included throwing people around.

"The wind?"

He looks up at me, wide eyes genuine. "Max, I swear. It wasn't even, like, a force field or something—which would've been awesome," he adds, grinning cheekily again. "It was like the wind helped me."

"Helped you…throw him three feet away." I say, monotone. He stares at me for a minute, barely remorseful, before grinning again, glancing around at the others listening.

"I'm an air bender."

"An air bender with detention on Tuesday," I sigh, reaching for a pen in the drawer by my hip. As I'm signing the slip, noting the principal's "excessive force" citation, Angel pops into my head.

Atmokinesis. That was on his list.

I glance at her, confused. It doesn't ring a bell. What does that mean?

Weather control.

My eyes widen, and I make myself keep quiet. I say nothing and slide the folder back to him. He takes it and goes to the table to put the folder in his backpack.

"Have you been able to do it again?" Angel asks innocently. I eye her, warning her in my head to tread lightly and steer away from forbidden topics. She doesn't acknowledge me. I look over to see Fang watching me with interest.

Gazzy sulks on his way back to the counter. "No. I don't know if it was a freak thing, or what. I'm going to keep practicing."

I swallow down everything else I would like to say and instead go with, "Fine, just not on other people, okay?"

It's about nine o'clock when I try to make a clean break away from the others to start digging through evidence. Fang and I are curled up on one sofa, Fang flipping through shows on the TV. Gazzy and Nudge are sitting on the carpet, playing cards and occasionally talking passionately about all things tech—a topic the two of them bond over like no other. Angel and Iggy sit on the opposite sofa, talking about…me.

I hear Angel say lowly, "She found out earlier. I don't know when."

She turns her head to look at me, smiling. Do you know when we're going to start working on the new stuff from Alana?

My stomach tightens into knots. I'd managed, somehow, to focus on the others and dinner. Being together, having Fang here—it's been the best kind of distraction. Each time I think about the information waiting for us in the office, I feel nauseous.

Fang finally lands on a movie, clicking play. It only gets a few seconds in before Gazzy says, "We just watched this, like, Wednesday."

Fang scowls, returning to the menu and scrolling once more. Nudge and Gazzy both begin suggesting shows. Angel and Iggy are both waiting, tightly wound and expectant, for me to make the move. I squeeze Fang's hand, and he gets the hint. He's not upset…but he isn't thrilled either. He knows how much this case is tearing me apart and he knows he can't stand in the way. And I get it. I feel bad, but not bad enough to change my mind.

As I start to get up from my spot next to him, I say to the room, "Okay, if you need us…just knock."

Gazzy and Nudge both groan at the same time. I'm surprised—they usually don't protest much about our preoccupation with the case. They know that it needs to be done. They usually aren't too bothered by it when the three of us disappear into the office for hours on end.

"Fang's here, and we haven't spent any real time together all week," Nudge pleads. "What could possibly be more important than good-ole, quality family time?"

She's right, and at the same time—it feels like if I don't start digging through evidence soon, I will start to have a meltdown. Iggy laughs breezily, getting up. "Come on, Nudge. Don't you have somewhere to sneak off to?"

"Shut up," she grumbles. "Come on, you know we've barely seen each other in the last few days. Can't we just hang out? Can't we be case-free for the weekend? Is it impossible?"

To suggest the weekend, yes, does feel impossible. My instinct is to immediately object—and even further, tell them we must focus on the case right now. Any declaration like that will no doubt lead to a meltdown. I know Nudge needs some new structure, because clearly our current routine isn't enough. I can't blame her. I know we barely interact outside of meals and morning greetings. I hate to leave the others feeling isolated…

I sigh, looking at Angel. She doesn't look pleased, but she sinks back against the couch. Iggy is already in the kitchen, opening a bag of popcorn and popping it in the microwave. "Fine, but we're watching a comedy. I can't stand the usual suspense shit you guys like to put on, it's way too busy for me."

I'm surprised at Iggy's sudden acceptance of this, and look at Angel with confusion.

He knows Nudge needs this. And he's right. She does.

The kids start discussing new options, and I settle back into Fang's side, trying to chill. Feeling bad for not wanting to waste time doing this. He wraps his arm around me, rubbing my shoulder absently while he searches for the movie the kids are asking for.

"Sorry," he says, really quiet. I smile at him, rubbing his knee before resting my hand there.

"I'm fine," I say, and I hesitated to make sure it delivered well, but I'm still not sure it landed. He's still rubbing my shoulder. He selects the movie and Iggy dims the lights, joining Angel again on the couch with his popcorn. He passes another bowl to the kids on the floor. Fang pulls me further against him, running his fingers through my hair lightly.

If you told me when I was fourteen that I would one day be so comfortably in love with Fang that I'd let him snuggle me while the Flock is in the room, I would have laughed so hard. And, probably punched you.

And yet here we are.

If anything, I feel bad for the Flock for how easily our fear of PDA has faded. Not like we're gross with it, but we also don't hide it. Not that we ever had a chance to keep it secret—especially with someone like Angel around. Our relationship escalated relatively quickly, once I finally decided to let us try. By the time I was fifteen, I was too in love with Fang and too busy trying to take down the School and stay alive to ever worry about hiding our relationship from the kids.

We settle in and begin the movie. It's a comedy, like Iggy requested, but raunchy and ridiculous. I lean my head on Fang and space out from the film, watching the kids laugh and react to the antics on the screen.

If it's really that bad, Alana wouldn't just…send it, right? Like, if it's incriminating of us, I would assume she would take advantage of the address I gave her and show up here ready to take us into custody. If it's just…devastating….maybe she isn't required to do anything. We chose to do this separately, from our own secure location. We chose to opt out of any other services or assistance, we'd even gone with our own lawyer.

She sounded worried, in her voicemail. Since then, she's texted me once—right after dinner. I saved her number and put my phone on silent, but I've already read the message.

Max, I'm worried I should've prepared you better. Please call me when you're opening the new stuff. You aren't alone in all this.

Not exactly the comforting vibe I think she expected. Now it feels like I really don't know what's going on, and waiting is nearly killing me. If there's anything worse than having life-changing information thrust on you, it is having to wait for it.

She hasn't texted me since. It's late, and maybe she's off duty now, or even asleep. It seems like now, I'm stuck trying not to touch the case all weekend. I mindlessly play with Fang's fingers, entwined with mine on his knee. It shouldn't be this hard to put it away and do something normal, for our sanity.

Maybe it'll be good. If anything, it might be the last time for a long while that I feel good enough to do this. Whatever is waiting for me in those files…it feels bigger and bigger every day. Something unavoidable, especially now. There's no backing out. But there's no drowning in the case, either. Balance.

There has to be balance. I can only make this work if I can compartmentalize life from the case.

The movie plays out, and I jump between fretting and rethinking what I already know and snoozing against Fang's shoulder. It's almost midnight when the credits roll, and a quick glance around the room shows youngest three out for the counter. Gazzy and Nudge are asleep, still sprawled on the blankets on the floor. Angel has comfortably fallen asleep on Iggy's lap. Iggy, aware he can't get up any time soon, fluffs a throw pillow and tucks in behind his head.

Fang smiles down at me lazily and straightens out, lying out beside me on the sofa. We squeeze together, snuggling up. It looks like we're having a sleepover, at least until we wake up aching and go to our own beds. I can't imagine Fang and I will both sleep through the night cramped on this couch, but it doesn't matter all that much. Iggy definitely can sleep all night sitting upright—he did that a lot on the run, too. Back against a tree or cliff. He'll sleep here tonight if Angel sleeps there sprawled over him. I'm surprised either of them are asleep. Perhaps this family time was much more needed than I had thought.

I close my eyes, tucking my face into Fang and breathing him in, savoring everything about this forced moment of bonding. It's good, honestly. Who knows what tomorrow holds? Who knows where the new information will take us?

I can only hope it doesn't break us.