A/N: Hi, thanks for reading! This story will get dark. Jsyk.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable history/background! Thankful he loves letting us play with his characters.

M

"Max and Fang! Over here, just one good one!"

There's still a part of me that cringes in these situations, but Fang's hand is gripped in mine and we know the drill. A long time ago we agreed to just be as real with each other at all times—including in front of the camera.

It's Maggie Something from Some Magazine and the details don't matter to me at all because no part of me needs to read the headlines. After less than a year of being the only teenage mutants dating each other in the media, I decided my life is healthier when I avoid the tabloids altogether. That never stops Iggy from hanging a select few headlines on the fridge, but whatever.

We shift in front of Maggie and wrap each other up, his arm slung over my shoulder. I tug him as close to me as I can with my arm around his waist, and we hold for her to snap a few shots.

"Thanks guys," she says, staring down at the screen of her camera to review. "I am still insisting I get that interview eventually."

"Fang might crack," I say smiling. "I am a closed book."

"And there's your headline," Fang says, squeezing my shoulders. We move along, catching up to where the others are refueling at the snack table in our tent, away from the press. There are maybe two or three reporters at each one of these, and they usually want the same tabloid-type content as Fang and I are subjected to. For the most part the cameras are for live footage, to post or air the show later on television.

Nudge tosses me a chilled water bottle, dropping into one of the chairs in our tent. "Where's my phone?"

"How are we supposed to know," Gazzy throws back through a mouthful of chips. "Think Trent texted you?"

"Hopefully," she grumbles.

Fang drains half of my water and hands it back. "Trent? I thought it was Alex?"

Nudge's eyes slide over to mine and she smirks. "There's Alex and there's Trent. And then there's Dean. Not everyone has a perfect match made for them in a lab. Rest of us gotta graze."

Fang rolls his eyes down to me and I grin at him. "How are you meeting these people?"

"Well, grandpa," Gazzy says sarcastically, "Long after your time they created an app called Tinder—"

"Never needed it," Fang cracks. "One and done."

It's my time to roll my eyes. I head over to where Iggy is lounging, head lolling back onto the chair while he feeds himself grapes.

"How does everyone feel about the show?"

Responses are half-hearted. They know they did well, but its less about the performance and more about the fact that they put aside a Saturday afternoon to do this. I look around.

"You guys know we don't have to keep doing these," I say gently.

"You say that every time," Angel says, looking up from her phone to meet my eyes. She smiles. "It's fun, Max. We still like doing it. It's just not a big deal to us."

I try to remind myself that that only hurts because I'm Mom. As Mom, I look at these kids who really aren't even kids anymore and see the ones I saw years ago, the ones who needed me and found magic in everything.

Angel, now eleven, truly has grown the most. She's eleven but could easily pass for fourteen. I remember when she started wearing makeup after Nudge taught her and Fang almost fell apart.

Iggy reaches up in my direction, palm open, offering me a branch of grapes. I take it, start snacking and leave the Momming for someone else. Things have changed, we have changed, and for the most part, I'm at peace with that.

But as we grow older, the questions get heavier, and I'm not sure we can continue to build our lives until we close the chapter of hatred and evil. We still live together in the same house, a house with provided security and wit-pro level ambiguity. But I still stay up some nights because the gnawing curiosity of whether tonight is the night they will finally come to get us keeps me from sleep. Often Fang stays up with me. We all still have nightmares; we all still think cautiously first.

It's not fully home because we aren't fully free.

"Stop being a bummer in there," Angel says, tossing a half a cracker at me. I laugh.

"I can't help it," I retort, and Nudge retorts it with me in a mocking voice.

"You always say that," Nudge says at me. I throw my hands up and head towards the food as they giggle.

Gazzy is strategically building a mini sandwich from the charcuterie plate. I look around, counting heads because it's habit—and because I'm ready to get out of here.

"Where's Fang?"

Nudge tilts her head toward the flap of the food tent. "Reporter said something about 'cracking' him."

I shake my head and open another water. Some reporters have been more tenacious than others, hoping to dig deeper into the dark side of our past. Maggie's a typical reporter at our shows, following the Flock closely and often asking actually important questions. But we try not to give the media too much to run with, so as to not interrupt our own safety. Of course, some of them want to break the case and work to bring the School down. Some of them just want to dig in our lives. I wonder often if any of them are from the School, but Fang tells me that if I think like that forever, I will lose my mind.

"Well, we're gonna have to rescue Fang from the paparazzi," I say, feigning reluctance. "Let's head home."

We duck out of the tent, everyone going at once, Iggy ducking quite a bit to get out. He's been taking classes primarily online, all of us, to get our GEDs. That's been a long process, but we get to escape the childish feeling of high school which, at nineteen, none of us could deal with.

Nudge, on the other hand, was ecstatic to go to high school. She's now a senior, looking at colleges and already decided to study computer sciences. I look over at her, grabbing the tent flap absently while typing swiftly with one finger on her phone. Her once-unruly curls are now smooth and bouncy around her face, falling long past her shoulders into little tendrils. She looks at me, blushes, and shows me her phone.

I want to take you out tonight babe

She looks at me with pleading eyes. Angel and Gazzy slip out under the flap she's still holding. I laugh as I move to follow them out of the opening.

"Dude, I have covered for you twice and I am not doing it again. Fang and Ig get to deal with this one," I say, unapologetic.

"Max! Please!" She drops the flap and grabs my arm before I can escape the tent. "For real. I think I really like this one and they will ruin it."

"No they won't," I say, but I'm not fully convinced either. She gives me a look that says Exactly!

"We will pitch it to them together," I say, and she starts to disagree. "Nudge we got this."

She groans and pushes out of the tent, and I follow her. My eyes fall on Fang first, tall and dressed in full black. He's talking to Maggie Something, but not saying much. He looks up at me, his eyes flicker with something playful, and he starts to step away.

My phone buzzes. Saw the show. Breathtaking as usual. Be safe going home. From Val. I respond quickly and slip my phone back into my pocket.

"Ready?" Fang appears at me side, zipping up his jacket.

"Can we order in tonight?" Iggy asks from behind him, hands in his pockets. "I don't feel like cooking. Let's get take out."

"Ooh, I want like a bucket of shrimp fried rice," Gazzy croons.

"Listen," I say, unfurling my wings slowly, looking behind me as I do so I don't hit anyone. "I'm definitely not cooking."

The others laugh, Iggy muttering a Thank God.

"Let's go home." It's breathed in my ear, the same time two familiar hands slide up the curve of my waist and settle in the dip there.

"Chill Fang, gross," Gazzy mutters.

"Can we get out of here," I request, voice slightly higher than usual.

"Oh, I'm sure you wanna get out of here now, with Mr. Hot and Bothered breathing on you," Iggy mocks. He unfurls his wings too, less carefully than I did, hitting Angel gently in the back of the head as he extended fully. "Sorry kid."

Everyone starts taking off into the air and I am seemingly frozen, feeling Fang's palms spread out on my hips and slide around to tug at my beltloops.

"I'm going to get you back for that sabotage mid-show," Fang threatens in my ear.

I spin to look up at him, amused. He smiles down at me, but one of those hidden smiles. His lip barely twitches up but his eyes are bright. "Can't wait. Let's go home."