I wiped away the steam from the mirror and studied my tired eyes. I wasn't really doing a good job of first watch, considering that I limited all my senses with the shower and my ability to react safely. (Flying out into the cold night dripping wet and naked is by no means a smart or safe thing to do.)
I slapped my cheeks lightly, rubbed my temples vigorously, and then decided that I would like a peppermint mocha coffee right about now. Which I find kind of odd since I had only ever tried one once before and hadn't thought about it in years.
I made myself feel a little better, laughing at my absurd craving, but a sudden wave of loneliness caught me by surprise. I wasn't alone! I had Ade, and as soon as I got my hands on the file we needed, I would have the others as well. Shaking my head one final time, trying to get my game face on, I turned my attention to more important things – like clothes.
The clothes I washed and set out to dry were still a lot more wet than dry, so I cheated and used the blow dryer on them. They wound up getting over three quarters of the way dry, before my patience with the whole process expired. I dressed quickly and cleaned up my mess, eager suddenly to return to the room and watch over my charges.
Stepping out into the rest of room, I saw Ade was out cold, the practice of sleeping on the hard ground made it impossible for him to resist a real bed. I looked for the other two, finding one lying in the second bed, his breathing even, and the other leaning against the wall in the corner, watching me intently from his shadowy cloak.
Uncomfortable with his staring, I challenged him, "Can I help you with something, or are you just practicing for the Creepy Guy of the Year Award?"
He chuckled faintly, more to appreciate my attempt at snarky humor than to acknowledge any success. I waited a second longer, about ninety percent sure I knew which one he was. Then, somehow intuiting what he really wanted, I walked up to the window, pulled back the curtains, and pulled the window out, revealing a safety bar that was rusted enough that I could force it down and out of my way. I could feel his curious stare, so I answered him, "I figured talking somewhere else would be better for them," whispering softly while nodding towards the sleepers.
Neal stepped over with his own nod to signify he understood, then hesitating as he waited for me to reveal my exact plans. "Climb on," I motioned, and added as an afterthought, "I'm going to stretch my wings a bit when we first go. When we exit the window, we will fall a ways, but don't panic, 'kay?"
He nodded with the slightest hint of doubt but did what I asked without questions – a nice change of pace if you ask me. He was awkward putting his arms around my neck, unsure of what he was doing. Not that I blamed him. It wasn't every day that a random mutant girl you offers to take you flying on her back and you can actually believe her (as opposed to calling the nice men with the white self-hugging sweaters and comfy padded rooms…).
I told him he could support his own weight until just before we dropped, which I hoped would help him feel better. He climbed up onto the window ledge with me, and loosely hung his arms around my neck. Just as I made to jump off, I reached back and secured him like I used to support the little neighbor kids I gave piggyback rides to when I babysat them.
Neal probably didn't need my help hanging on though, considering how tightly he was squeezing my neck. For a second, I thought he might just succeed in straggling me, but as I fought my way up from gravity, his hold relaxed. I breathed a sigh of relief as the oxygen made its way back into my starved lungs. Neal murmured an embarrassed apology, but I ignored it in favor of reveling in the sheer gloriousness of flying. I surged higher as I caught an updraft of hot air rising from the still sunbaked asphalt, and when we reached the bottom of the lowest hanging clouds, I paused long enough for Neal to stick his hand into it. Then I put us in a spin, rolling down and to our left before taking us straight up into clouds, breathing in the cold misty substance. I wheeled inside of the cloud; using my other senses to be sure we didn't drift of course, before nose-diving out.
I felt so…human, for lack of a better (and more appropriate) word; I was me and I was alive. I could practically feel Neal's smile as he too felt the indescribable feeling of flight (even if he wasn't the one doing all the work).
My little joy ride lasted a total of two and a half minutes before I angled us towards the roof of the hotel/motel or whatever the word for it was. Even though the clouds obscured the moon and stars, making us very hard to see, the risk of being spotted still weighed on my mind. Neal was off the minute his feet hit the roof, leaning all nonchalant on the cement barrier guarding the ledge. I had to give the man credit; he was remarkably calm and collected both times that he had been flown (the fully conscious and aware times) by a bird-kid.
I took a seat, letting my wings out to cool off, (not that they had gotten very warm in the minutes they were used), and mostly just stretched them. I wasn't worried about them being seen, as we were tucked under an overhang. We waited each other out, wanting the other to make the first move.
Neal broke first, "So, why don't you want us to help you?"
I looked away, the sudden sense of loneliness washing over me again. I shrugged my shoulders since words would have betrayed my feelings. Neal glanced around while he chose his next words, "I get it, at least, I get part of it, why you don't feel like we – well, Peter mostly – can't help you. But the thing is Peter's no lightweight. He's really good at what he does, and I know he can find a way to at least start a major takedown of The Institute. He has connections, and anyone that tried something would be caught before anything bad happened."
He hesitated, trying to judge my reaction to what he's said. I don't give him anything, my face aloof. But inside, I really wanted to believe him. I wanted to think that they could help me – well, us. I knew part of what he said was true, that the Institute did some underhanded things like tax evasion, and I knew the FBI was capable of opening that can of worms. But what I knew that he didn't seem to grasp, was that the Institute would not be satisfied with killing them if they interfered. It would find anyone and everyone that they loved and hopefully those people would receive a swift end.
The worst part is that actually, genuinely I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell someone about me. The real me, the girl who was kidnapped, experimented on, turned into a freak, and hunted down because she escaped. I wanted to tell him my favorite color and book. I wanted to tell him about my childhood pet. I wanted to tell him what they were really doing, what they were planning to do. I wanted to trust him.
But this goes so far over his head, and I know that more than likely, he will die because of me so I just can't. As selfish as I am to have even brought him out here to talk, I know I can't talk about any of that. If they do track him down, the very best thing I can do is to be sure that he doesn't know anything, then they will only kill him, quickly, I hope.
So instead of a heart to heart where I spill my guts, I just calmly try to put his bothersome questions to rest, "I would love your help, but unfortunately, Peter isn't connected high enough. Take my word for it. The best you can do at this point to protect yourselves is to lay low and hope they either deem you not worth it, or that they kill you quickly."
His eyebrows creased with what looked like a mix of concern and indignation, but before he got any words out, I continued, "I am on the run for my life the way I am because of them. Please, for your own sake, if not for the sakes of your loved ones, just let this whole incident go. Please."
My cheeks dusted red as my voice broke. Now I've really gone and done it. I can see the pity spinning in his eyes as he sits up and takes a step towards me. I climb to my feet, feeling too vulnerable sitting on the ground. I was preparing myself to verbally beat back his pity when his hand caught my chin and raised my reluctant eyes to meet his, "If you are so bent on keeping us away and not knowing anything, why did you bring me up here in the first place?"
Tears pricked my eyes as I fought to control my emotions, but I was unable. Fear, loneliness, weariness, and the desperate, desperate need for someone to take the burden from me flickered to life before I could hide them. He whispered now, so gently that I felt like I was five again, being comforted after a nightmare by my father, "You don't have to do whatever it is you're doing alone. We will help you; we will do everything in our power to help you."
I could hold in the tears no longer, and like a freaking baby, I started blubbering uncontrollably, shaking, lips quivering, and everything. Without thinking, I moved forward and buried my head into his shoulder, arms flying around to encircle him, squeezing twice as hard as he had to my neck when we first left the room.
He didn't complain, just wrapped his arms around me and let me cry, occasionally stroking my hair or patting my back, words failing him for the moment.
Finally, my tears slowed and I pulled back, cheeks pink from embarrassment. "Sorry," I murmured, wiping my eyes dry.
"Don't be," he said, a little awkward himself. I felt a genuine smile creep onto my lips, "You know, with a little practice, you'd make a great big brother." He looked at me with a wisp of surprise before he matched my smile with one of his own, "You already have the annoying and bossy little sister act down."
I laughed for the first time in what felt like ages, and his smile grew. To my surprise and delight, he slung his arm around me and gave me a proposition, "Let's forget the Institute sis, and talk about some good old-fashioned conning. I bet between the two of us, we would come up with a couple good ones."
"You bet, bro, but I think I have an advantage," I teased, eyes twinkling, as we sat down beside each other and spent God-knows how long laughing and joking and scheming.
Sometime after midnight, judging by the red numbers on the tiny corner bank's sign indicated, I took us back into the room where Peter's obnoxious snoring greeted us. We glanced over at each other and almost cracked up laughing. I pressed a hand over my mouth to keep from being too loud when Neal motioned towards the ice box and the bathroom. Suddenly grinning for a different reason, my partner in crime and I slunk over to gather the equipment for our prank, our eyes alight with matching good-humored mischief.
I think Neal is officially my favorite big brother in the world.
