AN: Yeah, just in case you were wondering where this story had disappeared to...I was busy. And I had writer's block. And I was concentrating on other important things which did not include Maximum Ride or Fanfiction or practically anything. But yes, I have finally completed chapter two. Sorry, guys! I know some of you have been waiting long enough...so I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. JP owns it.


WALK A MILE

Chapter Two – Disengage


Lets rearrange,

I wish you were a stranger I could disengage…

- Over My Head, The Fray


I woke up slowly, my eyes closed. There was a strange absence of feeling in all of my limbs, and I felt almost as if I was floating. The pain in my head had completely disappeared, but some of the images and sounds were dwelling in the back of my mind, and the smell was still in my nostrils. I felt tense and kind of relaxed at the same time. Sound flowed back into my ears, but there was still silence reigning throughout the little glade we were camping in. The air smelt as sweet as ever once the stink faded, and feeling came back quickly. I felt strangely as if I was sitting upright, though I had been lying down before. Maybe I had jolted upright?

Sight came back last. I opened my eyes and they blurred and watered for a moment as I looked at the dim moon. On of my hands was over my face, and the other was touching a solid, warm mass which I was sure was Fang. I glanced down, and then did one of those movie double-takes. My neck clicked, and I slapped a hand to it.

I was lying on the ground staring up at me in shock. I stood upright so suddenly that I jarred my back, which was stiff from slumping down. I suddenly wondered how I was feeling things if I was dead, which suddenly seemed very likely. Didn't spirits float around their bodies for a while after they died? Hey, maybe the Voice had finally killed me. That was weird, and it had taken it long enough. I wondered if I was dreaming.

My body had somehow manoeuvred itself into a sitting position. Some of the dreamlike quality of my situation was beginning to fade, and I was actually starting to wonder what the hell was going on. My brain was beginning to function again, and man did I have an impressive headache. One of my legs had cramps, as did one hand. I decided that I couldn't be dead – heaven couldn't be that uncomfortable. Unless, of course, I was in the fiery depths of hell, which seemed perfectly likely. I mean, not all kids with wings go to heaven. For one thing, I've used the big dude in the sky's name in vain plenty of time, and I've only been to church once in my entire life.

"Somebody pinch me," I thought aloud, blinking slowly. My voice sounded off – deeper, slower, certainly not what I was used to. I made an ahh sort of noise, slapped a hand to my throat once again and promised myself that this was some horrible nightmare. Realization was coming to me – however slowly, it was coming. I closed and opened my eyes, seeing that the Max on the ground was rubbing her eyes and staring up at me.

Oh, my goodness. I'm not dead!

That was good to know, but it didn't seem to explain my predicament at all. The Max on the ground was blinking up at me owlishly, rubbing her temples and looking as though she was missing some huge joke.

"Er, Max?" the other me asked with an expression of utter confusion on her – wait, my – face.

"Speaking," I replied in that funny voice. The other Max looked shell-shocked.

"Er – you okay?" she asked me. Funny the phrase seemed very familiar in a strange way, as did the way in which she spoke. Realization was playing hard to get, it seemed.

"Just dandy. You?" I replied shortly.

"Erm, fantastic," the other Max said in a strangled voice, "Max, spread your wings."

"Why?" I asked quizzically, knowing that the reason couldn't be good.

"Um…well…just do it, will you!" my body snapped at me.

So I did, with a flourish. It was surprisingly difficult – in fact, all of my movements felt a little clumsy and out of proportion with the size of my body. I felt a little like jelly, but shaking out my wings was a release, as always. A feather fell onto the ground as I stretched them up, the sudden movement catching my eye. I paused at full length, staring at that one feather that glimmered in the pale moonshine. Fearing my shock and growing comprehension would creep into my features, I leant down and picked it up, turning it over in my hand as though the answer would be written on the other side.

It was black - jet black, raven black, night black.

The other me looked as if she was restraining laughter. I guessed that the expression on my face was a delightfully distraught one. I sure wasn't laughing though, because realization had struck, and, man, it weighed a freaking tonne.

"Fang?" I asked tentatively. My hands, cradling the black feather, were olive-skinned and large. There were little of my feet to see except for the toes of black combats under black pants. I hardly ever wore black, and I certainly hadn't been before I had become unconscious. The world did a funny loop around my head, and my knees suddenly gave out. It was worse than becoming an Eraser, because at least I knew it was only in the mirror. This was very, very real. Hyper real, in fact.

I reached out with one hand towards the face that was staring back at me. It was the strangest sensation – like looking in a mirror which moved differently from me, and the other Max wasn't my reflection. Fang was me – and I was Fang. My fingers brushed the soft skin of my cheek, and 'Max'/Fang flinched away from the sudden sensation. The pads of my fingers suddenly felt as if they were aflame, and I wrenched my clenched fist back to my chest.

"Oh, my God," I said aloud, sounding stunned but swiftly recovering, as was my nature. Now I wanted to laugh, but the emotion seemed entirely inappropriate, so I held it back.

"Next you'll be writing speeches for the president," 'Max'/Fang commented, rolling his eyes, "I blame you entirely for this."

"Hey!" I replied sharply, forgetting our predicament entirely in a moment as our previous argument almost resumed from where it had left off, "this isn't my fault! I did not just acquire the power of switching bodies – and if I did, I certainly wouldn't want to switch with you!"

"This definitely isn't a dream – you aren't this obnoxious in any of my dreams," Fang said, examining his new hand with scientific interest.

"I would have thought you would have classified that as a nightmare," I retorted, and then paused for the slightest moment before saying something incredibly idiotic and spiteful, "you dream about me?"

Fang didn't reply, but I could have sworn I saw his eyes flash and his cheeks redden in the slightest. I paused once again, remembering the nightmare I had had earlier with Fang in it. I tried to clamp down on that train of thought as soon as possible, blocking it out. I was nearly my reasonably sensible self by that moment, and I tried as hard as I could to focus on the situation at hand.

"Apart from the fact that we appear to have switched bodies, is there anything else wrong with either of us?" I asked, checking over the body which I had been transferred to. Apart from a pounding headache, I was fine.

"Headache – nothing else," he muttered to the tree over my shoulder, and my eyebrows rose. Clearly our strange situation hadn't turned him into someone who said over five words in one sentence.

Suddenly Fang winced and slapped a hand to his – my – forehead, making me jump about six feet into the air. His eyes went from focused to dazed, and I guessed that that was exactly how I looked when the Voice spoke up. He was silent for several moments before uttering one half of the conversation with Voice. It was weird not knowing exactly what it was saying, and not feeling the pain – not that I missed it or anything, but it was definitely strange.

"A mile? Is that figurative or real?" Fang asked, staring at nothing. I wondered if I looked like that when I talked back to the Voice, and decided that that was probably why everyone thought I was mostly insane – Fang certainly looked it.

"A lesson? For Max?" Fang said, and his disjointed words startled of me. Of course this was a lesson, a test, but his statement still surprised me.

Fang's eyes focused again, looking straight at me, and I knew that the Voice was gone. He looked a little shaken and a little pale, but it was my skin and my face. However, I suddenly noticed that his eyes were still his own – dark and eternal and seeming to go on forever. I was sure that I didn't have eyes like that naturally.

"The Voice says that if we walk a mile in each other's shoes then we might get our own back. And yes, the mile is figurative," he said, and muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like an insult directed at the Voice.

"I knew you would love the Voice when you met it, Fang," I said cheerfully, "you know what? I really have no idea what to do."

"Great. Because neither do I."

"How's your head?"

"Fine," he scowled at me. I laughed aloud this time, and it sounded awkward. I realized that Fang hardly ever laughed. Or smiled. Or talked. Maybe this was going to be a little difficult.

"First of all, are we going to tell the others about this?" I asked Fang, leaning back against a tree trunk and stretching a little. He deliberated for a little.

"I don't think so," he replied finally.

"So I have to pretend to be you for however long it is until I can have my body back?" I said, my voice sounding the slightest bit panicked.

"Well, yes. And I have to pretend to be you," he replied, as calm as ever. It didn't suit me at all.

"I think I need to sleep on this," I muttered, "Yes, I do."

"You do that," he answered, looking at me like I was mad. Which I pretty much was.

I stood up and headed towards where the others were sleeping, but my own voice pulled me back.

"Max – we're going to have to swap stuff. Sleeping bags, mostly," he said seriously, and I was glad that at least one of us had thought ahead. I shook my head and didn't say anything in reply before beginning to walk back again. Fang stayed right where he was, watching me as I left.

Climbing into his sleeping bag rather than my own was weird, definitely. I couldn't get comfortable, at first, but the smell inside it was familiar and it made me doze for a little while. I could still see the images from my brain explosion, and smell the tepid scent of death and decay – they flashed across my mind whenever I closed my eyes.

Sleep came finally, easing any material worries but sending me straight back to a realm of nightmares.

These are not my memories.

I find myself thinking that as I rattle the bars of cage in front of me. Sure, like anyone who has been subjected to torturous experiments and lived in a metal box made for the average dog for most of their childhood, I am afraid of cages. I have nightmares about cages, but I had never dreamed anything like this before. Usually I was inside the cage and looking out to the world which seemed far more free than I was. Seeing Erasers learning how to hunt. Dreaming of escape. This was different, way different – another dimension different.

The walls seem to be crushing me. Panic is in my throat, making my whole chest constricted. Part of me knows that this wasn't real, and that part is a calm observer. Another part is facing blind, explosive fear. There is a copper tang on my tongue and lips. The hands holding the metal bars are not my own – olive-skinned and far different from what I am used to looking at. The bars don't move, don't even make the faintest rattling noise.

I panic, barely processing my actions.

And the bars fall away.

I am free, practically. Except that I am still in the School, surrounded by mad scientists and an army of Erasers.

Without thinking, I run.

These are not my memories.

That thought is a relief, but it is certainly not going to save me from rabid Erasers. I wonder vaguely who these memories actually belonged to. It should be obvious to me, yet it isn't. I am running much faster now, gliding silently along the corridors. I think that there is a booming alarm going off behind me, but it is faint to my ears. After all, it might just be my head ringing. I don't care – I just want to escape.

I found myself facing a mirror, a dead-end. A familiar face stares back at me. Fang. And over his shoulder is the grinning face of Ari. Not my fears or memories, Fang's. And restrained by Ari is me, the real me, Max, fighting tooth and claw. A gun pressed to the side of my head, a clawed finger itching on the trigger. The whole room is growing fuzzy, and I can't tear my eyes away from the mirror.

Bang.

Dead, my own body slumping and the life draining out of my face.

Ari turns the gun on himself.

Bang.

Another dead body to add to the collection. Heart pounding at an unimaginable rate, thump thump thump, even faster than normal. I turn away from the mirror, look to the floor, expecting two bodies. There is nothing there. The white linoleum smells like blood and death, but there is nothing there.

I wake.

These are not my memories.


Slightly melodramatic, I know, but I thrive on things like that. Oh, and well done to Grace, the reviewer who guessed what was going to happen! Darn, some people are good. Though I did make it a little obvious with the whole 'walk a mile' thing. But you guys are just going to hang on - and you could be hanging for a while, just in case you hadn't already done enough waiting - to see what happens! I love writing dream scenes! I just love them!

Anway, please do review - I'll love you forever! Okay, maybe not, but I'll be very grateful! And I might actually update a little faster...maybe!

-Aden Ameryn (late for her own funeral, apparently, never mind the posting of her own story)