A/N: Oof. Here we go?
I say that, as if I know where we're going! Thanks a million and much, much love.
Warning: More drug use.
Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us.
M
As we come back to the house, only an hour later, Fang swoops down next to me and says, "Called it."
I look ahead. Iggy is sitting out on the porch, smoking coiling up from the joint in his hand. I roll my eyes and land beside Fang in the yard, slowing from a jog to a walk, curling my wings once my legs are stable on the ground.
"Welcome back."
I look Iggy over. I hadn't gotten a chance to check in with him or Gazzy back at the motel in Colorado. He looks normal, except for the tightness between his eyes. They slide closed as he takes another hit.
"We smoked some," I admit, although I know he knows that already.
"I know."
"I know you know, but still."
As we walk up onto the porch, Iggy holds it out again to offer. Fang takes it.
"How are you?"
"After talking to Gazzy, I'm thinking I lucked out," he said. "I mean, I didn't see stuff that I remember. Gazzy did," he says, gazing outward toward the forest. He turns back to us, Fang tapping the back of his hand before offering him the joint back. "I'm sure the girls did, too. You guys didn't recognize anything. Wonder what that means."
I chew my lip, glancing at Fang who looks heavily uncomfortable. He puts his hand on Iggy's shoulder and squeezes.
"I'm going to bed," he says shortly, giving me a look before going in. Iggy rolls his eyes. I sit in the chair next to him. I watch him gently feel out his ashtray and leans forward to ash it. He's in his pajamas but with a coat on and boots. I see a smaller, fabric zipper bag on the table: his real stash. I realize the one in the kitchen isn't really there for Iggy, but for Fang.
"Stop hiding weed in the kitchen for Fang to find," I scold lightly, reaching for it from him. He gives it to me, snickering halfheartedly.
"Hey, it was a good halfway point."
I take a little puff, handing it back and tucking my hands into the lined pockets of my coat. It was a good one, and Nudge had convinced me to splurge on it. We all bought nice, brand new coats from a department store one day, and then Nudge went to work hand sewing wing slits in the back.
Life changing.
"I'm guessing by his mood you weren't able to convince Fang to change his mind."
"I didn't try."
Iggy looks at me incredulously. "What the fuck?"
I make a face at him, and get frustrated that he can't read me. I flick his hand on the arm rest between us.
"I get his side. But... I have to know. I'm not going to make anyone do anything they don't want to."
Iggy shakes his head. Doesn't say anything.
"He said this was all unnecessary."
Iggy scoffs. "Okay, well that part was for you," Iggy says pointedly at me, taking the last pull and then putting it out. He leans back in his chair. "He doesn't think you should do it, and probably isn't doing it with you so he can focus on keeping you from falling apart."
I don't even challenge his take on it, because he's always right on point. He predicts Fang's unrealistic Prince Charming side so much better than I ever could.
"Think about it, Max," Iggy says, leaning toward me. I feel like he's talking weird...maybe just slowly, for emphasis? I blink a few times at him, but he obviously doesn't notice. "He can't do it instead of you, because you need to do this. But you dive in, find out some really horrifying, triggering shit—how's he supposed to protect you if he's also being triggered. You can't both be a mess at once."
I am at a loss at this conspiracy idea. "Did he say that?"
My voice is different; higher, and a little hysterical. Iggy's face changes in realization and he laughs out loud.
"You're stoned."
"Shush."
"He didn't say that, he doesn't have to," Iggy says quietly, turning to gaze out toward the yard, half-hiding his face from me. "He's not the only one who thinks about how to protect you."
I shut up, at a loss for that. Iggy doesn't show that side to me often. He's with that with the younger three, all the time. But less so to me. It's always Max protecting Flock, Fang protecting Max.
"But I figure, fuck it, we can still support each other if we're both getting triggered. Better that than this outsider shit Fang's trying to pull. Maybe he is scared. Or maybe he actually remembers something. But under it all, he's trying to protect you."
"Protect me from what?" He's right, I totally am too high for this conversation, probably, but he's either unworried or unphased.
He reaches for his bag and pulls out the things he needs to roll another. "From you, Max."
He says it like I should know already. Maybe I do. They've watched me make decisions with no concern for my own safety too many times—they've seen me saw open my own arm, for God's sake.
"Fine. Fair. Whatever. I didn't talk him out of it. I told him we're done talking about it."
Iggy scoffs. "That'll work."
I am not the best detector of sarcasm right now, but I know that's what that is, because I'm also skeptical that this course of action is the right one.
"Dude, I gotta go the bed," I say. "Did Nudge get home?"
"Not yet."
I groan. "Know anything about the boy she's with?"
"Which one?"
I realize I also don't know which one. Damn. Negative Mom points, for real.
"Fuck it, I don't know. Not going to bed until she gets here, though. You hungry?"
He holds up his newly rolled joint. "I will be."
I roll my eyes at him before moving inside, grabbing my water bottle again. I rummage through the pantry, looking for inspiration so I know what to tell Iggy to make when he gets inside. It's quiet in the house. I can hear a video game playing from upstairs. Angel comes downstairs, wringing her hair in a towel.
"How was the shower?" I ask.
"Much needed," she says. "I need a snack, then I'm going to bed."
"Iggy's gonna come make something, once he's done."
She glances out the window at his reclined form, taking a slow pull. I wince.
"I think he thought you were asleep."
Angel laughs. "Absolutely already knew about that."
I frown, not sure that's good, but she also seems to have no interest in it whatsoever.
"Well, what else do you know?"
Angel looks at me with a glimmer of mischief.
"Your secrets, or someone else's?"
I recoil slightly. Does she know I'm high? "You're scary."
She grins. "Well, Nudge texted she's on her way home. Gazzy is playing Xbox, rather aggressively, but I'm not seriously concerned. Fang's on his laptop typing away like he's on a mission and Iggy—" she glances over her shoulder, sees him standing up and gathering his things. "Is probably finally going to be able to chill out."
She looks at me, but he's coming in the door, so she says in my head: He didn't have as many memories triggered, but the revelation of the lab hit him hard. Like you and Fang.
I frown. I know we're all feeling betrayed, amidst other things. I know Iggy has always struggled with trusting Jeb, but there was a time when we all did. I think all of us had been convinced at one time or another that he wasn't only a bad guy.
"Ugh," Iggy exclaims with exaggeration. "It's stuffy in here. Max, please stop worrying, I can't breathe." He comes further into the kitchen and says, "Who else is down here?"
"I'm hungry," Angel says airily, with a big grin.
"Okay, Hungry, what would you like to eat this evening?"
Angel pops out of her seat and heads into the pantry closet, Iggy following her. Just like that Iggy transforms, always, for the kids. The magical chef, making delicious snacks out of nothing. This hobby of his only happened when Jeb left, and we discovered right away that I was not a capable cook. Fang was the first to offer to cook, but Iggy demanded to help and turned out to be better than Fang.
Not only was he a good cook, but he made it fun. A happy, enchanting distraction for Gazzy and Angel from the fact that Jeb was missing.
They emerge from the pantry, ingredients including pasta noodles, tomatoes and basil in hand.
"We're making pasta!"
I roll my eyes at Angel's level of enthusiasm, but they get to work on it immediately, with more fervor than I could even try to scramble up.
Angel's phone buzzes. I lean over to look. It's Nudge.
"I think Nudge is home," I say, sliding off my barstool. As I approach the front door, the porch sensor-light flickers on. I see her walking up from the drive with a guy. He's tall, and clean, and is smiling at her. I push the curtain closed and go back to the kitchen.
Iggy is chopping tomatoes, dicing them perfectly. He's swift and confident with the knife.
"How did you get so good at cooking?" Angel asks him, trying to mimic his technique as she cuts the basil.
"You know, I think the biggest mistake you can make when you cook is overthink it," Iggy says quietly. "It's not really a job, it's an experience. You just kind of feel it out."
"Doesn't work for all of us," I pitch in, sliding back onto my stool. Angel grins at me over her shoulder. Iggy finishes the tomato and turns to point at me.
"She is the exception to the rule."
The front door opens, and Nudge shoulders her bag to disarm the security alarm. She glances up, a fresh blush on her face. "Hey."
"Hey, how was the movie?"
The blush deepens. "Good."
Iggy wiggles his eyebrows. "How good?"
Nudge rolls her eyes. "Are you cooking? I'm starving." She comes up to sit next to me at the counter. She sniffs me.
"You smell like weed."
I scoff, looking at her first and then a laughing Angel. "Okay, I guess don't tell Gazzy? Does he know, too? Are we just open about this, now?"
"Way to go, Max," Iggy scolds, as if I've blown his secret.
"He smells, too!" I accuse, pointing a finger at Iggy. He flinches like he can feel it.
"Wow! Well the shower was occupied, thank you! Maybe if someone had listened to my idea for a shower schedule—"
"No one wants to be on a shower schedule, Iggy!"
From behind me comes an amused voice. "What is going on?"
I spin around to see the Gasman, with his Xbox headset around his neck, standing at the foot of the steps with a grin. "Are we discussing the shower schedule thing again?"
"Iggy, there are two showers in the house," Nudge says in all seriousness. "You don't have to wait on mine."
"It is not your bathroom, just because you have your own entrance! It is a hall bathroom! You have a shortcut!" He huffs, going back to cooking. "And yours has the good showerhead."
Gazzy sighs, hopping onto the stool by Nudge. "The water pressure in there is—" he kisses his fingers and throws it in the air.
"See? Yours?" She echoes him.
Iggy spins, glaring, pasta tongs in hand. "Nudge, you don't get to claim one bathroom to yourself!"
Laughing, I hold my hands up. "Yo, let's table the shower schedule debate."
Iggy grumbles, and Nudge snorts while she gets up to get a drink from the fridge. "Where's Fang?"
"Upstairs."
Nudge rolls her eyes, pulling out a can of soda. She closes the fridge and walks into the living room.
"Fang! You're being lame, come downstairs!" she hollers towards upstairs.
She waits there for a moment until she hears his door open. She grins at me successfully and takes her seat again.
He comes downstairs, still in his clothes, face drawn shut. He sees us all gathered and immediately tries to hide the fact that he was just totally going hard on some research or article.
This is how he's going to distract himself. Keep himself away from the discovery of new evidence. Maybe it will work. It might be enough. But at the end of the day, when we come together, I will still want to confide in him.
How do I live with knowing things about us that he doesn't want to face?
"Hey, come bond with us, we're making pasta," Iggy calls over his shoulder. "Angel, grab two more boxes of noodles, I did not plan for this."
Fang comes up behind me, kissing the back of my head. I tug on the pocket of his jeans, which is as far as my hand can reach without really reaching. His fingers brush my hair off my shoulders and his thumbs begin to rub slow, firm circles on my neck. I groan.
Iggy snaps the tongs at us. "None of that in here, I swear to God—"
I laugh and flip him the bird, which the Gasman narrates, so Iggy responds in kind. He goes back to making pasta, and for a moment we can all exist, post-Revelation, okay. We're shaken, but we're okay, and we're still us. I was so scared to lose this.
I hope we never do.
