A/N: You guys, this story is going to be much longer than I thought.

The epilogue will either be really long, or multiple parts.

Keep talking to me! I love when you guys tell me what you think. Thank you so much for the long thoughtful reviews, and for making your guesses! It's so much fun to hear what you think. Much love.

Warning: Language and sadness and typos. Forgive me. I haven't done my editing.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the Maximum Ride characters and universe. I just play with them.

M

The rest of the night is quiet, reserved. It's weird, the way everyone is interacting. The others act as if all is well, discussing surface-level topics and keeping conversation purposefully light and positive. We stay away from any mention of the case or the time travel all evening. Much later, after dinner, a few of them excuse themselves to do homework or something, and Iggy goes outside for an evening smoke.

Surprisingly, it's easy to go along with their casual acting right up until it's just Fang and I, alone. He's clearing dishes silently, moving in the kitchen behind me. I glance at my phone—it's almost nine already. We'd eaten a late lunch and rounded out the evening with a late dinner. I know none of the kids are looking forward to school tomorrow. I know everyone still probably feels the way I feel; caught in the midst of an unresolved crisis.

I turn around, leaning against the island and peering at Fang as he loads the dishwasher. "What'd your boss say?"

He looks up at me a moment before going back to the dishes. "She hasn't responded yet."

I frown. Fang turns off the sink and closes the dishwasher, finished. He watches me a moment, unsure, and then his face lightens, and he offers as normal: "Are you sleeping in my room tonight?"

I just stare at him. I feel frozen. I try not to overthink it, because I know this is what's freaking him out the most. My reaction to him and our relationship. He doesn't like seeing me so unsure.

I feel like I'm doing something wrong. Like my whole life is a stolen one and I don't deserve what comes next. I know that's not true, not completely, and that I don't need to think of it that way. Ella has given me enough lectures over the past few years about challenging my negative thoughts and retraining my brain and all that. She's all about it. She's not so pushy on it, now, but this isn't new. It's just way more and way worse than it's ever been.

I know there is no rational answer. I also know there is no rational reason to feel so uneasy with Fang. Our relationship is real, and it didn't happen until we were fifteen. It's mine. Even if I'm a recreation of a different person that Fang knew before me…and he never knew the difference before now…

I swallow down my guilt and anxiety and say what I think he wants to hear.

"If I can."

Mostly because I know I won't sleep on my own, and I know that we need to try. I miss him, so much, and want him more than anything, still. I want him to know that, too, because I don't want him to give up on me while I'm in this weird state. I trust him, I do, and I love him.

I mostly just want to make sure I still can.

I just can't stand myself and can't stand to make anyone else witness it. I just want to be with him without this deep, evil churning in my stomach.

His eyes are bright at my response. He dries his hands on a towel, tossing it on the counter when he's done. He moves toward the front door, checking the lock and the security system. I trust Iggy to lock up when he gets back in. He'll be glad all the dishes are done.

Together we head through the lower level, past Gazzy in the living room. He's nose deep in multiple textbooks, a laptop open on the couch cushion next to him. He's chomping on pretzels and looks up at us as we pass.

"Goodnight," Gazzy calls.

"Gazzy, don't work too hard," I say, noting the books he's got open about physics and time theory. I know there's no convincing him to not to look into it, so I let him do whatever research he's doing. I hope he'll come to me if it gets too stressful to deal with. I understand how difficult it is to come to terms with, for sure. I wish I had found a better way to ask him about it, rather than throwing it at him in my panic.

He smiles up at me, giving me two thumbs up. "I won't."

Upstairs, in Fang's room, I dig in his dresser for a shirt to sleep in. I peel off the hoodie I have on and gently test my wings. The ache has deepened after hours of not using my wings, and I'm sure tomorrow I'll have steady pains. It's my own fault, but I'm annoyed, anyways. I stand, shirtless, rubbing the base of my wings. I twist my hand awkwardly, trying to get the right spot.

The door opens and Fang comes in, back from brushing his teeth. I'm shirtless still, reaching to rub my wings, and blush when he enters. While I flip my hair over my shoulder, I discreetly cover myself with my arm and ask, "Can you rub my back?"

He smiles lightly, dropping his shirt in his hamper. He comes over to me, shirtless in grey sweats, towering behind me. I feel his warm fingers press into the middle of my back, between the bases of my wings. I whine as he pushes with his thumbs, rolling in slow circles. He lightens the pressure when he realizes how tender it is.

"What'd you do?" he prods quietly, still rolling out the pain.

I cast a look at him over my shoulder, glancing away when I see he's already watching my face. "I just…overworked them."

He hums, says nothing. He keeps rubbing my back for a while, soothing the pain deliciously for the moment. He moves from my back to the base of my wings, pulling his massaging fingers through my soft feathers. I groan, relaxing back against him, moving my wings gently to help him get the good spots.

When he's finished, he kisses my cheek gently, turning around then to pull down the covers on his bed. He flicks on the lamp beside his bed, so I move to flick off the main light switch. I pull on a long grey shirt stuffed at the bottom of one of his drawers, slipping out of my sweats. We crawl into bed, Fang settling back against two pillows and scrolling through his email on his phone.

Through all of this, we're quiet. I don't quite know what to say. He seems normal enough, and he's not staring at me like I've got two heads anymore. He sets his phone down finally, looking down at me as I crawl in beside him.

He's warm. I'm not pressed against him, but I can still feel his warmth near me. He peers over at me, eyes searching. I wish I knew what to do here. What to say. How to help us get back to normal.

"Your eleventh birthday," he says finally, rolling over to face me. His lamp is still on, so I can see his face, lying across from mine on his pillow. "You mentioned it this morning."

I nod. "I already knew the procedure fell on my birthday. I didn't understand, because I had vivid memories of that day. With you."

He says nothing but keeps watching me. I start to feel anxious again, inklings of self-doubt rooting and taking hold in my stomach. I try to think of something else to say, something that doesn't make him think about the fact that I'm a clone.

Instead, he sighs, rolling his head to stare at the ceiling. "I remember that day, but that's not what I kept thinking of when Iggy told me."

I watch him now, tentative. Iggy told him. I'm sure he knew it was for the best; I'd have been a wreck trying to deliver this information.

"I kept thinking about our first real date."

I have no idea what to say. That? I know today must've been a roller coaster of emotions for Fang, especially considering our relationship and his closeness with… well, Max. But that's where his mind went?

Our first real date. When we were fifteen. We'd had one tentative, awkward date before saving Val, which had ended in battle and catastrophe. I remember that night as a wild evening of chaos. But after that, and after I'd already given into my feelings for Fang and saved Val—we'd given it another go.

Back on solid ground, fresh to the spotlight and the CSM air shows, absolutely blinded by the romance at the beginning. We'd just begun to notice the lull in threats from the School, just settled in a real house for the first time in a long time. Fang and I had been trying our best to repress the tension, new to our relationship and navigating it amongst normal life with the Flock. The obvious answer? A date.

Of course, the media coverage of us at that time was absolutely bonkers. I'd still been petrified to be caught in public on our first official date ever and didn't want that kind of pressure. Fang ended up getting take-out from a fancy restaurant and kicking the Flock out of the house for the evening, bribing them with money and movie tickets.

It'd been a basic evening in, with some cute decorations and treats, courtesy of the girls, and pillows stacked up in the lounge for movies. On the roof, Fang had even laid out multiple quilts and blankets, creating a place for us to lay out and watch the stars.

To be honest, I'd known in the moment how much effort he put into it—it takes a lot to even get all four kids out of the house at the same time. But beyond that, this was Fang really showing how much he cared about our relationship—our budding, new romantic one. It had been a special gesture.

"I remember," I say quietly, allowing myself to relax and roll over to face him. We're only inches apart, and I'm trying to let Fang's usually hypnotic effect take hold of me. I'm not clenching my fists, I'm not itching to run. I'm wondering where he's headed with this.

"It was the first time I ever felt like we'd made it," he says, sounding astounded even now. "I mean, I never even imagined we'd be able to do that without risking our lives in the process."

I say nothing, still; unsure where he's going.

"Anyway, Iggy tells me and I… I keep thinking about that night. It was like after so long, you and I got a night to drop everything else and be two teenagers on a date. I kept remembering that, and all the other nights since, how fucking real you are Max, you. I don't mean who you were made to look like or who's memories you have. Who you are, to the core. I just love you. There's no question here for me."

My eyes are watery but I hold it back with all my strength, swallowing a few times and nodding before responding. I'm not shocked, but I'm surprised, at least with how easily he's pushing past this whole thing. Is it wrong to get over it so quickly? To not care?

Instead of saying something romantic or mushy or even reassuring, I say the truth.

"I don't feel right anymore," I whisper, feeling vulnerable enough to give him an insight into my emotions. He looks at me with shielded worry, eyebrows drawing. "All the sudden, I feel…I'm…not supposed to be here."

His face falls into a rather frustrated expression. "Well too fucking bad, you're here."

I close my eyes, trying to calm down. He doesn't see it my way, and he won't. He probably thinks I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Maybe that's all this is. Maybe I'm being irrational. Or maybe I'm being ethical.

"Max, I know I can't even begin to understand how this makes you feel. But I don't want you to question us. Remember what I said before the case?"

I shake my head at him quietly, unsure what he's referring to. He reaches over to me finally, fingers brushing my hair behind my ear, tracing my ear and down my neck. He settles his hand on my arm.

"We question Jeb only. Not the moments together."

Not the moments together. As a Flock.

I remember now, when he said that to me in that dingy motel in Colorado.

I blink and shake my head, ready to argue, but he tilts my chin and makes me look at him across the pillow, eyes serious. "Our relationship, our lives here, every moment outside captivity—it's yours. Those are your memories. You're here, you're real. You're Max. It doesn't have to be hard."

He's whispering. It's like he's willing me to listen to him. His eyes are genuine and fully of worry, flicking between my eyes and awaiting response.

I pull him to me suddenly, keeping my eyes open to check his for any apprehension. I feel his breath on my face. His eyes are locked with mine until our lips meet. He responds immediately, and I let my eyes fall closed as he kisses me gently, cautiously. I can do this. I can have this. There's nothing wrong with who I am, or what I am.

Right?

I pull back from our kiss, watching his face. He looks only relieved, to be honest. He didn't expect that. He definitely isn't disappointed.

"I want us to be okay, I want everything to stay normal. That's why I don't want you to give up so easily on the job."

He reacts more strongly than I expected, levering up on one arm and looking down at me sharply. "Max, why the fuck do you want me to go back so badly?"

I gape at him, shocked that he expects that I have a motive here. I really don't, beyond wanting to not be the thing standing in the way of his plans. Before I can even think, I'm throwing it back at him because his tone makes my fists clench.

"Because you wanted to do it! It was this much of a risk weeks ago, and I already knew boatloads of shit I couldn't confide in you about. You went anyway. It was important then; it should be important now!"

He's sitting up fully, now, and so am I. It's all out there before I can even think about trying to guilt him, now, during all this other crazy. I feel bad about it immediately.

"Now is a little different, Max, considering you were nearly a pancake in the fucking desert," Fang says hotly, voice mean but low. He leans back against his pillow, looking straight ahead at his wardrobe with a tight jaw. This is the first time I've ever seen Fang so scaldingly angry at me—and still unable to meet my eyes.

Before I can even react, he adds sourly, "Angel told me."

Well, I've really never been trapped like I am right now.

I feel shame wash over me, making my stomach jump nervously and my throat closes. I can't defend myself here, even if I tried. I knew Angel had seen too much in my head when I got back.

Fuck.

I feel disgusted with myself that she had to witness any of it. I feel disgusted with myself right now, sitting in Fang's heavy disappointment.

I start crying, still sitting next to him, bawling into my hands in an ugly manner.

He continues, because he's mad. "And you just want me to leave? Like you're in any state to deal with any of this? Like I can trust that you won't try again?"

I'm still crying. He isn't wrong. He's mapped it out. Of course, I thought I just wouldn't show or tell any of my pain, but it doesn't matter. It never matters in a house with a mind reader—and Fang is more in tune with my panic than I'll ever admit out loud.

"I need you to be alright," he says finally, softly, voice uneasy. I feel his hand on my back but don't move, don't respond. Trying to contain my tears and my disgust for myself. "There's nowhere else I need to be right now."

It's all too much. I know he isn't trying to make this harder, but I really thought maybe I wouldn't have to work through this one part. I could hide it, like all my other meltdowns. I run away, have my breakdown, and return to the Flock ready to function. It's only that this time I was so shaken up…this time, I almost didn't come back. And of course that doesn't sit well with Fang. That's why I never intended to tell him.

"Okay," I say shakily, pushing off the blankets to stand. The moment my feet are on the ground, he's protesting. His eyes light up with regret, and he sits up, reaching for me. "I'm okay, Fang. It's okay. I just…I need to sleep by myself tonight."

"Max," he says very quietly, eyes pleading. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to—"

"I know," I cut him off, trying hard not to face him. I pull in a deep breath, knowing this is a redeeming moment for myself only if I play it right. "Fang, I was devastated, I couldn't see straight."

"All due respect, fuck that," he says back, unforgiving. I'm not hurt. He's not going to sit there and tell me any of it was okay, and I get that. He's deeply shaken by this information, and it honestly makes the rest of the evening make more sense. His tense composure, his impatience with my time travel story. His refusal to entertain the idea of going back to his internship.

"Fang, you have no idea—"

"I don't," he erupts, throwing his hands out emptily. Somehow, he's still keeping his voice low. It still cuts the same way. "Tell me. Because I don't understand."

I turn on him, shedding tears easily now, whisper-yelling. "I didn't do it!"

His eyes are focused on me, hard, and they soften just a moment. He's still mad, I can feel how angry he is. He hates that I did it and I know he hates that I ever felt that way. He's scared I still do. I am, too. The whole this is an anxiety nightmare.

"I'm not going to do that, ever," I say firmly, swallowing down tears. I wipe my nose sloppily with my wrist, looking at him despondently. "I can't."

"Max."

"I can't. I won't. I…didn't want to." This is somehow the hardest thing I've ever had to say out loud. It's like admitting this out loud releases me from something. Not all the darkness fades, but some part of it, and I start crying again because it's my latest fucking superpower, apparently. "I wasn't trying to push you away, I just don't want you to give up what you wanted because of me."

I barely get the words out at the end, and he finally rises from bed and crosses the room to wrap his arms around me. It falls around me, then, the heaviness of what we're even talking about. I came really close to doing something really awful, and I can't imagine how that information struck him when Angel told him. I can't imagine how that information struck Angel.

There's disgust still in my tummy, bubbling and twisting, reminding me just how much I hate myself for that moment. Especially now that they know. Now that it's not just mine to carry. I keep whispering to Fang, almost manically, "I'm not going to, I swear, I am okay…I'm not going to do anything."

He starts focusing on calming me down, making me breathe. We stand there a long few moments, silent, holding each other. His fingers drag up and down my back soothingly. He leads me back to his bed and we sit on the edge, his fingers tangling with mine and other arm going around me.

"I believe you," he says finally, really softly. "I just…"

He stops, cutting off abruptly, still holding me tight. He takes a moment, and I wait. If I open my mouth right now, the only thing to come out will be more hurried apologies.

"You are so important. If everything else goes to shit, remember you have us. We all have that to hold onto," he says lowly, after clearing his voice.

I lean my head against his shoulder, finally done with the waterworks. I glance at his clock and groan at the sight. It's already past ten. The others hopefully are asleep by now, considering it's a school night. I really hope they don't think that's been lost in all this. I also really hope Fang and I have managed to stay quiet with this entire episode.

"I'm so sorry," I finally choke out through heavy, hurried breaths. Fang still looks concerned for me, probably now at my own reaction at the topic at hand. I hope he can tell how disturbed I am by what I did. I hope he knows I know it was a mistake.

"I know," he says gently, fingers sliding over my knee. "I'm sorry, too. I'm not trying to make it worse."

I look up at him, wondering how he could ever think that. He looks down at me sadly, but nudges me when he sees I'm looking.

"Let's get some sleep," he says, pulling the covers away once more. I climb in, too tired to argue and definitely okay with this conversation ending. I don't really want to go lie in my room alone, and I'm glad he could tell.

He climbs in beside me, no longer being in any way tentative with me. He easily lets it slip away, just like that. I realize that all of his caution with me has been for my benefit, not his.

He pulls me into his arms and I let him. It doesn't have to be hard. Fang and I couldn't be wrong if we tried. I know already there's no way for me to ever escape Max. My one and only option was too risky, too gruesome. And it isn't really an option, because it would end me. Max is who I am. I don't know how to separate myself from what I thought was my own childhood. Maybe I will never be able to.

But I know that Fang and the others can. Or don't need to. Either way, they want me here. He wants me, still, through everything he's seen today.

For the first time all day, I feel sleepy. Maybe just because I've finally cried myself out, or maybe because I have Fang's warmth around me.

It feels like a real gift to let the tiredness pull me under.

I finally find sleep right there, curled up in Fang's arms, hiccupping from crying and sniffling endlessly. My eyes drift closed, and my mind goes quiet. Fang's gentle fingers stroke my back comfortingly as I drift off.