A/N: FF (or my email?) fooled me, you guys. I don't know if anyone else experienced this, but each time one review was submitted for chap. 29, I got 5 email notifications for that one review. I opened my email thinking someone discovered me and went on a binge and instead it was a glitch. 4 real reviews, 20 emails.
I was pleased to read the reviews I actually got, though! I love your dedication to giving me solid feedback as we go. It really helps me mold the story. Your input matters! Your guesses are…interesting. Ha!
Also, LOL – an epilogue is not gonna be enough. I have practically written a separate story trying to outline the future and how it ties together. So…yeah, we may have a companion fic in the works. Not a sequel, not really, although it does take place, obviously, in the future.
Anyways, thank you a million. This is fun.
Warning: Language and sadness.
Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the Maximum Ride characters and universe. I just play with them.
M
I start to unlock and open the front door as Angel and Nudge move away from immediate view, into the kitchen around the corner. Nudge continues to her original intention of starting a pot of coffee, looking bothered and keeping perfectly silent. Angel's watching her face, though, and making faces of her own, so I assume they're having a mental conversation, or Angel is at least trying.
I slip outside, cursing myself for forgoing my coat, smiling briskly at Alana as she reaches the end of the porch steps below me. It's cold and still quite early. Her hair is pulled up tightly into a pony and she's got a large puffy coat and jeans on. I'm still in the long grey shirt of Fang's and my own sweats. Socks, thankfully, but no shoes.
She looks up at me, eyes scanning my face worriedly. She's so genuine with her expressions—either that, or an incredible actress. Her concern is real and directly focused on my apparent wellbeing.
Great.
"Good morning."
She sighs, looking relaxed and quite relieved to see me. I keep glancing behind her, expecting a convoy of other sedans to follow—but no one else is here. Just Alana. I realize my itch was right—this is, primarily at least, a wellness check. On me.
"Max, I really need to apologize for breaching our agreement. I know this probably makes me look really bad—" she cuts off nervously, looking at me for response. She's being cautious. She's worried.
I'm appalled to see her apologizing. I know I told her we didn't like visitors, but…it happens. And especially since she's been texting me since Friday, begging for a response to the new information. The procedure document, and whatever else came along in dump of new evidence batches. She's clearly been worried about me viewing the procedure document we'd been hounding her for.
I shrug, trying to calm my nerves about the last few minutes—days, even—and respond levelly. "Your last message basically threatened a visit, so I can't blame you. I'm sorry I didn't respond, I…misplaced my phone yesterday."
She studies me a minute longer before nodding. She's set her briefcase down on the gravel beside her boots. She still hasn't even tried to come up onto the front porch. Three shallow wooden steps stay between us, a safe and professional barrier. I wonder if I should be asking her inside. If she expects it.
I wonder if she has any other business being here.
"Oh, okay, well…I hate to ask, but…have you—"
"I read it," I say, but that's it. I practically choke on those three words alone. The wind is harsh this morning and whipping my hair around my face, making my entire body shiver. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth and strength and ground out, "I…can't believe it. We're fine, but we're just shocked. We have a lot more to go through. Took the weekend off the case."
She nods, making a rather relieved face. "Well, I'm glad you've had some time to digest what you've seen so far."
Well, she misunderstood that. Probably my bad. I hesitate to nitpick about the details, and while I do she scoops up her briefcase and motions to me.
"I have some things to discuss."
I eye her, weary. "Alana, what are you doing here?"
Her lips purse and she frowns.
"Max, I was worried you weren't okay."
I cross my arms over my chest, looking down at her stubbornly. Who is she to assume she knows anything about me? I mean, yes, she did send me knowingly-disturbing information without any real content warning or precautions in place…
"And why's that?"
Her eyes narrow slightly, but not in a threatening way. She's reading me and my behavior. She knows I'm testing her because I don't trust her, especially right now. To her credit, she also seems to own it. She knows she basically made this the most traumatic experience possible—although I can't put all the blame on her. I'm sure I would've lost my shit either way, and it would've been difficult to convince me to fly to D.C. to read it.
She has something to say, but her look of sympathy and concern tells me she isn't going to say it.
"Alana," I say, rolling my eyes. "Just tell me. No bullshit."
Her eyes widen at my bluntness, and she huffs in decision. She's got her hands linked, fingers entwined. She has slim black gloves on. It's still cold and windy, and she seems to be kind of bouncing to stay warm. I'm starting to feel really bad that I'm too paranoid to let her inside, but I still don't budge.
"Jeb. We've had only three interviews with him where the man actually talks—most recently, after we discovered the evidence of the procedure and talked to him about it, when we questioned him… he asked how you were doing with this information. In a…gross way."
Her voice settles over my shoulders in a heavy blanket of dread. I look at her and her eyes are full of lots of different things, most obviously sympathy for me. She doesn't say anything else, and I can't just drop it without asking, so I say:
"He knows that we're seeing all his files?"
Alana looks at me with a face of slight annoyance. "Max, I really need to show you what I brought. I promise, I am on your side here. I can't believe the scale of the operation at hand. Jeb was in control, yes, but just because he's in custody doesn't mean it's over. I need your help."
Well, fuck. Everyone seems to need my help with something. I'm astounded that I can even withstand any more information or requests right now. I feel like my queue is full. I have no idea if I'm being an over-paranoid idiot for not inviting her in from the morning chill yet, but some part of me is screaming that I just keep letting my guard down and eventually it will catch up to me. It would be bound to happen now, as everything else crumbles. That's always the best time to get to us.
Jeb isn't after the Flock.
Fang, the time-traveling one, had said that before leaving. Jeb isn't. Is anyone?
I really, really hope the government doesn't make us targets due to the astounding absurdity of our upbringing. I have no idea what's supposed to happen to people—things—like us. Like me.
Before I can scratch together a game plan, the door behind me flies open. Fang stands in the entrance, looking exhausted and slightly manic. He looks at Alana directly with a steady, no-nonsense gaze. He glances at me and settles back on the agent, eyes distrusting as usual.
"Hi, Fang," Alana says, trying to ease the tension. "I wanted to check on Max. All of you, really, but…"
"Yeah, Max especially," Fang spits harshly. Where there's usually a gentle edge in my scathing critiques from Fang, hers is completely lacking. It cuts as intended, and she visibly winces. "Considering the information dropped on her with no proper warning. How the hell did you expect that to go over?"
Alana looks genuinely regretful. It's almost hard for me to see Fang tear into her like this. It's not her fault. It's not fair, considering I did receive quite a few texts from her that hinted at concern before even diving into the procedure documents. If he'd seen some of her messages…he would've demanded we break our deal to not discuss the case and look at the procedure together. I know he would've. Any of them would've proceeded with extreme caution after receiving those messages.
It's not Alana's fault I'm reckless.
"Fang…I'm sorry, I truly didn't know—"
"Neither did she," Fang says flatly. "None of us knew. Quite shocking to stumble upon."
It's completely silent for a moment and Alana doesn't even make an argument. She just looks at me, regret painting her face a dark shade of red. I shoot Fang a glare.
"Fang, stop. Listen, I'm fine. Alana, you tried to reach me and I'm sorry for not answering." I turn from her to look at Fang again with a hard stare. "She said she has something to show us."
Fang is just not having any of that. Not now. After the events of this weekend and this morning in particular, he's more shaken than I've seen him in years. He looks dead set against letting Alana step one foot in our house. His jaw is set firmly and his arms crossed.
I look back at Alana. She looks disappointed in herself with how this has gone, which I feel bad about. I understand Fang's caution, it's basically automatic at this point. I feel it, too. It's really strong right now, fresh from a morning home invasion and being barraged with plot twists all weekend. The stress is unbearable and makes our paranoia worse. Alana hasn't done anything but tried to help so far.
I sigh, offering, "Can we meet you somewhere? Later. We can go over whatever you have."
She nods. "It's gotta be today, I leave this evening for D.C. I'll be able to get something set up at the station downtown."
"Not a station," Fang says with a narrowed glare. Alana, having recovered from her moment of shame, grimaces back with annoyance from her position at the bottom of the steps.
"Fang, there's only so much I can do. I can't very well play these tapes for you in public."
With that, she turns to me and smiles lightly, nodding. "Let me know when you're free. I will be in touch when I'm set up. I'm sorry, again."
She turns and heads off toward her car, getting in without another word. Fang watches her until she's completely disappeared down the drive, jaw still set angrily. I reach up and grab his chin, touching him gently.
"Unclench."
"I hate this, Max," he says in an honest hush, eyes still following the sedan up the drive over my head. "I fucking hate this."
I nod, trying to meet his gaze; trying to gauge his sanity levels right now. I know the time-travel thing is making his brain work hard right now, and we have quite a bit on our plates at the moment. He doesn't really look at me until I've stepped into the still-open doorway behind him, turning back to wait for him to follow. We step inside and close the door, resetting the security system to fully activate once she's fully off the property. Iggy is still out back, pacing around on the porch with his wings fluffed out behind him. There's a nearly steady stream of smoking coming from him. Both hands are shoved in his pockets.
The girls are still in the kitchen, now chatting quietly and looking down at something on the kitchen island. Fang looks down at me unhappily.
"I know," I say lowly. I can't help but shoot him a look of superiority. "Do you believe me now?"
He doesn't appreciate it.
"What the fuck is going on?"
I glower up at him. "Fang, you know everything I know. We're messing with time in the future and I have no idea why. Something about Jeb. Something to do with the case, probably."
He frowns. "What about the clone thing, then?"
His question strikes a nerve. My biggest concern is that the clone story has nothing to do with any of this—that it's just another awful truth of our upbringing. Unchallengeable and unchangeable. Just another part of the story to swallow and live with. I find that damn near impossible to wrap my brain around, so I'm trying my hardest not to think about it.
"I don't know. I don't know, Fang." I chew on my lips, glancing at the girls again before lowering my voice to say, "She mentioned interviewing Jeb. I'm guessing that's what she's trying to show us. Those tapes. He's talking—reluctantly."
Fang's eyebrow jumps once, noting that. "So, if he's reluctantly cooperating, he probably wasn't trying to get arrested."
I nod, already there. "My thoughts exactly. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have some plan in place for if this ever happened," I say worriedly, looking up at him with a deep frown. Fang shakes his head, looking truly overwhelmed. "Fang, don't overthink it. We don't know enough yet."
I sigh, pulling out my phone to check the time. It's only seven.
"We're going to get everyone together and debrief. Then we'll meet Alana this afternoon and hear what she has to tell us."
Fang watches me with no reaction, shrugging finally when I wait for some sign of agreement. He still doesn't move or speak, so I reach for him, tangling my fingers with his.
"It doesn't make sense," he says quietly.
"I know," I agree solemnly, regretful that's all I can offer.
Three full hours later, we've eaten, freaked out collectively about time travel, and begun updating Gazzy, Nudge and Fang on the case and the most important things we've found so far.
It's not much—at least, there's not much that's pertinent to Alana's apparent concern for some impending threat. Basically, the important stuff is stuff we've learned about ourselves. The powers, the behavioral and health notes. The experiments we didn't remember happening.
It's a lot, and that's why we take the morning to go through it. Gazzy, Nudge and Fang jump in fully, no hesitation. Perhaps because of all the wildness around us lately, they seem fully on board with finishing the case and getting through this, together, once and for all. I hate that it had to come together this way, for this reason. Because of me. Because of such scandal.
I do my best to focus. The group's mood fluctuates as we cover the case and the most glaring details—everyone goes through their own motions of shock, anger, humiliation and entertainment. Gazzy enjoys finally learning he wasn't crazy talking about his abilities to harness the wind. Nudge and Fang read their own powers lists with wide, disbelieving eyes. The more we talk over what we've discovered so far, the more questions we raise to each other. There are so many loose ends, it quickly becomes clear that even if they are to catch up to us completely today, we still won't have all the answers.
There's just so much to go through. So much to learn.
"Well, they definitely have a case," Fang says finally, throwing down a packet onto the table. He tilts his head, cracking his neck audibly.
"We're gonna need weeks," Nudge says, wide eyes scanning a document as she talks. "I mean, so much to cover. Not to mention the new stuff you guys haven't even seen. There's so much here."
"Who knows, we may not find anything helpful," I say softly. "I agree we should keep going—I can't stop, I'm already this far." I drop my arms at my sides, sighing.
"I don't want anyone to expect finding answers that feel satisfying. We probably won't."
Iggy and Fang are both nodding adamantly along with me, as they've been telling me this for weeks already. But now, from personal experience, I know that some things that lie within the evidence files are only there to damage us and bring back the trauma—or completely new trauma. And:
"Jeb knows we're seeing all his stuff," I say suddenly. I realize I'd forgotten to share that bit with Fang earlier. "Alana mentioned it while she was here. He knows we're seeing evidence. He asked how I reacted to hearing about the clone thing."
Gazzy smiles brightly. "Well, that's good! Maybe it's not real!"
Iggy nods, shrugging. "Maybe he planted fake stuff, like you said."
I shake my head. As much as I wish that were true and that all this could just be a sick mind-fuck from Jeb, I know what Future Max said. I'm a clone, so are you.
And I feel like I have to believe what Future Fang said.
Jeb isn't after the Flock.
He's got a different target, a different goal. We aren't in immediate danger right now and there's a reason. Maybe at first it was because we were out of reach…maybe, after we'd rendered ourselves safe in the public's eye, Jeb had moved on to something else.
Something we still need to stop.
I roll through all of this in a second, feeling like a lightbulb has sprung on in my head. I stand up suddenly, feeling the need to move and pace as I think.
"Iggy—we considered whether Jeb planned to get caught or not. Remember?"
Iggy shrugs. He's leaning back in a dining chair at the table, arm slung over the chair to the left of him. He nods, blue eyes bright and nearly meeting mine when I glance at him. "Yes. Doubtful, but possible. He's a fucking psycho. Doesn't sound like he's coming after us, though."
"No," Nudge butts in. "Fang said that. The Fang that teleported into the kitchen. He said Jeb wasn't after us."
"First of all, he didn't teleport, he time traveled," Gazzy corrects with annoyance. "And he's not a different Fang. He's Fang. Just from some time in the future."
"Not that far into the future, either," Angel chimes in thoughtfully. "He didn't look old, just like Max said about seeing herself. Maybe a few years, but not, like, ten."
"Well, they're old enough to be married," Nudge mutters, eyeing me scandalously. I roll my eyes at her, not looking at anyone else, reaching for a response that saves me from that conversation.
"We can't focus on the time travel thing right now. We need to focus on the case. We're going to drive ourselves crazy asking questions none of us can answer."
They all just look at me, ranging from incredulity to concern. Here it is again. I'd thought that maybe enough had happened this morning to pull me and my meltdown from the spotlight. I'd also thought that maybe I'd been hiding my nerves and other dark emotions relatively well. Clearly that isn't the case for Fang or Iggy, both of whom look a little surprised and skeptical at my levelheadedness right now. Surprisingly, thanks to my own personal freak out after being confronted with time travel, I'm not so entirely shaken. At least not by the idea of time travel.
I'm more concerned about why. But, even if I wanted to sit around and worry myself sick over it, I still wouldn't know. I won't—it seems like Future Max and Future Fang are pretty set on not letting us see the full picture anyway.
"Fang," I say, looking over at him. "You got sick after seeing yourself."
He grimaces, nodding. I continue with, "Me too. It was like the longer she was here the more nauseous I got."
Fang's eyes widen a bit and he nods again, affirming my description. Gazzy, who is genuinely interested in any comments made about the subject, jots our note of nausea and vomiting upon seeing ourselves.
He sighs as he writes, chiming in, "You know, this is really giving me anxiety poops." He drops the pen immediately and gets up, heading down the hall without another word.
"We've got to meet Alana anyway," I say quietly, feeling a headache coming on. "Guys, start getting ready to move soon."
I rub my forehead, looking at the time. We've successfully made the morning disappear. I send a message to Alana, asking for a time and place. I look up across the room at Fang, who's watching me closely. He's been wound tight ever since seeing himself this morning. I get it, but I also worry that he's thinking too hard about it.
It's ridiculous to think that we'll theorize long enough only to talk ourselves in circles and create more worry. There's not much we can solve right now. We have a lot more to read through, a lot more to learn. And Alana has another piece of the puzzle.
I glance down at a new message from her. I should've known she wasn't going to be one to wait.
She sends me the address of where she is. I pull it up on my phone, surprised to see she's a few towns over already. Their local police station. She knows she's stepped on our toes by coming to the house, so she's taking it away from home. Like our first meeting for the equipment drop.
I ask again about a time, since she didn't answer the first time. She responds immediately, before I've even put my phone back down.
If you're ready, come now.
