A/N: I love when you guys leave reviews that make me go back and reread something. It's the best thing.

staphylococci: Thank you for the review spree, thank you for rereading, picking up on fun hints dropped in the earlier chapters and noting what you're looking forward to! I'm so excited to get to all those things! Thank you a million.

The ending for this chapter suuuucks BUT: It's because I had to chop the chapter in half. I don't know how to put an end to dialogue, and it was waaaay too long. To Be Continued!

Thanks for the love!

Warning: Language.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the Maximum Ride characters and all canon people and canon plot/background. Thank you, JP!

The Gasman expects some kind of reaction at his groundbreaking realization, but no one even moves. Fang doesn't even seem to understand what Gazzy means. Max just looks unsure. Gazzy glances over at his sister, still sitting behind Max at the kitchen island. A thought drifts into his mind as he locks eyes with Angel.

Do you think it's possible?

"It's the only thing that makes sense," he responds aloud distractedly. The Gasman throws his hands up wildly, searching on the table for a marker and then reaching across to grab Max's notes from the interrogation tapes. He starts marking up her notes, comparing with his own notes on the timeline for time travel. While he does, he rambles excitedly.

"No, no, listen, Jeb's the one who told me time travel was possible in the first place. He seemed like he'd already done a lot of research on it, years ago. Research we haven't found yet."

He has their attention, at least. Fang and Max and Angel are watching him intently, while Iggy and Nudge continue cooking behind them in the kitchen. Iggy has two large woks out on the stovetop and the sound of sizzling vegetables and searing steak is loud enough that Gazzy raises his voice in his excitement, practically exclaiming his thought process.

"You asked for a timeline, Max," he continues. "Think. Jeb left us alone for years. He couldn't come after us without getting arrested, so he focused on something else."

She's already nodding. "Okay. I get it. We're safe out of reach, so Jeb turns back to working on time travel."

"And he figures it out!" Gazzy exclaims, slapping his hand on his notebook in his excitement. He's already convinced this is true. "He travels into the future and does something that you guys have to stop, in the future," he says. He frowns, scratching his forehead, adding after a pause, "By…going back in time."

Fang rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair and making it creak. "There's no proof."

Gazzy rolls his eyes back at Fang, glancing at Max once more before back down at her notes. They think he's just being overzealous, but Gazzy has a feeling about this.

"Half the stuff he said in the interview hints at it!"

Fang frowns, getting up to look over Gazzy's shoulder at the scribbled notes. "Maybe. Maybe it hints at something else he's been working on."

Max sighs, putting a hand on Gazzy's shoulder. "Listen, even if Jeb did figure out time travel—don't you think he'd have mentioned it?"

"To the FBI? Are you nuts?" Gazzy shakes his head adamantly. "Max, this entire time, I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out how I'll ever figure this shit out. Create a time travel device. I've never even studied it. I have no idea where to even start. But, Jeb." He looks up at her honestly, eyes sincere.

"It's gotta be Jeb."

Max and Fang watch Gazzy for a moment, scribbling notes in his journal eagerly. He's convinced, and he's running with his theory—that doesn't mean they can assume that he's right. How could he be right? Something like this, something this big? Max sighs, leaning back against her chair, deciding to entertain the idea.

"Say you're right, he figured out time travel," Max says, relenting. Gazzy pauses his writing and looks over at her in surprise. "What from his interrogation makes you think that?"

As Gazzy starts walking Max through his theory, however shaky it may be, Fang tugs on his coat, slipping outside onto the porch. He drags in a long breath of the early evening breeze, trying to think straight. He still can't wrap his head around any of this time travel stuff.

If Jeb did figure out time travel, that's a fucking problem. Who knows what he's done, where he's gone. How deep this mission goes. Future Max and Future Fang never mentioned what they're working on specifically, never mentioned Jeb knowing how to travel.

It's not impossible. But it would be the least ideal scenario.

The door opens behind him, and Fang expects Max. It's not her.

"Are you okay?"

It's Nudge. Fang turns, hands in his pockets, and nods at her. She didn't put a coat on, and she's standing near the door in her fuzzy blue socks. Her sweater is pulled down over her fingertips, her arms wrapped around herself.

"I'm fine," he says, voice guarded, face guarded. Nudge rolls her eyes, padding across the porch toward him. She leans against the railing, looking out at their yard and the forest line beyond.

"Fang…"

He hates when she does that. Nudge, the one you can usually rely on to fill silence 24/7, waiting for him to speak. Egging him to talk to her. He glances at her and can tell she's worried—she flipped her shit when she found out Max had run off and freaked out because of the clone thing. And now this, with time travel and Jeb having some danger plan they still have to stop. So much to handle. Nudge has always felt she needs to help carry everyone else's burdens along with her own.

As far as Fang knows, Angel hasn't told anyone else about the rest of Max's meltdown, including her attempt. Either way, Nudge is a very attentive teenager, and knew immediately things were different when she got home Sunday afternoon. Even before they told her anything.

Nudge has always had a big heart. As she's gotten older, she's kept her compassion and her generosity—but she's gained an understanding of Max and Fang's relationship. How they work, how they fight. How they function when they're not okay.

It's not like she is the only one. The moment they'd stopped running, life had calmed down enough to pay attention to that stuff. They all started learning each other's tells. Max and Fang grew less protective of certain information, certain parts of themselves. Fang had always seen it as a good thing. The kids could tell if he and Max were fighting or if Max was having a panic attack, but that's good. It's good to communicate about those things.

Now, it feels like letting all those walls down was really stupid.

He looks at her again, knows she's waiting. He isn't itching to talk and could bear to never break the silence—but the look on Nudge's face breaks him. She's not just worried, she's freaked the fuck out. Especially seeing him so freaked out.

"Time travel makes no sense to me," Fang says finally, shaking his head out at the forest. "Us using it—it makes no sense."

"Yet," Nudge says, shrugging. "Who knows what happens. You guys wouldn't do it unless you had to."

Fang doesn't answer her. That's not good enough for him. None of it makes any sense, and that's terrifying. Where Fang stands, right now, he wants nothing to do with time travel and would prefer to never fucking mess with it.

But a few years in the future, he's doing just that.

Why?

"You know, I think you're being too hard on yourself," Nudge says, shrugging. "Like, we all are, for sure—there's no way for us to know what we're supposed to do, yet. We can't possibly understand the motivations behind Future Max and Fang's mission. Jeb isn't going to just tell the FBI or Max what he's planning. We just have to be ready."

She breathes a laugh, looking over at him with a sour grin.

"Max's good morning mantra coming back to bite us in the ass. Another day; get up and face it. Even when nothing makes sense, nothing is safe, and nothing is normal. Especially now."

Nudge looks back up at Fang, surprised to see him peering down at her thoughtfully.

"What?"

He just squints down at her, his lips twitching with humor. "So wise."

"Shut up." She punches his arm, and then shivers, glowering at him. "It's cold. Dinner's done. Come on."

Inside, Gazzy is hastily clearing his things from the table as Angel carries over plates and utensils from the kitchen. Max is in the middle, sitting at the table still, of saying, "I'm not saying you're wrong, Gaz—"

"No," Gazzy says hurriedly, shortly. "No, it's fine. I'm going to keep digging. I will show you."

Max looks up at Fang helplessly as Gazzy runs off with his notes. Fang wordlessly takes the briefcase from Max and carries it down the hall to the office. Angel and Nudge start setting the table. Iggy's whistling in the kitchen, setting used dishes in the sink and flipping off the burners of the stove.

Max sits at the table as the girls move around her, chewing her cheek and staring off in thought.

Fang comes up behind her silently, reaching to squeeze her shoulders, rolling his thumbs over the exact spot he knew her tension always lies. Max slumps against his grip, letting him help her loosen her tense muscles. She tries to pull herself from that headspace.

Iggy carries one of the woks to the table, feeling the center for a potholder. He finds the one Angel laid out for him and sets the hot pan on it. The stir-fry inside is still sizzling, steaming and smelling incredible. Angel takes a deep inhale, groaning as she exhales.

"It smells so good, I'm so hungry."

Fang drops his hands from Max's shoulder with one final squeeze, moving around the table afterward to take his seat on the other side. She still looks distracted, lost in thought. He watches her tensely from across the table, studying her movements and her facial expressions. She's so zoned out, at the moment, that she doesn't notice.

Nudge and Iggy sit, both raving about their own handiwork. Gazzy finally comes back downstairs, looking even more distracted than Max.

He's rattled. Everyone is, really.

Max seems to snap out of it when she sees Gazzy again. She blinks a few times purposefully, swinging her head to look at Fang. His lips twitch at her, finally catching her attention. She doesn't smile—just spares him a worried glance before standing up right as Gazzy settles into his chair.

"Max, come on, I'm starving," Nudge starts excitedly, watching Max stand behind her chair.

"I know, but wait," she says in a no-nonsense tone she reserves for life-or-death situations. She crosses her arms uncomfortably before gripping the backrest of her dining chair, looking around the table with a bleak smile. "We can't keep doing it like this."

No one interrupts her, although she gets a few looks of incredulity—especially from Iggy, no doubt for her timing. She forges on, regardless.

"We can't do this to ourselves—arguing and questioning and theorizing ourselves in circles. We'll get nowhere and we'll burn out," she huffs. Her hands are still gripping the chair, Fang notices. Her knuckles not white, but nearly.

"School. Tomorrow. You have to go," she says shortly, shrugging at their groans. "I don't care. It's a priority. We aren't throwing our lives away for this. We aren't going to drive ourselves crazy just trying to cope with Jeb's mess. We'll dedicate time to the case each night, but none of that other stuff right now. The case. The evidence. That's it."

Gazzy scoffs at her, shrugging over at Fang with nonchalance.

"Everyone good?" She looks around the table one more time, everyone nodding and giving non-verbal confirmation. She settles on Fang with a desperate look of bravery. After a moment more of silence, she lets go of her chair and slips around to sit once again.

She says with light resignation, "Okay, okay. Eat."


Iggy is tilted back on the back two legs of a patio chair on the porch, listening to the predictable, calm sounds of the evening and taking his first very long pull of what he assumes will be many when the back door opens behind him with a creak.

He huffs, levelling the chair to the porch with a thud. He subtly lowers the joint in his hand, groaning without turning around.

"What?"

Nudge scoffs behind him, padding around the table and plopping into the chair beside him. She leans on the table loudly, saying, "Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"I guess not," he says gruffly. "You can't have any."

She makes a disgusted sound. "That's your thing, not mine."

Iggy's startled into a laugh, shaking his head. "What's yours, Nudge?"

Nudge doesn't say anything, which speaks louder than anything in her language. Iggy shrugs it off, taking another hit quickly before killing it and tucking his stuff away. He doesn't like to do it in front of the kids. Nudge isn't so much a kid, but she doesn't really like the smell and she has never expressed interest in doing it.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" she quips finally, teasing. "You've been out here for an hour. You must be freezing."

It's late. The last time he asked his phone for the time, it was nine o'clock. That had been right when he'd gotten outside. So, ten o'clock. He sighs, shrugging.

"Catching up with Ella," he says, shrugging his shoulders and dragging a finger over the tabletop between them distractedly. "She's busy, end of the semester and all that. I updated her about everything…not the time travel stuff. Don't even know what the fuck to say about that."

Nudge laughs, nodding her head in agreement even though Iggy can't see her expression. She settles for saying, "I have no explanation for that. No explanation that isn't bonkers."

She shrugs her shoulders, leaning back against the chair making it creak quietly. She lets out a huff full of the day's heaviness. Iggy leans forward, still drawing patterns on the table, listening to her over the sound of the wind in the trees and the few insects still out making noise this near to winter.

"Dean texted me this afternoon, like, three times while we were with Alana. And a few of my friends, too. Just…normal stuff, parties and school stuff and—I don't know how to do both. I don't know how to explain any of this to any of them. Explain missing school, working with the FBI, learning secrets about our childhood…"

Iggy interrupts, "Nudge, you don't owe Dean or anyone anything."

She butts back in, genuinely worked up. "But I can't just lie! I can't do that forever! We always used to do that, and I can't be fake. That's why I don't try to go by Monique or any of those other names I tried—I have to be me. I have to figure me out. And I can't try to fabricate some fictitious life for myself so that my friends accept me."

She finishes in a huff, and Iggy can hear the toe of her sneaker tapping impatiently on the porch below them. He avoided caring about this stuff for the majority of his childhood, just like Max and Fang. When they finally got safe enough to need to think about school, it had all felt so childish and impossibly restrictive. He'd been relieved to transition to online classes. Iggy doesn't know how the younger kids deal with it, and with a surprising amount of enthusiasm for that matter.

He frowns at Nudge, sliding out an open palm on top of the table in her direction. Nudge lets out a barely audible scoff and takes his hand, which is nearly twice the size of hers.

"No one deserves an explanation from you. You're dealing with shit—they can support you or not. That's what friends do. Boyfriends, too."

"He's not my boyfriend," she insists, her voice almost shrill.

"Okay, I don't care—whatever freaky thing you have going on," Iggy continues with a laugh over her protests. "He doesn't need the details. If anything, tell him it's family stuff. People know about us, Nudge, come on. If you tell them that they know to lay off. You're allowed to not share."

Nudge rolls her eyes, squeezing his hand and dropping it. She sighs, looking out at the dark back yard, the forest lying still and mostly-quiet beyond that.

"Are you worried about Max?"

Iggy nods, unphased. "Max, Fang, you, Gazzy, Angel—the list goes on. Want me to keep going?"

Nudge shoves his arm lightheartedly, tired of rolling her eyes at him to no avail. She frowns, then, doubling down on her first point.

"Seriously, Ig."

"Yes. But we need to back off. Max is worst when she's cornered. She'll be okay and as long as we treat her normally. Fang's the one that's freaking me out."

Nudge lets out a puff of air in despondence. "Damn, I'd been hoping I was crazy."

Iggy shakes his head. "Not crazy. He's not someone I ever pegged to get stuck in the denial stage, but my God."

"I talked to him today and he just doesn't believe it," Nudge says quietly. "The time travel stuff. And he's watching Max like crazy. Like, he's scared she's going to explode."

Iggy says nothing. He knows something must've happened that they haven't shared with the class—besides Fang's spontaneous visit to the pharmacy and the subsequent conversations regarding a pill. Iggy caught onto that one easily.

Angel and Fang have been extremely tender to Max since she returned from her breakdown, with a strange sense of caution—or fear. She hadn't had any injuries or anything, but Iggy isn't stupid. He knows how Max gets, and he can only imagine the mental spiral that ensued before she'd wised up enough to come home.

"She might," Iggy says finally. "He might, at this rate. Max is actually right; we need to balance our work on the case against our normal lives. We've got to find some way to stay on track with our progress and end this, once and for all. Otherwise… otherwise those two are going to need straightjackets and we're going to be left to take care of them and the Evil Almost-Twins."

Nudge doesn't even laugh at his joke. "If Max and Fang couldn't take care of us, you would take over. I wouldn't have to do anything."

Iggy laughs incredulously at Nudge, blinking and choosing to not pursue that discussion.

"Okay, well, that's not going to happen. We're going to smile, and do what Max says, and get back to normal. We all have to try. And we have to communicate and be honest when shit gets too heavy."

Nudge nods, feeling genuinely reassured by Iggy's certainty on the matter. They can get there—they just have to work together.

"Alright, well," she says finally, standing beside him. "I'm going to bed. Have to go to school tomorrow, you know."

Iggy just rolls his eyes. "It's part of the deal. Besides, you love school!"

"When there isn't a mission on the side! It's going to be impossible to focus," Nudge retaliates. "And I can't avoid questions in person the way I can over text."

"You have, like, a week left before fall break, hang in there," Iggy says, shaking his head with a bit of a grin. "Goodnight, Nudge."

"Night," she sighs, patting his shoulder gently.

With that, she's up and padding her way back across the patio. Iggy hears the porch door creak open and shut firmly with a thud. Once again, he's alone surrounded by the gentle sounds of the night.

He sits for a moment, tapping his finger rather impatiently on the table. His serenity is gone, replaced by thoughts he'd tried to put to bed hours ago. He's moving to get out of his chair finally when the door flies open again. He hears Fang, a soft sound as he clears his throat. The door closes.

Iggy, assuming Max is there, too, says casually, "You guys going out?"

"Just me. Keep an eye on her while I'm gone," Fang says gruffly. With that, he walks calmly past Iggy, off the porch and across the yard. Iggy hears his pace pick up and the whoosh of his wings unfurling as he takes off. Iggy shakes his head.

"Keep an eye on her," he jokes to himself flatly, grabbing his pouch from the table and moving toward the door unerringly. "Hilarious."