A/N: I am so sorry! When I posted the last chapter, I already had most of this chapter written, but I left my flashdrive at school over break, and when I got back it was finals week and stuff. Then, when I actually started writing, I realized what I was going to do wasn't going to work, so I had to rewrite the entire chapter. Long story short, there are literally six completely different drafts of this chapter. I am incredibly sorry it took so long to update!

On a brighter note, internet cookies go out to Courage and Love, Lilfangs, and Aquawings23 for reviewing. (Because it's the holidays, after all).

This chapter doesn't have a lot of action in it, because Nick briefly died last chapter, and humans can't really hit the ground running after something like that. So, I decided to build their relationship a little. Honestly, you could probably skip this chapter, but, gosh dang it, I spent a lot of time writing this fluff!

Without further ado, my longest chapter yet. (4,260 words, if you're curious).

My first instinct is to ninja my way around the hospital in a similar to the fashion used at the E-shaped house on April first. But then reason kicks in. I mean, I'm allowed to be here. It's not even that weird for me to be wandering around the hospital looking lost. So I saunter down the hall as naturally as my frayed nerves will allow me to, keeping my eyes peeled for a nurse—actually, he's probably not a nurse—with brown hair, a square jaw, and an uneasy gait indicative of bad knees.

If worse comes to worse, I could easily outrun him. Unless he's an Eraser. I don't know if he necessarily looks good enough to be one, but maybe he's defective? Maybe the School got smart and made the mutants look less like supermodels trying too hard to blend in with the rest of us? I mean, I haven't exactly been on the move this whole time—a certain day I spent unconscious comes to mind—and the very fact that I haven't been attacked (by an Eraser, at least), puts me more on edge than if I had been ambushed in the mall a few days ago. Surely they, at least know where I am by now.

But it's not like I could whisk Nick away in his condition right now, anyways. I certainly don't have IV-food or pain meds to give him, and when he's released, he'll probably still be in precautionary bed rest for another week, which doesn't really go well with "life on the run".

It doesn't matter, either way. I circle the entire hospital several times. There's no sign of the not-a-nurse, not even the echo of a maniacal laugh floating up from the basement. After a while, I become more concerned about leaving Nick alone in his hospital room for almost an hour than finding the guy, so I decide to return.

I knock on the open door to let Nick know I'm coming in. He sits up, winces, and leans back on his bed again. For the umpteenth time, I wonder how he managed to get out of bed and wake me up during one of my 'episodes'. One look at my face, and he says, "What? The fact the nurse isn't a psychotic killer makes you upset?"

I walk to Nick's window and study the parking lot through half-closed blinds. "No, he disappeared. If you ask me, that's more suspicious than if I had found him in a lab blending toxic chemicals into a patient's smoothie." Nick's answering silence gives away his "look". I turn to him to find his eyebrow is raised in a slightly-exaggerated copy of Fang's typical expression when addressing me.

"So he brought food to the wrong room—"

"A deadly mistake that should be brought to someone's attention—"

"Max, he's probably been working all night. Give him a break, it was an honest mistake."

"But—"

"He's only human." Nick delivers this phrase with a sort of ironic, knowing smirk.

I scowl, turning back to the window. "Okay, you know what? I'm paranoid. But you leave your house for one second and end up getting kidnapped and held for ransom and dying. So my feelings are justified."

Nick opens and closes his mouth a few times, but there's no denying it, especially while lying in a hospital bed. He eventually settles for changing the subject.

"So, you changed your hair."

Heat creeps to my face as I remember drugged-up Nick's reaction to my haircut. "I donated it to charity." I drop into the seat next to his bed. "Nah, it was needing a trim, anyways. When it gets too long, it gets in my face when I. . . you know. Axel grabbed it while I was trying to help get you down, and I. . . are you okay?"

Nick had visibly paled. "Yeah! I'm fine."

My eyes narrow. "You don't look fine."

He scoffs half-heartedly. "Well, that's just rude."

I swat at one of the few places on his body that isn't bruised or broken. "Seriously. You okay?"

He shrugs with the shoulder that hadn't been dislocated. "I guess. . . Just a little shook up, that's all."

I nod knowingly. The kids were young when they left the School; while Nudge mostly remembered things, Gazzy's memories were hazy and Angel's nonexistent. Fang, Iggy, and I, on the other hand, remembered everything with painful clarity. Angel once made the mistake of diving into our nightmares, which were (and still are) composed of our memories. It was a long time before she would let me sleep in my own bed again. Coincidentally, I have a lot of experience playing therapist. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His answer is quiet. "Not really."

"You sure? I'm an expert shrink."

"You would know," he jokes, but I can tell he's running on automatic. I wait a moment, unsure of whether to make him say it out loud or not. He fiddles with his sheets in the heavy silence.

I grab his restless hand and hold it still. "Hey. I know how you feel."

"Really?" He doesn't sound hopeful, he sounds like someone whose life was just shattered. Skeptical.

I look away and take a shuddering breath, repressing a whirlwind of memories. "Yes."

He squeezes my hand lightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "I can't." Nick is quiet, waiting for me to continue. I pull my hand away from his, but immediately regret the loss of warmth. "Too much to lose."

"You can trust me."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

Day 2

"Hello? May I come in?"

Nick nods, tearing his eyes from the television screen in his room. I can't blame him; this TV movie has some serious drama. Unfortunately, the nurse entering looks like she's ready to take his vitals and change his bandages. I sigh, stretching as I stand to leave. Changing bandages means getting under the hospital gown, and Nick and I aren't that close yet. Er, ever. Ew.

While awkwardly waiting in the hallway, something catches my eye. A hulking figure disappears around a corner, down another hallway. Without the scrubs, I wouldn't have recognized not-a-nurse but for his limp. Bingo.

As any good, paranoid mutant would, I follow him around the corner, where I catch sight of him slipping into what must be a small office. I nonchalantly lean against the wall by the door. At a time like this, it would be great to have a cell phone to pretend to fiddle with while I eavesdrop. I settle for scanning one of those public health posters.

Public service announcement: Syphilis is nasty.

I definitely recognize the voice of the nurse who had waited on Nick the day before. "The girl won't leave. You think we should. . ." He must be on his cell phone; even straining I can't hear another voice.

"That should work. Especially if the drugs don't." I roll the pills in my pocket around my fingers. I hadn't even wondered if they were really pain meds. They could be poison, for all I know.

Not-a-nurse continues. "Calm down. The kid can't even stand on his own. We have at least a week before he's released. And after that. . . yes, sir. I understand, sir. I'll send you a picture. Just a second."

A picture? Of what? I don't have much time to speculate. Someone in a white coat. By the time he walks out into the hallway, I'm gone.

Day 3

"Hey, stranger."

I roll my eyes to hide how I have to force my shoulders to relax. "I wasn't in the bathroom that long." At his pointed look, I continue. "My jeans were taking forever to dry." Well, that, and I just had a full-blown panic attack, complete with nausea and heart palpitations, because I took my shirt off to wash it and realized that the bruising on my ribs still hasn't faded. But he doesn't need to know that.

"That's why you should have taken my advice and just gotten more clothes from the gift shop."

"I don't have any money."

"I have a coupon. It's called the five-finger discount."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not stealing from a hospital, Nick."

"What about the food you've been eating?"

"Get it from the dumpster between meal times. The cafeteria has to throw away all of the leftovers."

"What?"

I shrug. "It's not that bad, actually. It's all just sitting on the top, and usually the bread isn't even that soggy or anything." I remember what we're arguing about. "And once the food is in the dumpster, it's free reign. Doesn't count as stealing. See? I do have morals." I cross my arms in satisfaction.

"And that's why you know how to pick locks?"

I grimace. I may have let more information slip than I intended in our last few days together. "Look, just because I know how to pick locks doesn't mean I do it."

"Uh-huh."

"No, it's like," I search for a comparison that would make sense. "Like knowing how to snap a neck, but not doing it on moral bases."

He stares at me. Wait, did I say something wrong? "You know how to break someone's neck?"

Cue desperate backpedaling. "Um, no?" Shoot, I thought this was basic knowledge; even the inexperienced experiments would try to use the tactic against Erasers.

Nick throws his hands back. "What else can you do? Kill a man with two fingers? Infiltrate the government? Convince authors of the young-adult genre that not every story has to have a love triangle? Read minds?"

Well, I can't read minds, but, "I can whistle 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'."

Nick suddenly gets quiet. Geesh, I didn't think it was that impressive. But all traces of the joking conversation we just had leave his face. "Why is it even a problem?"

"Why is what a problem?"

"The people chasing you?"

I feel my hackles rise. Six-inch-steel doors slam shut. "Nick, I was kidding about the vampires."

"Ha ha. Okay, but—"

"No." It comes out just as forcefully as I want it to. All of the air is sucked out of the room, and Nick watches me with a mixture of hurt, curiosity, and anger. The hospital room seems to shrink.

"I need some air." I stand forcefully.

Nick reaches for me. "Max—"

"I'll be back." And I half-jog out of the room and out of the building. Outside, the air is about five degrees warmer than 'cool'. I take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension from being in a place similar to my childhood home melting from my shoulders. The weather is beginning to pick up autumn's chill. The Flock would normally be stocking up on supplies this time of year; the mountains had a nasty habit of being cold, snowy, and un-fly-able.

Except the Flock isn't here. Ah, and here comes the worry again. It's been too long. At this point, I'm working with literally zero clues. Why haven't I left yet? Nick is fine; he insists not-a-nurse is a real nurse, not intent on killing him. If he isn't going to trust me, fine! He can go and get himself killed, then!

I look up only to realize I'm standing in front of the car I drove like a madwoman what feels like a lifetime ago. It sits in a nearly-abandoned lot, the furthest one from the building, in a way I hoped wouldn't attract too much attention. But looking at it now, with its bullet-riddled doors, shattered windows, and a hefty amount of dried blood in the passenger seat, it could pass as one of those drunk driving campaign monuments, the opposite of blending in.

Tentatively, I climb inside. It smells like blood, too. I wonder if the scent is strong enough for an Eraser to pick up on. I could drive away right now, and it would either draw any Erasers away from Nick or leave them in the dust. I could cross the country more effectively by car, and I don't know what kind of condition the Flock will be in when I find them. I may need a car if they can't fly.

I rest my forehead on the steering wheel. Who am I kidding? I can't leave Nick. At this point, not only does he know too much, but I care too much. Something tells me I won't be able to shake him once he's well enough to take care of himself. If he ends up following me. . . I wonder how Fang would react to a new member of the Flock that looks exactly like him and can't fly? I grin at the thought of two males vying for my affection. Er, not affection. Attention. No, that didn't help. Two males fighting over hair product. There we go. Love triangles and mutants don't mix.

But my smile falls when I realize the chances of my finding my family are dwindling with each passing day. I itch to move, to go for a fly, even, but I don't trust Nick alone in his room for more than a minute. Only a few days until a week has passed, and not-a-nurse has a deadline. There isn't much I can do to convince Nick there's a problem, but I can still prepare for the inevitable combustion of our current situation. I pull the car around to the back of the hospital. This way, it's less visible and closer to one of the emergency exits I scouted out yesterday.

And now I wait.

Day 4

"Hey, is my phone with all of my clothes and stuff?" Nick is referring to the plastic bag under my seat, full of the mostly shredded clothes he had worn upon his arrival to the hospital.

I pull the bag out and rifle through it. "Doesn't look like it. Hate to break it to you, but it could be anywhere between here and the van you got to the bunker in." I carefully gauge his reaction to my mention of 'the incident'. He takes it better now than he did the first day, but I take note of his white-knuckle grip on his bedsheets.

"Well, do you have a phone? I need to let Bess know I'm okay."

I freeze, the bag halfway under my seat. My mind halts whatever escape routes it was just calculating and sprints head-first into panic mode. "What?"

"Because she hasn't shown up yet, I assume she's gone back into hiding. But she'll want to know I'm okay."

"I don't think—"

"I'm not calling my mother." He spits the word out like a curse. "She can't pick and choose when she wants to be part of my life, and she made her decision a long time ago."

The shock wearing off, I rest my elbows on my knees the way Jeb used to when he told us we had to relocate again because Erasers were getting too close. "Nick, how much do you remember from the other night?"

He flinches and seems to shrink into himself a little. "Enough," is all he says.

I nod. "Okay, but what is the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know—"

This obviously isn't working. "Then figure it out. It's important."

His face scrunches up in confusion and concentration. "Axel stabbed me in the stomach." His hand drifts to the bandages around his abdomen. "And then. . . You got me out of the handcuffs. After that. . ." He huffs. "I don't remember anything else."

I hold my breath.

"Why?"

I walk back to the window. The sun is going down; Nick's nurse—the real one—should be here soon to check his vitals.

"Max, is there something I need to know?"

I hesitate.

"No." I can watch him putting two and two together by his expression in the window's reflection. "No." He buries his hands in his hair. Guilt burns in my gut. If I hadn't tried to convince Bess to come—well, then we'd both be dead.

I sit back down. "Nick, your mother—"

"I don't care—"

"You should." I grab his hand and gently pull it from his stricken face. "She died protecting you."

His eyes light up a moment. "But Bess? Is she. . . "

The hope in his voice, that only that person I can't make him care about died, instead of the mother-figure who almost chose her job over his life, kills me. Nevertheless, I decide then and there that Nick never has to know how close he came to being abandoned. "Last I saw, she was taking on Axel. Your mom got a phone call from her, but it was cut short. I think. . . Bess is gone, too."

He deflates. No, "withers" is a better word.

"I'm alone."

I bite my lip, knowing I might regret what I'm about to say. "You're not alone, Nick. You've got me."

Day 6

Nick's eyes trained on the television, but his mind was wandering elsewhere. It was three in the morning, and he hadn't been able to sleep since the last time the nurse checked his vitals at midnight. He turned to Max. She had been drifting in and out of sleep for the last hour, waking up suddenly several times with a catch in her breath violent enough to make him jump. Then she would put on a stoic face, try to stay awake, and slowly be pulled back into slumber.

He vaguely wondered how much sleep she was used to getting. For the last four days in the hospital, he had only seen her sleep three times, and each of those times he had had to wake her up from a nightmare after only a few hours. Surely she got more than two hours of sleep on a regular basis.

It was no wonder, really, with the way she reacted to that nurse. He made an honest mistake. A possibly fatal one, but an accident still. And yet Max was always on edge, never at ease in the hospital. Nick wondered if there was more to it than the nurse incident.

". . . have asked citizens to stay away from the bombing site, as the foundation has been severely compromised and the building could collapse at any moment without warning. . ."

Nick grimaced. He didn't realize he had been watching the news, and he wasn't exactly excited to learn more about the bombing at his old high school. Though he dropped out of the public education system years ago, he probably knew at least a couple of the missing students. He changed the channel.

A nurse rolled past his door with his clipboard and a cart. Nick recognized him as the one Max had been stalking earlier this week. Was it his imagination, or was there a flash while the nurse passed? Nick shook his head. No, he'd been around Max too long. Her paranoia was wearing off on him.

Speaking of the girl, a loud breath from her direction. Nick turned to her, anticipating opening eyes. But this time, she stayed asleep. He sat up straighter in bed as her breathing picked up in pace.

He had begun to learn the warning signs of her nightmares. First, she would start breathing harder. Then—

"No no no no." She barely breathed the words, but they still carried all the weight of heartbreak. Nick slowly sat up, careful not to pull his stitches. It looked like he would be needed again before-

"FANG!"

Nick got out of bed too quickly, causing little black dots to float in his vision. He didn't pay them any attention. He took his usual place in front of Max, all slouched in her chair, and carefully ran a hand through her hair. Her brow, as usual, was sweaty. "Shh. It's okay, Max." He reached for her shaking, clammy hands. "Max, wake up." Like always, she clenched and fought his grip at the same time. Nick didn't even notice the pain of her nails digging into the scabbed-over cuts across the backs of his hands. "You need to wake up."

"Fang?"

Nick smiled as she opened her eyes. This was the first time she hadn't almost ripped his arms off in the process of coming out of her nightmare. "No, it's Nick."

Max dropped his hands hurriedly. "I. . . I was. . . " She wiped tear tracks off her face with her shirt.

Nick asked the same thing he always did. "You good?"

A weak smile. "Fit as a fiddle."

"Do you want to take about it?"

She took a shuddering breath and shook her head. Nick shrugged and returned to his bed. The doctors said he shouldn't be walking on his own for another day or two at least, but this was an emergency. Besides, he managed to keep most of his dignity, even when clumsily repositioning himself under the sheets.

Max's breath eventually evened out. This time, Nick's did, too.

He was finally able to fall asleep.

Day 9

I've decided that sleep is for the weak. The hospital's bitter coffee and I have become very close. The caffeine makes me jittery, but anything is better than reliving my family dying over and over again.

Nick helps, though. The few times I've drifted off, he's the one who pulls me from the eerie recesses of my own mind. At first it hurt to see him and realize he's not Fang, but this last time I was just as relieved to see him as I would be to wake up and find the whole Flock in the room.

Well, that may have been a slight exaggeration.

"Would you rather. . . have it always be day or always be night?"

"Oh, that's easy. Day, so everybody can see my fabulous hair all the time."

"Uh-huh." I roll my eyes. Nick had taught me the game to help pass the time, and, two hours later, it was still our main source of entertainment. The doctors said they were looking over his papers again, and if the odds were good, he would be released tomorrow. "Your turn."

"Night vision or enhanced hearing?"

I smirk in response.

"No. You're kidding." Nick suddenly sits up from his bed. He's able to move around better now.

"What?" I adjust my position in the chair to allow for better breathing. Slowly but surely, my ribs have gotten better. They just aren't quite up to "not-sucky" yet.

"You—well, that explains a lot."

I just smile at him. But it falters when a cart rolls into the room, followed by not-a-nurse. I hadn't told Nick about the phone call I overheard. Just because I'm skeptical of everyone doesn't mean that he has to be. Still, I had been keeping tabs on the guy over the past week. He had made several phone calls to the same person as last time, and the same general conversation occurred each time. Not-a-nurse was supposed to do something about Nick and me before he was discharged. That being tomorrow, I've been on high alert. (Reason number two for chugging coffee by the barrel).

"How are you feeling?" Not-a-nurse begins his conversation with the same easy question all of the hospital staff asks upon entering the room.

Nick gives an equally-practiced answer. "Making progress." He was, too. The swelling on most of his bruises had gone down, and he'd graduated to being allowed to get into the bathroom by himself. Color had returned to his face.

"Great to hear it." Is it just me, or did I detect a little sarcasm? "I've just brought your medicine for this afternoon." Oh, yeah, Nick has also been allowed to eat solid food. It would be great, if I wasn't constantly having to make sure the stuff wasn't poisoned before letting him eat it. The goldfish in the lobby never stood a chance.

Most of them are dead now.

"Miss?" I'm snapped out of my thoughts when not-a-nurse has the nerve to address me directly. I'm ninety-nine percent sure he knows I'm on to him.

Still, for the sake of appearances, I answer cordially. "Yes?"

"I'm going to teach your brother a few exercises to help his rehabilitation. Could you step out of the room for a moment?"

Um, heck no. "Why can't I be present? I might be able to help."

Not-a-nurse frowns. "There's not enough room."

"Well, isn't there supposed to be a gym or something where this stuff happens?" I scan the room for a better(less lethal) weapon to use than the knife in my pocket.

"No."

"Maxine," Nick rolls his eyes. "I'll be fine. It'll just take a minute, right?" Not-a-nurse nods, watching me scoot closer to Nick's bedside.

"I'm not leaving."

"Uh, Max?"

"No, Philip, I'm staying right here."

Not-a-nurse smiles a little. "I figured you'd say that." He opens the cabinet part of the cart, revealing an array of hypodermic needles and a large bottle with a skull and crossbones on it. He shakes the bottle vigorously before opening the top. The strong chemical smell reminds me of what the School used to clean up the big messes. I gag. Some of the chemicals spill over the edge of the bottle, hitting the cart. The plastic immediately begins to smoke and warp. Okay, strong chemicals.

Not-a-nurse locks the hospital door.

"In fact, I was hoping you'd say that."

A/N: I promise I won't take forever to update next time, because I wrote the first half of the next chapter a month ago.