A/N: I just realized something. I keep forgetting disclaimers! Well, I am disclaiming this story. As in, I'm not claiming it!

You have voted for Fang's rant to be in. So here we go…

F/N:

(continues off into infinity like parallel lines)

Okay. Does Max think I'm some sort of old man James or something? Because I'm not. Does she think that some normal grandfather has any idea of what a teenage mutant's brain is like? Because they don't. Has her brain become horribly twisted and mutated? Quite possibly.

JAMES PATTERSON DOES NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME EXCEPT FOR WHAT MAX HAS TOLD HIM. HE DOES NOT KNOW ME PERSONALLY. HE HAS NEVER MET ME (THANK GOD). HE NEVER WILL MEET ME (IF I CAN HELP IT). HE DOES NOT KNOW WHAT GOES ON INSIDE MY HEAD!

I think that that's the first time that a sentence that I've written has ended in three exclamation points.

NOW LET ME GET BACK TO MY DAMN RANT.

When you picture the word rant, what do you see? I know what I see.

I see a person throwing stuff around the room, kicking holes in the walls, pounding their fists on the floor, shaking their fists at the sky, ect.

I did a Fang version of this when I read this chapter. I chucked the book across the room and then just sat there for a few minutes, trying to get myself under control. Then I stormed downstairs and promptly forgot my previous few minutes of meditating when I saw Max. We had a full-blown yelling match, which ended with Iggy dragging me away in one direction and Nudge and Gazzy dragging Max in the other.

Then, I remembered that the entire world could see the lies. And I exploded all over again. I had to fly away for a few days to re-compose myself. When I got back, Max was in tears. She promised never, ever, ever to do it again.

Did she stick to that promise? No, she did not.

I started skipping the chapters that were written from FPOV. Now I'm reading them over, and every time I start a new one, my blood boils. I have to put the book down for a moment and just breathe about every five minutes.

Make that sentences.

So let me just repeat myself on my true feelings on this subject:

(continues off into infinity like parallel lines)

Now I'll get to the story.

"Fang?"

Nudge's voice interrupts me from my angry mutterings.

"I'm really hungry, you know?" she asks.

I nod angrily, gesturing to a shallow cliff in the rock face. I angle my body so that I make a tight sweep into the reddish rock. Nudge slows behind me, ducking as she lands inside the cave. I land silently behind her.

I'm still fuming, but I swing off my pack and manage to set in down slightly peacefully. I rip open the zipper and chuck a bag of dried fruit at her, harder than I intend to. She accepts it gratefully, squealing.

Then I remember something. I had been saving it for Max, but that's what happens when you just decide to up and leave. I dig out the chocolate bar and wave it in front of her. Her eyes bog.

"Oh, FANG!" she squeals. "Where did you find this? You must have been hiding it – you didn't say anything, and all this time you've had chocolate, and oh, God, it's so good…"

I allow my mouth to twitch upward as I sit down, taking a bite out of my own piece. I close my eyes to hide the emotion roiling inside of me: the anger at Max, the hate for that girl, the patience for Nudge, and the utter delight at this chocolate.

"So where's Max?" Nudge asks, and my eyes snap open, anger making my nostrils flare. Nudge doesn't notice, just babbles on. "Why'd she go down there? Shouldn't she be back by now? Aren't we supposed to go all the way to Lake Mead? What are we gonna do if she doesn't come back soon –"

I hold up my hand, cutting Nudge off.

"Max saw someone in trouble, down below, and went to help," I say, keeping my voice deliberate and controlled, not a single tremor running through it. "We'll wait here for her; Lake Mead is right below us."

Nudge looks unconvinced. She stands, ducking a little so that she won't hit the ceiling, and walks out to a small landing to see the lake. I sigh and eat the rest of the dried fruit out of the bag.

Then she freezes.

"Uh, Fang?" she squeezes out.

I jackknife to my feet and run over to where she's standing, petrified. Then I see what she's seeing and freeze.

In front of us, the ledge curves upward like a halfpipe. A few scrubby bushes are plopped in the dirt, and mixed in with the bushes is a festive dash of lethal hawk mommies in their little lethal hawk mommy nests with little baby lethal hawks. And their yellowish eyes are locked on us.

"What are they?" Nudge says out of the corner of her mouth.

"Ferruginous hawks," I murmur. "Largest raptor in the States. Sit down, very slowly. No sudden movements or we're both bird feed."

Trust me, the irony does not escape me.

Nudge sinks slowly to her knees. The hawk's eyes follow her movement, their lethal talons curving around the nests. Nudge does not break eye contact with them, but her whole body is trembling with fear.

"Do you think –" she begins, but I put my hand on top of her head, signaling her to be quiet. Slowly, I sink down to her level, my knees easing onto the grit. Nudge starts to fidget, and I press my hand harder on her head.

I unfold my wing from inside my shirt and extend it slowly, feeling the feathers at the spot where my skin meets wing move. It tickles a little bit.

The hawks all stare at my wing.

"I'm letting them catch my sent," I breathe to Nudge. Her head moves down the tiniest bit, then back up. One hawk has a mutilated gopher hanging from its feral beak, and Nudge is staring at it. Is she really that hungry? I think to myself with an inside grin.

Once my wing is fully extended, seven feet out, the hawks seem to relax. I curl the end of my wing around Nudge protectively.

One by one, the hawks return to whatever they're doing. They're so beautiful, I think, surprising myself. Their wings are similarly colored to Max's, brown with lighter brown mottled spots. The feathers on the undersides of their wings are lighter, like the belly of a kitten. I did not just think that.

One hawk returns from hunting with a snake trapped in its beak, the ends writhing. Nudge makes a face. "Eew," she says. Her body has slowly stopped shaking, and as the little baby hawks scramble over each other for a bite, her face gets more deeply set into the disgusted expression. "Double eew," she tells me.

I turn my head at one mile per hour and grin at her. She's startled into a grin herself.

Then she sighs and relaxed back, unfolding her own wings a little. She leans into my side, and my arm snakes around her waist of its own volition. She doesn't think anything's odd, just lays her head down on my shoulder as we watch the hawks.

We sit like this for almost an hour, bird watching. (Again, I notice the irony, thanks.) Then Nudge speaks.

I knew it had to end.

"Angel's waiting for us," she says. "I mean, she's like a little sister, like everyone's little sister."

She brushes off some tiny pebbles embedded in her knee and scowls. With her other hand she picks at a huge scab on her knee. I hold my bandaged arm over her hand, stilling her movement.

"At night, when we're supposed to be asleep," she confides, "me and Angel talk and tell jokes and stuff." Her huge brown eyes meet mine, and I'm dismayed to see that they're full of water. "I mean, am I going to have to sleep in that room alone, whenever we get home? Max has to come back. She won't let Angel go, right?"

"No, she won't let Angel go," I say, trying to think of a different subject. "Look – you see that big hawk, the one with the dark stripe on its shoulders – you see how he seems to move one wing faster than the other when he banks? It makes his bank really tight and smooth. We should try it."

Nudge stares at me, then turns around. "Yeah, I see what you mean," she says. I stand and run to the edge of the cliff, hoping she doesn't topple over.

I spread my wings just as I leap off the edge, swooping up in a curved motion toward the circling hawks. They eye me warily, but allow me to join.

I tuck one wing in closer to my side and extend the other one to its full length, wheeling around in midair with the rest of the flock. They eye me again, but this time with grudging respect.

Nudge is still just sitting there, so I swoop down to the entrance to the cave. "Come on!" I yell as I pass. "Try it! You'll fly better."

As I soar back to the hawks, I see Nudge stand and fling herself off the cliff. Her tawny wings extend like razor points slicing the sky and she slides through the sky like soap. She gives one hard downstroke and glides up to me. I demonstrate the move for her, and she pulls in one wing and throws out the other in sync with the flock and I. We circle through the sky-blue nothingness in unison, and I smile at her, a genuine smile. She grins back.

Then the hawks show us more tricks: spreading their wing tips slows a circle without having to flap every fourth second. (Don't you hate the word flap? It sounds so Disney.) I try it, spreading the feathers. It feels the same as spreading my fingers.

It's so cool how we can tell everything that the hawks are about to do just by watching their body language. I can tell when they're about to slow when they spread their tail feathers, or when they're about to speed up when they give an extra hard push. We soar above the clouds for hours, feeling weightless and extraordinary.

After a while, though, I tell Nudge we have to stop. It's dark, and I want to be ready to leave tomorrow when Max gets back. She makes a small fuss, but I can tell she's exhausted. We tuck in our wings and glide to the cave entrance, landing with a small bump. The hawks turn in a few minutes after we are settled, out wings lying flat out. Nudge rests her head on her arms, her back arched down. We both watch the parent hawks grooming the baby hawks, getting them settled down and ready to sleep.

She sniffs. I lie down next to her and cover her with my wing.

"What?" I ask gently.

"These birds," she says. She wipes her eyes. "Like, these dumb hawks have more of a mom than I ever had. The parents are taking care of the little ones. No one ever did that for me. Well, besides Max. But she's not a mom."

"Yeah," I say quietly, "I get it." My voice sounds sad, even to me. Because moms don't leave you to help random strangers. They don't forget about their daughters, cold and alone in a torture lab.

I hold out my fist. Wearily, Nudge stacks hers on top and then taps my hand. We always do it before bed.

Except this night, it is just the two of us.

"Night," Nudge whispers, her vice catching. She curls up against the wall of the cave, and I stretch my wing farther to cover her.

"Night, Nudge," I murmur in the darkness.

Here you go. I wrote this on April 4, without the rant. I wonder when I'll get 10 reviews? Right now I only have 5. And I know that 10 people get a story alert. I counted.

Night, Readers.

OH OH OH WAIT! I need a Beta! *cough cough* D-G-R *cough cough*

Nifty: -running thru with CatHat- Muahahaha!

Me: Wait WHAT? This isn't even your story, you freak!

Mr. Gartland:…?