A/N: Heh heh…I know I disappeared for a bit…please don't kill me? As most of you who have subscribed to author alert will know, I've been a bit caught up in the Bleach-dom. No seriously. I started two stories and published a few one shots, some of which are Maximum Ride, that you all should check out of you're into that kind of thing. Plus, my beta went on a vacation without telling me, not that I blame her because the fantastical work she does totally makes up for the amount of time it takes her to do it.

Okay. And now, we will go to the story.

Disclaimer: JP owns. My initials aren't even JP. They're MS, like the disease. T-T

The taste of IHOP's delicious Nutella-and-banana pancakes is still comforting in my mouth even an hour after we've left. Nutella and banana doesn't sound like a good combination, does it? Well, it is. It's actually very delicious.

The air is a bit colder up here, a few thousand feet up. That is not as surprising as Nutella-and-banana pancakes. Actually, it might be. I don't know how educated people's minds work – I mean, here I am, about as far from educated as you can get. Unfortunately, there's not a whole lot I can do about that. I mean, I'm kind of busy trying to stay alive – I don't exactly have time to sit down and open up a textbook. (Of course, I'm writing this now, and hoping you'll forget these words, seeing as I know now that this is going to come back and bit me in the ass, excuse my French. (See? I'm even speaking French now! Who knew, right?) Anyway, I'm getting a bit off track here. I think all the Nutella jam-packed into that 'cake went straight to my brain. I'll try to do better. Sorry about this.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. The air is colder here, though. But the sun is a lot warmer. And I'm kind of confused, since I was pretty sure that the warmth of the sun was directly proportional to the warmth of the air…? Just goes to show just how much I know.

"God!" Nudge shouts, soaring into Max's slipstream to catch a small break. "It's just so, so…you know?"

I do know. I know perfectly well. And although I have to work a little harder for oxygen, it's pretty awesome up here. It's awesome in a way that no one who has both feet firmly on the ground will ever know.

"Yeah," Max says, grinning. "I know."

The smile that splits her face, then? It's like gold. Precious. I'll admit I've been hard on Max the last few days. We were all so stressed about Angel that I just kind of…aw, I don't know. Basically, now I'm…back to normal, I guess.

"I mean, the air, and we're up so high, and no one's after us –"definitely a bonus "-and we hit IHOP for breakfast." Mm. Nutella. "I mean, God, we're just up here, and it's so cool, and down below us kids are stuck in school or, like, cleaning their rooms. I used to hate cleaning my room."

Max sighs.

Then she makes a weird kind of choking noise. Every nerve in my body freezes in panic as she gags.

"Max?"Nudge screams.

Max chokes again, grabbing for her head. She folds like a paper plane and plummets to the ground. My body is frozen for a second.

"Fang? Fang!" Nudge screams. I unfreeze and dive after Max, racing to catch her. I fumble with her wings, moving them aside to catch her with one hand under her back and the other under her knees. She's panting, her forehead beaded with sweat and dirt. Her eyes are screwed shut in agony. Her fingers are fisted in her hairline, and her muscles are clenching and unclenching frantically. She moans and gasps. I try really hard to get my mind out of the gutter, but it's not easy. Apparently Iggy's thinking the same thing as I am, because he snickers when I bring her up to where the rest are waiting anxiously.

"Max? Max, are you okay?" Angel yells anxiously.

"Sh. Just be quiet, okay? I think she's in a lot of pain." No shit, Sherlock. My heart is racing and there's a huge lump in my throat. Is she okay? What happened just now? Does she have a disease? Did someone do something to her when we were passed out cold at the school? Is she going to start growing horns?

I keep my gaze on her face as we fly on. Slowly her breathing grows steadier and her eyes relax a bit. But when I say slowly, you can be assured that I mean slowly. It's at least an hour before one eye opens a tiny slit to look at mine. Each minute is a century of torture, watching her face for some sign of what the hell just happened. My own breathing sounds worse than hers, and sweat trickles into my eye, causing it to twitch irritatingly.

But finally, one brown eye opens a tiny slit and meets mine. Her mouth parts a little, and her sweet breath fans over my face.

"Man, you weigh a freaking ton," I tell her. It's true. My arms are aching. "What have you been eating, rocks?"

"Why?" she croaks with a small smile, and then – get ready for the corniest line to ever leave Miss Maximum Ride's mouth – says, "Is your head missing some?"

My mouth moves upward of its own volition, and all the worry and fear flows out of me. My Max is okay. That's all that matters.

…And I thought Max was corny…

"Max, are you okay?" Nudge says, horrified. Her face is at least ten shades lighter than it used to be.

"Uh-huh," Max mutters, looking like she has to struggle for each breath. The shortage of oxygen up here probably isn't helping either. "Find a place to land," she begs me. Her arm, the one closer to me, curls around my back so that she's partially supporting herself. That basically just means that her weight is now pushing down on my hipbone instead of my arms, but it's cool. "Please."

We fly for about another hour before we spy a cozy little clearing. I land as gently as I can, trying not to jar her or her head (which she has just told us is the source of the pain). Even so, as my feet touch the ground, she winces, and clamps her teeth together. Her grip tightens on the small of my back. Her arm hasn't even been there for that long and already the spot where she's resting it is soaked through with her sweat.

I set her down, leaning her against a tree. She stretches out gratefully. I peel my sticky shirt away from my body and flap it at her so that she can smell.

"You like that?" I ask her. "It's the smell of a manly man." I say the last two words in a weird accent. Iggy cracks up behind me. I pull the shirt over my head and drop it over her head, ignoring her shriek of outrage as she's enveloped in the wonderful smell of a boy who's gone quite a few days without showering. Then I go help them build a fire.

"Yo, watch it!" Max shouts, detangling herself from my T-shirt. "Clear more of that brush away – we don't want the whole forest to burn down."

"Guess you're feeling like your old self," I mutter.

Nudge unearths some food in the backpack about twenty minutes later. Gazzy and Iggy had bought it and then forgotten it was there. But when she announces its presence joyfully, Max stands and wobbles over to the fire to eat. I half-rise, ready to help her in case she stumbles, but she waves me away impatiently. I accept my stiff and now utterly disgusting shirt back from her and consider dropping it in the fire. At the last minute I realize that this is probably a bad idea. Instead, I take my jacket back from Iggy and slip that on instead over my bare chest. The T-shirt is going in the backpack until I can wash it. Because if I'm honest with you? The last thing I want to do is put that thing on.

"This isn't half bad," Gazzy says, peeling roasted bologna off a stick. He puts his whole hand in his mouth, sucking off every last juice.

"Don't do bananas," Nudge says, tossing a warm, mushy goop off into the bushes.

You know what would be really great right now? A pancake. With Nutella. And bananas.

"S'mores," Max sings, making one on her knee. I wonder where Iggy and Gazzy got that. She opens her mouth and takes a bite, closing her eyes in bliss. I resist taking it from her.

"This is nice," Gazzy says happily, piercing another circle of bologna on a stick and holding it out over the flames. "It's like summer camp."

Like you know what summer camp is like. "Yeah, Camp Bummer," I mutter. "For wayward mutants." Man, this sucks. I miss our house. I miss our life. I miss my pancakes.

Max nudges my leg with her foot. "It's better than that. This is cool." Her eyes warn me not to be a jerk. My subconscious notices that her eyes are the same color as the melted chocolate in her s'more. Her deceased s'more.

I shoot her a look and turn my bacon over the fire. (A/N: WOOT WOOT!)

Max slides down off her makeshift seat (read: rotting, probably termite-infested log) and stretches out on the ground, her head propped up on her sweatshirt. Her arm curls unconsciously around my leg as she puts her hands behind her head. Her eyes glaze over. Then they close. A piece of hair is resting on her nose, and it puffs up every time she exhales. It's cute.

Angel crawls over. "Max, wake up," she says, tapping Max's knee.

"I'm awake." Max pulls herself up, her arm slithering away from my jeans. Angel climbs into Max's lap, and Max leans against the log. She leans back in Max's arms, and Max strokes her hair. "What's up, Angel?"

Angel's wide blue eyes look up into Max's. "I've got a secret. From when I was at the School. It's about us. Where we came from?"

A/N: Hey. I would do more, but I was kind of hoping for more than two reviews on the last chapter, you know? I'm trying to chill out and relax a little bit on that, but, still….aarg. It's hard. But whatever. What I'm saying is, I wasn't motivated to write this in the slightest. I just kind of cranked it out. Standard issue. So could you, please, please, please review? It really makes my day. And you know what they say: Reviews=Love=Inspiration=Quicker Updates! XD