A/N: For pan.
EIGHT
"I call the shower!" was the first thing out of Nudge's mouth the minute I deemed our spar-session over.
"I call the other one!" Gazzy parroted in her voice.
Angel made a horrified sound. "Me first!"
"Gonna have to beat me to it," he said cheekily. And the two of them set off with inhuman speed to the house.
"You'd better leave one for me! A breakout right now would push me over the edge!" Nudge said, and then she was running, too.
Iggy was laughing, Fang was grinning, and I felt lighter than I had in days. I closed my eyes and let the late-November sun beat down on me, let the afternoon air fill my lungs.
"So… not to ruin this delightful afternoon," Iggy began, but I sighed and cut him off.
"I'm not kidding. I genuinely don't have a master plan. Open to suggestions."
Iggy gasped dramatically. I rolled my eyes. "What's this? The great leader Maximum Ride is open to suggestions?"
"Oh, please. Don't act like this hasn't been a team effort for years now."
Iggy smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. Still like to rib you about it, though."
"A lot of what Nudge said wasn't crazy," Fang said quietly. "Traversing the Eastern seaboard and all that."
"With no direction?" I groaned, rubbing my forehead. "I've had more than enough aimless wandering to last me the rest of eternity. Or until my genes unravel."
"Eh," Iggy said.
"Wait," I said, stopping short. The boys froze and looked back intently. I rolled my eyes. "Relax. I just remembered—Valencia gave me an envelope right before we dipped outta her place."
"Okay," Iggy said levelly. "And…"
"I haven't opened it yet." I pulled the screen door pen and stepped into the kitchen, crossing to where I'd tossed my jacket the night before.
"Gotta be money, right?" Iggy said, jumping to sit on the counter across from me. "I bet a thousand at least."
I ignored him and carefully tore the envelope open, sliding the contents into my hand.
"Oh, definitely money," Iggy said, sniffing the air. "I can smell it."
The first thing that caught my eye, though, was a piece of notebook paper folded neatly in half with Dr. Martinez's neat handwriting.
Max,
If you're reading this, it means that more bad things have come your way. For that I am so sorry.
I've never felt truly able to help you, but when I caught Ella with a fake ID, I realized it might be something you could benefit from (much more than my sixteen-year-old daughter would). It's not a solution, but it's something.
Take them. Take the money. And do whatever you have to do.
I'm always here to help.
Love,
Valencia
Fang was reading over my shoulder quietly to Iggy. I dodged the wave of emotions threatening to positively flatten me and swallowed thickly, shuffling through the very legitimate looking identification cards in my hands.
"Alexandra Anderson, Lucas Romano, Thomas O'Malley. Romano?" Fang said with a look of mild distaste.
"You're telling me," Iggy said, brows furrowed. "O'Malley? God, what is this, the Potato Blight?"
"You're trying to tell me you don't think you're Italian?" I said to Fang. "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"
"I always thought Greek," he admitted with a shrug.
I stared at him flatly. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to change this for you? What would you prefer? Stavros?"
Iggy snickered.
"Cool it, O'Malley," Fang snapped.
"What do you think happened to them?" I asked.
Fang gave me a look like, Don't start this shit again.
I glared at him. "I'm serious. What do you think happened?"
"Well," Iggy said, reaching for the fruit basket and pulling out the ripest apple with positively unbelievable accuracy, "I guess it depends where you fall on the optimist/pessimist continuum."
"I'll give you one guess."
"Best case scenario, the FBI asks them a few questions, they play dumb, the end. Worst case scenario, it wasn't the FBI at all and they're in a torture chamber somewhere." I grimaced. "Somewhere in the middle there are about a trillion different options."
"Even if the feds have proof that they know us, that doesn't put them in jail," Fang pointed out. "Valencia's not an idiot, I'm sure she can make up a story. Wouldn't be shocked if she already has one at this point."
"I don't know," I said uneasily. Terrible images were flashing through my mind's eye. I tried to shut them down. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it.
"If it makes you feel any better, I think they were legit FBI," Iggy said. He took a huge bite of his apple and chewed it noisily.
It did make me feel better. Because Iggy was even more cynical than I was, and we all know that that's really saying something.
Fang bobbed his head noncommittally from side to side. "What makes you say that?"
"Dunno," Iggy said around a mouthful of apple. "Tough to explain. The smell, the air around them, the way they moved." He squinted his sightless eyes as if searching for something behind them. "The Vector guys all reeked. Bad people just have this… vibe about them, I guess."
"So you're telling me you trust these federal agents because they 'passed the vibe check,'" I said flatly.
Iggy threw his apple core at me. I dodged just in time. "No, nimrod," he said. "Like I said—I don't know how to explain it. I mean—hey. Just because I feel this way doesn't mean I'm right. I can't read minds. It's just a hunch."
As much as I wanted to, I couldn't believe him. No matter how hard I tried, I would always favor Murphy's Law. For years, it was a defense mechanism.
Now it was just my reality.
A couple of hours later found me cross-legged on Nudge's bed playing a very nonproductive game of Bring It or Fling It, in which we were deciding what of Nudge's mountain of personal effects would be making the trip with us. I'd been certain she'd want nothing to do with me for the foreseeable future, but she'd invited me in, and I wasn't about to say no.
We'd moved on from her cosmetics, all of which I'd flung (although she'd kept a few anyway), and were now going through a mountain of clothes. She was on the floor next to her open bureau.
"Okay, so let's keep in mind that whatever you want—essentials—have got to fit in that bag," I said, pointing at the massive backpack propped against her closet door. "Plus, you'll have to haul some of the stuff for the group. Maybe some canned food or water bottles or something."
She sighed. "How on earth am I supposed to do that?"
"Maybe ask Gazzy if you can rent out some of his pack space," I said, only half-kidding.
"You know he'll do something stupid," she said, casting aside a frilly blouse into the fling pile. "Like charge me by the mile or something."
I laughed and put my hands up innocently. "Hey, don't look at me. I don't have a dog in this fight. You've all already made it pretty clear that I'm not the boss anymore."
Nudge snorted. "Please. You'll always be the boss."
"What, you think this isn't a group effort?"
Nudged shook her head, casting a pair of jeans into the bring pile. "Yeah, we all want a say. Now that we're older, we all get a say. But I certainly don't want to be the matriarch. Deciding next moves, providing for us, keeping us safe, paying bills?" She scrunched her nose up and stuck her tongue out. "Yeah. Miss me with that."
"Miss you with that?" I parroted. "What, is that something the kids are saying nowadays?"
"I swear," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "You, Fang, and Iggy are like dinosaurs."
"Watch it. I'm not extinct yet."
She looked down into her lap and fiddled with the pair of socks she'd been folding. "Sorry for flipping out earlier."
"Eh," I said, waving vaguely. "You were right."
"No, I wasn't," she snapped irritably. "Don't just say that to make me happy."
"It does suck. It isn't fair. It feels like all my fault, for sure." I felt myself wilt a little and tried to hide my self-pity. "But we can't risk anyone being found. And if I were to try to do this on my own, I'd be a goner anyway."
"You'd be fine."
"Don't just say that to make me happy," I parroted. She stuck her tongue out at me and I smiled. "Hey—you saw Iggy beat my ass today."
"Yeah right. He got lucky."
I chuckled and threw a pillow at her. "C'mon. Keep going."
Nudge pulled open the next drawer and pulled out an unfolded clump of assorted athletic wear. She pulled up a shirt that seemed to be half missing.
"Fling."
"Why?"
"Why? Have you forgotten we're going to New England in November? Where's the other half?"
"It's a crop top," Nudge said exaggeratedly.
"What, are you gonna distract the bad guys with your belly button?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm kinda hot. I think."
I actually slapped my palm against my face. "We're trying to not draw attention. Also—who on earth is exercising in that?"
"It's called athleisure, Max."
"It's called insensible."
"It's called fashion."
I opened my mouth, prepared to ask her if she was planning on packing stilettos, when I closed it again. In reality, what did it matter what she wore?
"Bring, if it means that much to you," I conceded.
She laughed and tossed it into her fling pile. "Are you joking? I haven't lost all ties to reality. I just like pushing your buttons."
She grinned devilishly and pulled out a lacy strip of red, shiny fabric from her underwear drawer. Without breaking eye contact, she dropped it into her bring pile.
"Should I bring the matching bra?"