Title: Letters from the Sky

Author: WhyIsARavenLikeAWritingDesk

Fandom: I Am Number Four, 2011

Characters: Henri, John, Sarah, Sam, Number Six, Mark/OC

Rating: T – M

Disclaimer: I do not own I Am Number Four. Everything belongs to their respective owners.

Summary: On Lorien, one is never whole unless both sides of the coin are accounted for. On Earth, one is just never whole. The Number Fours will change that.

It all fell to pieces two weeks later. I had been putting up with Mark almost constantly. Not face to face; he seemed to think that was a no-no. I couldn't say I blamed him, and most of the school didn't either. Everyone but Sarah and Sam thought I was off the deep end and still going. I didn't understand why they didn't get it. I didn't like bullies, plain and simple. It wasn't against Mark personally, well I mean it was, but that wasn't the point!

Anyway, it all fell to pieces, that's the actual point. Remember how Sarah told me that our History teacher likes to watch student drama unfold? Yeah, this is all her fault. Apparently not only does she like to watch student drama unfold, she likes to meddle in it. That's how I ended up in that situation. Not by fate. Not some twisted line of events. Just one teacher meddling in student's lives more than she should have. That's the only possible reason I could have ended up with Mark James as a research partner.

So there it is. The event that brought about everything that followed. That one stupid, stupid event. Mark James? Oh, he couldn't have been happier. Not that he showed it or anything. But I knew. So we were partnered up and given World War II France as a research project. Simple enough. Then Mrs. Thompson started to throw in rules. Rule 1: We could not have help from any parents. Rule 2: We could not use just the internet; we had to use books as well. Rule 3: Our research projects were not to be done at school.

Which means I would have to spend time with Mark James outside of school.

Now to most of you reading this (who I do believe are female), this may not sound so bad. I have to spend time with an admittedly attractive high school quarterback away from school. Probably at his house (there is no way I'm taking him to meet Henri. Not even the worst bully deserves to be interrogated by my father-figure.). To me? To me this is the worst possible thing that could happen. I don't want to spend time with Mark James. Yes, he's cute. Yes, he makes my insides tingle. But he's a flipping bully! But I didn't have a choice. I had to do it.

So this brings us to where we are now. Everybody caught up? Good.

I sat in Mark's passenger seat. I wasn't very happy and I was going to leave as soon as I could. I'd even fake ill if I had to. He was silent next to me and his hands were wrapped so tightly around the wheel that his knuckles were going white. His silhouette was outlined by the window on the other side of him. His eyes were really pretty. I shook my head and reminded myself of whom I was thinking about. But his tee shirt did fit him really well.

Stop it, self, I thought.

I looked around when Mark slowed down and turned into a long gravel driveway. On the other end, behind a group of trees, there was a white two-story house with columns along the porch. There was a county cop car parked in the driveway. Mark pulled up beside it and parked. He got out and I slowly followed. He walked up to the porch then turned around to make sure I was still there; I guess that's what he was doing, anyway.

"What?" I asked.

It was the first word I had spoken to him in two weeks.

"Uh, nothing."

He turned and climbed the steps. He actually held the door for me, which was kind of strange, but not as bully-ish, I guess. He came in after me and closed the door, leaving him pressed pretty close to my back, close enough that I could feel him breath. He slid around me and took a few steps into the house.

"We can work in the kitchen," he said quietly.

I nodded and followed after him. His house was nice, well kept, and the kitchen was a simple country style with a breakfast nook that Mark was now spreading his history notebook over. And there was a very large cop in the kitchen. He was both tall and wide with thinning blonde hair and the same blue eyes as Mark. I assumed that this was his father. He looked me over as well, but I couldn't help but feel creeped out.

"Dad," Mark said. "This is Ava Smith. Her family's new to town and Mrs. Thompson made us project partners."

"Nice to meet you, Ava," he said. "My name's Robert."

"Nice to meet you two, sir," I said quietly.

"I'm going to go upstairs and get my laptop," Mark said as he jogged up the stairs that lead off the kitchen.

That left me alone with Sheriff James. I crossed the kitchen in front of him and sat down in the nook and began to pull my own things out.

"So you're a Smith, huh? You're the family that just moved into the old Jensen house on the hill?" the sheriff asked.

"Yes, sir. Two weeks ago."

"Well I haven't been called out there, so I guess all is well?"

"Yes, sir. My brother and I are getting settled in. We rather like it here."

By this time I was wondering what the hell was taking Mark so long to pick up a computer and come back down the stairs.

"And your parents?"

"It's just our father, and he never settles in; he likes moving."

"I see. Do you know how long you'll be here?"

This guy was awful nosey, but Mark finally did something helpful and came back down the stairs, keeping me from answering his father's question. I pretended to be distracted by Mark's reentrance, and he saved me even further my turning to his dad and asking,

"What are you doing home so early, Dad?"

"I stopped by to grab my boots. Mary Retthon's grey mare jumped the fence again and she called in looking for help trying to find it. I volunteered; I didn't have anything better to do today."

"Okay. Well, be careful. Mom's going to be really mad if you break a foot again."

"Will do, son. See you at dinner."

He nodded to me and I waved back and he finally left the kitchen. I didn't speak until I heard the cruiser door close and the crunch of the gravel.

"Is your dad always so nosy?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Mark said, a bit of wonder in his eyes. It was almost if he was excited that I was talking to him.

"He wanted to know how long my family was going to be in town."

"Dad's just curious. He's always like that."

"No offence, but that was a little too creepy to be 'just curious'," I said.

There was a bit of an awkward silence and then I said,

"Okay, where do you want to start?"

"How about with the beginning of the war?"

"Sounds good."