This is rough. This is un-beta'd. This is barely edited. I just wanted to write Iggy so badly, between amazing oneshots from Help Me I'm Shipping and research I'm doing for my next chapter story. And it's firework season, and this little oneshot was a wisp of an idea a year ago. I didn't want another fourth to pass it by. Even though it's like 20 minutes into the fifth where I am.

'Murica.

EDIT 2015-07-12: I came back to reread this and thought, "Man, I can do so much better." So I did.

The sun was setting behind them, blistering hot against Iggy's neck, making him sweat like crazy. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the soft fabric of his t-shirt slip across his feathers and resettle lightly around his hips. It was his favorite shirt, some dri-fit thing with cool, lightweight fabric and a makeshift tag that Ella'd sewn in by hand for him, so he always knew he had the shirt on the right way.

Who the hell thought getting rid of tags in shirts was a good idea, anyway?

"I don't think I've ever wanted a hamburger so bad." Ella's voice was soft beside him, low and musical, flooded with laughter. Iggy breathed deep, letting the grungy scent of the charcoal grills flood his nostrils and mix with the coconut-sun smell of Ella's sunscreen. The whiff of smoke was musty and meaty and it made his mouth water so hard that his jaw was cramping. Ella laughed again and tugged away with a promise to return, and before Iggy could dig a bill out of his wallet, her beat-up sneakers carried her away on the crunchy grass.

He allowed himself another breath, running his fingers across the worn-smooth leather of his billfold and sliding it back down into the rough back pocket of his blue jeans. Everything was fine, he told himself. He heard the scrape of a match and the bright sizzle of sparklers a few yards away. The delighted squeal of a couple of kids, and the terse warning from their mother to watch the sparklers around the baby. A canned hiss and then a mouthful of bug spray made his face twist in disgust. He turned away, coughing, only to startle when somebody's kid ran right into his legs, arms flailing against his shins and a little voice grunting in surprise. The kid ran off and Iggy turned carefully back around, kicking at nothing and then reaching down to find the little drink cooler they'd lugged out onto the lawn, making sure he hadn't drifted too far.

Maybe Ella thought she was being cute, or modern, not even giving Iggy the option to pay, but it was one of the few ways he felt like he could take care of her, instead of the other way around. Still, everything was fine. They were here, Ella found parking relatively close to the park, and they'd staked a claim on what Ella described as a "fan-fucking-tastic firework watching spot." And his careful planning, as far as he knew, was already set into motion. Gazzy had confirmed it for him twice already that morning, and once after lunch.

Still, with one hand already subconsciously tracing the shape of the object in his front pocket, he was seized with a flash of uncertainty. He needed to check again. He pulled out his beat-up flip phone, fingers on the T9 keyboard, and speed-dialed Gazzy. The phone rang once, twice, three times, while his heart thumped hard in his chest.

He made himself squat, surrounded by the sharp tang of crushed grass over top the earthy musk of wet dirt, feeling with his free hand for the soft quilt Ella had spread out for him. It was cooler than the muggy air, already damp from the wet grass, but that was okay. The only reason the county had allowed fireworks at all this year, in the middle of such bad droughts, was because it had rained all morning long. Enough to wash the dry dirt from the roots of the grass, Ella said, but it was enough. Enough that he didn't have to freak out that he didn't have a backup plan.

Why the heck hadn't he come up with a backup plan?

Gazzy picked up. He didn't waste his breath on a 'hello.' "Iggy, seriously-"

"Gazzer, it's important. Humor me. Please." Iggy scooted himself to one end of the blanket, tugging his shoes off his sweaty feet. The heat from inside was worse than the sticky humidity in the park. Iggy wiped the mud from his hands onto his denim shorts as he crossed his legs under him. The thing in his pocket pressed sharply into his thigh.

Gazzy sighed, long and drawn out, with an exasperated groan thrown in for good measure. "I am literally standing next to $10,000 of mortar and various explosive paraphernalia and - yes, yours is right in front of me, third row from the front - and I'm doing the last pre-show check. Yours are set for five minutes in, with another solid twenty five minutes of utterly glorious patriotism during which Ella will jump you and-"

"Thanks, gotta go." Iggy flipped his phone shut as soon as he heard Ella's shoes carrying her back, the soft slip of her thighs brushing together as she wandered back towards him. He felt a wave of embarrassed heat wash over him and he hoped it was dark enough already that Ella wouldn't see the way the tips of his ears went red.

"Whossat?" Ella asked, dropping next to him with a huff, smelling like coconuts and sun. She took a second to situate herself, the blanket tugging underneath his thighs as she pulled off her own shoes, and then she was leaning against his arm, warm and soft and pressing a hot pillow of aluminum and steam into his lap while her head flopped against his shoulder.

"Just Gazzer," Iggy mumbled, carefully finding the edge of the wrapping and picking it slowly away, steam dampening his fingers. Probably making them flush red at the tips. Like his ears. "He wanted to make sure we had decent seats for the show. Since he worked so hard on it this year. You know how he gets..." He cut off his nervous rambling, clamping his tongue between his molars and flattening the foil wrapper across his thigh. He felt the spongy give of the hamburger bun under his fingers and swiped one hand on his jeans, trying to get rid of some of the slick-smooth sesame seeds sticking to his skin. There was one stuck right in the middle of his palm, right in the crease, and he brought his hand to his face so he could scrape it off with his teeth. He hated having crap stuck to his hands.

Ella sat up and his arm felt cool and naked without her against it. "Did you tell him I found the best spot?" she asked, and he felt the crunch of napkin paper pressed into his palm.

"The best," he assured her, fumbling with the napkins. He kept hold of one, crushing it into his palm so he could hold it and the burger. He paused, mouth open for a bite, and sniffed carefully. Just because he couldn't smell it... "Cheese?" he asked warily.

The blanket tugged and the grass rustled as Ella twisted to face him. "'Course not. I know you wouldn't eat it that way," she mumbled, sounding hurt. She was quiet for an unnerving minute, silent but for the crinkle of her hamburger wrapping. The blanket tugged under his thigh again.

Iggy chewed around a mouthful of the burger she bought for him, spicy onions and grill-blackened beef and no disgusting squishy cheese. Just the way he preferred it.

Ice cream, maybe. Yeah. He could buy her ice cream, after, assuming she hadn't run away screaming. It was probably just as expensive as the burgers. They'd be even, at least. And she loved the Oreo ice cream sandwiches, the ones with the cookies and cream ice cream inside. They probably had those at the tiki hut concession thing, right? Any self-respecting ice cream selling person had to-

"You're grumpy. Is this because I didn't let you pay?"

"No," Iggy answered quickly. Too quickly, he knew, and swallowed thickly, pushing the foil wrapping back over his hamburger and placing it carefully next to his knee. His anxiety wasn't just about the paying, not by a long shot, but it didn't exactly boost his confidence, either. He felt next to him for Ella, wrapping his hand around her arm and tugging her close. "Yes," he admitted, turning his body towards hers and pulling her back against his chest. "A little. You know my deal."

She huffed through her nose but helped him resituate her, scooting her butt over his legs to sit in the well of his lap, pulling his arms around her and clasping her hands with his across her stomach. "I know. It's just, I have a job, too, you know? You buy all our normal groceries, you pay the electric, you do most of the cooking." Her face turned into him, her warm cheek pressing against his chest. Her cool breath tickled his chin as she craned her face up to him. "I like to give back."

"You do," Iggy replied, lowering his head until his chin hit hers and then angling for her honey-balm lips. It was the only lip balm she ever wore anymore, after he told her once it was his favorite. It kept her lips so insanely soft, he wanted to touch them all the time. Sometimes, he did, and feeling her lips curl up in that just-so smile, right under his thumbs, was probably the best thing in the world. He moved to the corner of her mouth and mumbled, "You always give back."

Ella giggled and shifted to press one more kiss to his chin before straightening and turning back around. She leaned forward, tugging his arms with her, before falling back against him, elbows jostling. He heard the papery rip of the foil around her burger, felt her deep sigh as she bit into it. "So good," she said through her mouthful, and Iggy let go of her to find his dinner. He patted around the edge of the blanket, crisp grass scratching against his skin. His fingers found his burger, half-wrapped and sitting against one of his muddy shoes.

They ate together, Iggy's chin on Ella's shoulder, his lips occasionally on her neck, making her giggle. The softly-angled cube was still pressing into Iggy's thigh, making it hard to swallow. He tried to focus on the rest of the park to clear his head.

There was enough of a wind that a nearby tree was shivering, leaves shifting and rustling wetly together some fifteen feet overhead. There was the rubbery slap of kid shoes on the paved sidewalk, like a herd of preschoolers, and a stuck wheel on a baby stroller or rolling cooler or something, dragging and scraping across the cement sidewalk. Somebody further out had the local country station playing on a radio, probably the kind with an actual spinning dial that was just a hair off the right frequency, so all the singers sounded like chain smokers in a thunderstorm.

Ella shifted in his lap, prying his trash from his fingers and leaning forward. The plastic bag she'd brought for trash rustled and then she was sliding off of him, tugging him across the blanket on hands and knees. Her small hands pushed against his shoulders until he was lying down and she stretched herself out next to him. She pushed her fingers through his, wedging a sesame seed between his pointer and middle fingers, but he didn't even care. He bent his knees restlessly, tugging on her hand and letting his head fall to the side. His nose was in her hair, thick and glossy and smelling of citrus and fruit and soapy cleanness.

Ella whispered excitedly, "It's going to start."

He felt a frantic flutter in his stomach, registered the little black box digging insistently against his thigh between them, and pressed his nose further into her hair, finding her scalp. "How do you know?"

Ella giggled, light and earthy. It reminded him of the expensive kind of wind chimes with the massive pipes as big around as your wrist. He smiled into her hair.

"Because it's finally really dark. You can feel that the sun's gone, can't you?" She turned to face him, smiling against his cheek before pecking him on the lips and turning to face the sky again. He hoped she didn't notice the way he pulled his hips away from her, keeping her from feeling the bulge of the box in his pocket. "Maybe you can't," she continued. "It's so disgustingly hot out here. I want to lay on you so bad, and I just can't." Her head thrashed to the side, tugging her hair from under his cheek, and then she was laughing against his face, hamburger and honey-balm and another wave of the scent of her shampoo. "You'll have to settle for my hand. Poor Bird Boy."

"I love your hand," Iggy said, immediately embarrassed. What an idiot thing to say. I love your hand? Really? And well, maybe it was true, but it sounded like something Max would punch him for without the explanation to go with it. Without explaining how it kept him grounded, how the press of her palm against his made him feel safe in a way just listening never had, how the delicate lines of her fingers made him feel stronger than any flight or any fight or any amount of weight lifting at the gym.

But Ella smiled, he could hear it in her chirpy sigh, and she smacked her lips against his before squealing and turning away, fingers tightening almost painfully between his. "It's starting!"

He felt unnaturally hot again and forced himself to relax, straightening his legs and then wriggling over so he could bother Ella's foot with his. She hooked the smooth arch of her foot around the top of his and rubbed her thumb firmly across his hand, bumping shoulders, and he heard her smile again. He could do this. He'd been planning this for ages. At least two months, waiting for the holiday. He was really going to do this.

The staticky country radio crackled for a moment and then 'God Bless America' came on, some hokey rendition with too much banjo, and Iggy figured he had about three minutes until... well, until. Gazzy had programmed a cue into the show for him, so he'd hear right before his special set was going to go off. It would give him a few seconds to shove his hand into his pocket and roll up onto one knee.

A reverent hush fell over the park, even the squealing kids mostly silent, and then the night filled with whistles and pops and teeth-rattling booms, and the gasps from the spectators beneath it all. Iggy felt the hot press of Ella's palm and waited for the acrid smell of ash and gunpowder to descend on them, comforting and familiar. He tried to breathe evenly, tried to keep the knot of his hamburger down. Before he was ready, the cue went off, five explosions in a quick volley that made Ella gasp next to him and squeeze his hand.

He tugged away from her grip, rolling away slightly and shoving his hand down his front pocket. His shaking fingers groped the velvet box. His sweaty fist stuck inside his pocket and he rocked over on one hip, face pressed against the damp cotton quilt, trying to make enough room to pull the box out.

Ella's soft fingers brushed his arm, making him flinch. "You okay, Ig?"

Iggy froze, box hidden in his clenched palm. "Uh... My phone buzzed. It's fine. Keep watching, you don't want to miss anything good."

He felt Ella resettle next to him with a hum and pulled the box out with a scrape of his knuckles against his pocket hem. His long fingers gripped the box protectively. He took quick, shallow breaths, his heart pounding like a freaking jackrabbit in his chest. Any second now. Any second.

Ella let out a soft little gasp, something delighted and surprised.

And then she was quiet.

Iggy could hear the pyrotechnics going off, just like they were supposed to. The timing was just right. That was the 'E,' and the blue beehive, and the first 'L' with the green chrysanthemum behind it. The second 'L,' followed by a red dahlia, and then the 'A' with a golden brocade, her favorite.

"Iggy, what," she whispered, sounding choked. "Did you know about this...?" He heard her hand patting the quilt between them, reaching for him. Only another second and she'd see that he was wasn't lying next to her, but was balancing on one knee, trying not to hyperventilate.

There was the intense crackle of the peony with the red pistil, and an earth-rocking volley as W-I-L-L-Y-O-U-? spread across the sky in blue and white. Ella gasped and he heard her shuffle, felt the blanket shift, hoped to God that she was still in front of him, that he was actually facing her directly, that he wouldn't screw this up.

Someone a few yards away noticed them and squealed, getting someone else's attention. Iggy felt his ears burn. A bead of sweat trailed between his wings, tickling and making his back clench.

"El-Ella?" he started. His Adam's apple bobbled.

"Yes," she whispered. She was right in front of him. Kneeling, too, and then her hands were on his knee. Iggy knew right then that this was the most terrifying thing he'd ever, ever, ever attempted to do.

"Marry me?"

And he had a moment of pure mortification because he was still fumbling with the unopened box, and her hands pulled away, and he'd written an entire speech about how she was the most amazing, sweetest, loveliest, beautiful person he'd ever known and he'd just ruined it by jumping ahead to the last line.

But she pressed her small, smooth hands against his face, making him flinch, and he heard her smile again. She laughed, freely, deep and musical. "Iggy, I said yes."

She pulled the velvet box from his hand and somebody across the park lawn whooped. And under the gunpowder salute, under the crackling and ash, her arms surrounded him and her face pressed to his. He tasted the honey-balm on her lips, and the honey-balm tasted infinite.

Author's Note:

Since I don't know when I'll have something new to post again, let me tell you about another new thing! Lustrex and I are teaming up to do some rewrites and lost chapters and such for Maximum Ride: Forever. You can find us jointly as Lus-n-RoxTakeTheWorld, or look up the actual story, MRF: The Gritty Reboot Project, which went live like two seconds ago. Lustrex and I will both be writing chapters, so if you enjoy my writing or hers or both, or just want to see something constructive happen with 'Forever,' check it out and follow!