A/N: This is basically just a massive braindump. Feel free to ignore it if it makes no sense. (I actually fully expect it to make no sense. ) It's dark, somewhat morbid, and completely OOC, because this is what happens when you leave me alone with a computer. (And, yes, I do realize that this is the second angsty Iggy fic I've submitted. In a row. God help me.)

Post-FANG, pre-ANGEL. One-sided Max/Iggy depressing stuff.

One day, I swear I'll write something happy and fluffy with rainbow unicorns.

Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride.

It's like stabbing yourself over and over and seeing the blood everywhere and you can't stop because it hurts and that's exactly what you want.

It's like cutting off your own wings.

It's like when you said, "I'm trying to save you," and I realized I didn't want to be saved.

The hardest lesson I've ever learned is that I can't make you love me.

Because believe me, I tried. I'm still trying.

He's gone, Max. He's not coming back. Not for twenty years, anyways- and let's face it, twenty years is a long time. Longer than we've been alive. Did you forget the expiration dates, Max? Did you forget that we might not be alive twenty years from today?

Or do you just not care?

So let me make you a promise, Max, Fang, both of you. Twenty fucking years from today, if you two aren't six feet under, I'll kill you guys myself.

Trust me, you'll thank me later.

You're already dead without him.

So let me open those eyes of yours, Max, and tell you that living a little isn't illegal. That your heart is still there. Still beating. He stole nothing from you. Except maybe your trust. Maybe your sanity, too, because you're not looking so good right now, mental-health-wise.

So why don't you just open your eyes and see, because God knows I can't do it myself.

Do it for me, Max.

Not that you care.

Do I count as dead if I'm tired of living?

"Come on, Max. Get up. You have to get up."

I can feel you staring at me. And then you reach out and grab my hand and hold on like I'm your lifeline and I can feel his ring on your finger. "I miss him," you whisper, and your voice is choked with tears and hoarse from disuse and I feel angry, so fucking angry, because you've let him do this to you.

But I lie and say, "I know, Max. I miss him too."

I held on to you all night.

Maybe if you had held on, too.

The only thing that hurts more than watching- so to speak- the two of you together is knowing that I love you with everything I have and apparently everything I have isn't good enough.

You know, I agree with Nudge, when you told her that her socks didn't match. I mean, Nudge, the fashion princess, the fashion queen. Shocking. But I remember she said that life is too short to worry about matching socks.

Matching socks. Matching pair.

I think I hate you more than I love you but that might not be possible.

I haven't been in love with you all my life, you know.

Or maybe I have, and I just haven't known about it all my life. But anyways. Not the point.

Okay, so the moment I realized I was in love with you, or maybe the moment I fell in love with you, was when we were standing there on the sidewalk and the alarm was blaring- which was hell, by the way, because my hearing is way better than yours- and I wanted to stay there.

Even back then, I wanted to let go of this. To let go of you.

(It seems like a long time ago, doesn't it? Half of forever, at least.)

Do you remember what you said, Max? You said, "I need you. I love you. I need all of you…"

And I couldn't help but notice that you didn't say you loved them, too. (Even though I knew you did, and I know it now. I'm not stupid.) Still. Just me.

I knew you didn't mean it that way.

And I know it now.

It's like when you told me "It's okay, it's going to be okay," and it wasn't.

It's like trying to empty the ocean with a spoon.

It's like looking for the key to your heart.

I guess I'm blind in more ways than one.

It's like when we prayed and no one ever answered.

There's this nursery rhyme- well, I think it's a nursery rhyme. Heard Anne say it to Angel back in Virginia.

Remember Anne, Max? Of course you do. Tried to take your place and then turned out to be the god-fucking-damn Director of Itex. Or maybe it wasn't Itex. Because I was kind of gone, you know, with my parents who shouldn't have been my parents and the usual blackness behind my eyelids.

Anyways.

So it goes something like this;

one crow sorrow

two crows joy

three crows a wedding

four crows a boy

five crows silver

six crows gold

seven crows a secret

that has never been told

I know you have secrets, Max. Hell, we all do. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

"I'm worried about you. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say."

Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.

But no one ever denies the fact that one day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a million years, the world will end. It will happen. And all the king's horses and all the king's men can't do a fucking thing about it. If everyone in the past, present, and future dedicate their entire lives to fixing the world- everyone who ever was or will be- it won't stop it from, some day, coming to an end. So what you're doing, Maximum, is just prolonging the inevitable.

Fire or ice.

Pick your poison.

So tell me; are you building something permanent, or just burning all your bridges? Nothing is permanent, after all, and you'd think that one of us would've picked up on that by now. You can tell me anything, you know. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

Not that either of us are dead yet.

Not that it matters anyways.

This is called karma. This is called divine intervention.

I kept the weird-as-hell birthday present you gave me. I'm blind, Max. Like I actually give a damn about a tattoo. But I kept it. Because as weird as it sounds, it's a little piece of you.

All I have are little pieces of you.

This is just one big fucked-up game of let's pretend.

By the way; "everything good must come to an end."

Which means that everything bad must drag on and on and on.

"What if he never comes back, Iggy? What then?"

Well, then I'll live through the rest of my bird-kid life writing poetry about the rainbows and butterflies that I can't see and the happiness that I can't find.

"I'm okay, Iggy. Really."

You're treating me like I'm one of the kids. Blind doesn't equal stupid, Max.

I'm not stupid, but I'm starting to think that you are. Because I've always made you laugh, Max. I've always done my best to make you feel better, and believe it or not, I have. All the time. And what have you done with him? Fought, argued, kissed. Smiled.

I hate him because he can see you smile and I can't.

"I'm Maximum Ride. I can survive anything."

Of course you can, Max.

"He's an idiotic selfish freak and I'm done with him."

But what you're really saying is, I'm still in love with him. I can hear it, even if you can't.

Sticks and stones may break my bones…

I smile and make a few jokes and you smack me upside the head but I think you almost laugh.

"Are you okay? You've been acting kind of weird."

Oh, really? So glad you picked up on that, Maxie. Took you long enough.

Lie number two. I say; "I'm fine."

"No you're not. Tell me what's wrong."

You are what's wrong, Max. You and Fang and your wonderful Romeo and Juliet star-crossed love story. I get that you're trying to hold yourself together, okay? I understand. I'm trying to do the same.

But damn it, Max, you're making it so hard.

"Is it because Fang left? He'll come back, Iggy."

I don't give a flying fuck about Fang.

But you sound like you need convincing. You sound like you want to believe your words. And so I can either tell you the truth and break your heart or tell you a lie and break mine. Lesser, greater, whateverthehell of two evils.

Fang would tell you the truth.

I'm not Fang.

"I'm sure he will."

The words I can't find: I love you.

The words you can't say: I know.

A/N: Review, please.