I probably shouldn't start a new story when I still have one that isn't finished, nor will be for a while now, but this was a cute idea I came up with yonks ago and felt like a fluffy Fax story.

This is stolen off Parent Trap - it seems these days I can't commit to something that is originally mine, sigh - but I've structured it differently to keep the Fax in there. As a result, this will flip back and forth between present and past, just to keep that Fax in there.

I hope you're all doing well and I'm sorry for being MIA. Being an adult is hard. And not fun at all.

Disclaimer: All characters, plots and familiar content are copyright of their respective owners and any reproduced content is only used for creative purposes.

New York, 1998

Fang sighed as he yanked his tie down and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt. Another day, another interview. And unfortunately, he didn't feel good about this one.

In fact, he didn't feel good about any of them. All twenty of them.

He had lost the enthusiasm and energy to care long ago, not that he was naturally an enthusiastic person in the first place, but there was some in the beginning. Back when he was a fresh graduate and was dreaming of being the owner of a multi-million dollar company (say, something like Google), or at least producing cool, trendy webpages in a cool, trendy underrated company (there weren't as many as he had imagined).

Now, he was just trying to find a job to replace the already shit job he had. Although he had hoped that his career as a barista would only be a college thing.

You've barely been out of college a year.

His mom's words echoed in his head, which the rational part of his brain couldn't deny.

Give it some time.

He shook his head and smiled faintly. How was it that his parents could be so optimistic, while he was so…not?

He tucked his coat around his torso tighter and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, trying to lock all of the cold wind out. He contemplated briefly of calling for a cab, but decided against it. Money was a little tight, plus he could do with the walk to clear his head. He had another job interview tomorrow.

So caught up in his thoughts—did he really want to work in social media?—that he didn't notice the mass of brown-blonde curls until he was knocked back with a mouth full of hair. He immediately opened his mouth and stepped away from the warm body currently cursing to herself.

"So many fucking people in this city," she muttered to herself. She dusted herself off before looking at him and giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, some jerk didn't move out of way and pushed me into you."

"I'm alright," he shrugged. He watched her as she picked her phone up from the ground and wiping it against her tan coat.

She was tall—not as tall as him—appeared lean and dressed in dark blue jeans, a long tan coat, black boots, and a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck. Her hair was wavy, appeared mostly brown, but there were blonde natural highlights throughout her hair, which suggested she wasn't originally from New York. Perhaps, west? Definitely somewhere sunny.

"It's unnecessarily cold here, isn't it?" She asked, unwrapping and rewrapping her scarf around her neck and face. She pocketed her phone and crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her arms.

Fang shrugged. "Sometimes."

She gave him an amused look. "Don't talk much do you?"

He shrugged again, which made her smile grow larger. "Not particularly."

She shuffled from one side to the other and Fang had the sudden urge to keep her there, to keep her talking to him.

"Not from here?" He asked.

She smiled again and shook her head.

"Nope," she answered, popping the 'p'. "I'm from the west. We barely have winter were I'm from. You've always been here?"

Fang nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm Max." She held out her hand.

Fang shook it slowly. Max suited her. "Fang."

"Fang?" She asked, almost laughing. "Now that's a story I have to hear."

*.*.*.*.*

Max closed her eyes blissfully and breathed in the hot steam of her coffee. Her hands were cupped around her mug, trying to steal as much heat, but at the same time wanting her coffee to last.

"So when do you hear back from them?" She asked, taking a small sip.

Fang leaned back against the cushioned booth. "Thursday."

"And how do you feel about it?" She asked.

Fang shrugged and she rolled her eyes. His lips quirked up briefly in an amused smile. She had been trying to get bigger responses from him, and she was successful for the most part. It was fun to spite her sometimes.

"Good," he answered slowly. And he really did. He and the interviewer got on really well the first round and the rest of the panel seemed to like him during his second round interviews.

Max gave him a warm smile. "So do I."

*.*.*.*.*

He ended up getting the job, and although it would be a while before they trusted him enough with more than just little maintenance jobs, he had a good feeling about it.

Two months after that—and eight months after they first met—they moved in together. It was fast, too fast (no one told them explicitly, but they could tell everyone was thinking it), but it felt right. Their relationship however, wasn't perfect.

They made each other crazy. They fought about everything and anything.

Yet, they were crazy about each other.

"You're so fucking frustrating!" Max yelled at him, throwing her hands up in the air.

"I'm the frustrating one?" Fang countered, pointing at his own chest.

"Yes!" She yelled back, pointing at him. "You! You are!"

Max spun on her heel and began to walk towards the front door, but Fang wasn't letting her have any of it. "Max, I get that your job can be frustrating at times, but that doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

Max growled, shaking her head furiously. She didn't respond but instead began to mutter under her breath. "Stupid, fucking, dick of a boyfriend—"

"I don't even know why you're even yelling at me," Fang continued, determined to make sure Max was hearing him. He stalked after her, each step sounding loud in their cosy apartment. "Your boss is a dick. I get it."

"—big-headed idiot, can't even cook—"

"Either can you!" Fang countered, but she wasn't acknowledging him.

As much as Max loved her job, being a reporter wasn't always all sunshines and rainbows. She was often stuck with the small, insignificant stories, despite being an outstanding writer in college and working there since her college days as an intern.

"—thinks he's always right—"

She was cut off when she was faced with their front door. She never had planned on walking out, but now she was stuck. She felt the heat of Fang's chest before she felt the press of his body against her own.

She gulped the tried to breathe regularly, and she no longer cared about whatever stupid thing they were fighting about. Fang always had a way of making her feel frustrated—in all senses of the word.

He turned her slowly, and she stepped back against the cool wood of their door, with him stepping with her.

She felt all of him now, and had only one thing on her mind. But by the look Fang was giving her, he was thinking the same thing.

He leaned forward, but she met him halfway in a collision of passion and frustration. It was full of teeth, tongue, and lips and his hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, and groping.

Her feet were starting to feel the strain of standing on her toes in an attempt to get closer to him, but he seemed to know her thoughts and grabbed the backs of both her thighs and hoisting her up, wrapping her legs around him and pressing her into the hard wood.

"God Max—" he breathed in between kisses, "—you make me crazy—frustra—frustrating—"

"You're the frustrating one," Max breathed out, leaning her hand back when his hips ground a little harder against hers.

She squeezed her thighs together and he responded by biting into her shoulder and gripping her butt cheeks harder.

"You're an idi—" Her words dissolved into a low guttural moan. Her thoughts were now a jumbled mess and the only think she could think was that she needed Fang, wanted him—and not only in this way.

The roughness of his jeans against her core was uncomfortable but she needed more, more friction.

"Fuck," he ground out, panting slightly. "I—I fucking love you, Max."

The words registered despite her sex-driven craze and lowered her lips to his ear. She licked her lips once, and he shivered when her tongue touched his earlobe.

"I fucking love you too," she whispered back.

They never made it to the bedroom.

*.*.*.*.*

They were engaged and married within four months.

It was a small ceremony—a total of six weddings guests, to be exact—and although the lead up was rushed, it was beautiful and both of their parents couldn't be anymore happier for the couple.

Fang was dressed in a simple tuxedo; the only white being his shirt and the delicate rose pinned to his lapel. His smile was wide and couldn't be wiped from his face.

Max was dressed in a simple ivory white dress; reaching mid-calf, loose and flared out from her waist. Her hands held a bouquet of the same white rose pinned on Fang's suit, and her hair was pulled up in a casual up-do, allowing for some strands to frame her face.

The ceremony was conducted on a Sunday spring afternoon, although it was slightly chilly, it didn't stop the happy couple from being married.

Their honeymoon was two weeks spent in the privacy of their cosy apartment.

*.*.*.*.*

Getting married at 21 may have been a hasty decision.

Having children at 21 was definitely a hasty decision.

These were Max's thoughts one year and one month after the birth of her precious twin girls; Chloe and Zoe. She loved Fang and she loved her girls, but they were barely in a stable enough situation to move in together at the time they did.

They fought a lot.

And this time it wasn't taking their frustrations out on each other, or small petty things. These were grown up fights.

And sometimes, you couldn't come back from grown up fights.

"What are you saying Max?" Fang asked her quietly. Thankfully the girls were sound asleep in their room.

Max sighed and didn't look at him. She couldn't face the intensity of his glare right now. "We barely have enough money for ourselves Fang. We were kids, we still are."

"I don't regret anything." His tone was harder this time, and Max was trying to stay strong.

"Either do I." She didn't. She needed him to know that. "I love you."

"But?" Fang asked. It was there, she didn't need to say it.

"But we've rushed into this and we have rent to pay, and we have to work, but we have to take care of the girls," she confessed. "And I have no fucking idea what I'm doing!"

"I don't either," he told her. She shook her head.

It was ending, right in front of them, but neither wanted to say it.

"So," Fang began. "This is it."

"This is it," Max repeated him softly.

*.*.*.*.*

The divorce was surprisingly a quick and easy process.

He got the apartment; she planned to move back with her mum in Arizona.

Their assets were split evenly, and both had enough money to last the next few months after selling a few of them.

He got Chloe.

She got Zoe.

She was gone in two weeks.

The only thing he ever regretted was never following her.

Read, review, and wait patiently,

- FlowerChild22