Flight, a maximum ride fanfic

A/N: Okay. My first dabble into the Maximum Ride fanbase here. It's just a oneshot AU that's been lingering in my head lately. Partly inspired by aspects of MR3. Mmm, MR3.

Blanket Disclaimer: Maximum Ride and all characters contained there within belong to James Patterson. I do, however, take sole responsibility of this plot.

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Flight: 1. n. fleeing or running away. A hasty departure.

2. n. the act, manner, or power of flying.

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Flight

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Everything was beautiful. Everything was white and beautiful.

Of course, this is how it was supposed to be. We'd been planning it for months.

The room I was in wasn't much to look at on it's own; boxes strewn about, makeup adorning tables like newly fallen leaves, white lace everywhere.

But I knew when I stepped foot outside it would be absolutely gorgeous.

There would be white roses lining every pew and snowy ribbons gracefully draped from the ceiling. Behind the alter was a very elaborate flower display taller than even I was, and I was quite tall.

The guests that had flown in from all over the country are more than likely wearing their finest, some of them dabbing at invisible tears in the corner of their eyes, others whispering -in loud asides- about how he was marrying her. And by 'her', I mean me.

My name is Maximum Ride, and this is my wedding day.

Well, rather, I should say this is his wedding day. I didn't do much in the way of planning, and I didn't pay even a cent of it. In fact, only five guests were here by my invitation. The other hundred and fifty or so were virtually strangers to me.

Still, the fancy pamphlets had my name on them, as did the invitations. Which, may I add, cost six dollars each.

I'd nearly pulled my hair out when I'd seen that -I've always been very frugal-, but my fiancé had laughed lightly and just waved me away. He said I was far to beautiful to fret over finances.

And so I'd stepped back from planning this altogether.

Even the dress I was now wearing wasn't my own choice. If I'd have to choose my dream wedding gown -and even I, the ultimate tomboy, will admit I've had fantasies about it- it would be a simple affair; white, of course, but not overly lacy and with a short tram in the back. Maybe something with feathers.

I would not have been wearing the gigantic monstrosity I had on.

The face -my face- in the mirror gazed back at me, sharing my disdain.

It was huge. And entirely too tight. I wasn't sure how those two words worked with each other, but that was the only way describe it.

The top wasn't just tight. It was tight. It was 'ohmygosh, my lungs' tight.

The tailor said that was on purpose, to slim my figure. Which I had found very insulting. I've never been the type of girl to worry about my weight or any such thing, but I'm fairly proud to say I'm five feet ten inches tall and weigh in at one-hundred and twenty pounds.

Okay. One-hundred and twenty-four.

Any which way, I was totally clueless about dresses and stuff when I went to the fitting, innocent as can be. That's why I'd brought along one of my best friends, Nudge.

She loved that sort of thing. Fashion, stars, glamor. It was all so totally her. It makes me wonder where she got it from.

We grew up together. She was an orphan, I was an orphan and we lived at the -get this- orphanage. Go figure.

Back to the dress.

Apparently, my mother-in-law-to-be picked it out. I hadn't been with her at the time, but I probably wouldn't have wanted to be, so no real loss there.

But this dress was a real loss.

The top, like I said, is way too close-fitting. It doesn't have any straps either, not in the conventional sense. Which, okay, could be nice. But there are these poofs on my arm in place of them. I don't even know what to say about them other than they are just big, lacy, itchy poofs connected to the dress and secured around my mid-upper arm in place of sleeves.

Okay...definitely not my style. But whatever. Things could be worse.

And they were.

The back of this creature-called-gown wasn't there.

You heard me. It was just gone.

Instead, I had this mishmash of crisscrossing ribbons, making it throughly impossible for me to both get in or out of the dress alone or, you know, breathe. Which is sort of important. The breathing thing, I mean.

It was also shiny. Like, it was made of satin. Or silk, I guess. People like me would wear satin. People like my mother-in-law-to-be wear silk. So I'm wearing silk.

Dotting it in what I suppose is an artistic way are tons of rhinestones. How corny. Rhinestones.

That, however, is where the bodice ends.

Then there is the bottom of this science-experiment.

Firstly, announcing the skirt is this ginormous bow. Like, the mother of all bows. It's in the back, and larger than my head. I swear.

The front is a little more simple, with just some more random fake diamonds.

Then it's just all white lace. Just, pow. Just, bam. If I put my hands down at my sides...well. It just didn't happen. There was that much lace. Which could be worse, I guess. I had this silky under dress thing going on. So it's not itchy. Not much, at least.

I didn't even want to think of how much this dress cost. The price tag was strangely missing when I went to try it on for the first fitting. I know; Nudge looked for it everywhere.

The name tag wasn't missing, though.

Proudly displayed in cursive script was Monique Lhuillier. Okay. Whatever.

Nudge nearly hyperventilated when she saw that.

All in all, the dress needed to be taken in a bit. So they took it in a lot. Which is causing some of my current respiration issues.

But damn. The gown had this huge trail behind it. Which made the high, uncomfortable, and more than likely expensive shoes I'm wearing utterly pointless. Because you couldn't see them.

Right. Enough on the retarded dress.

It was summer -adding to my discomfort in the dress I said I was done talking about- and so my hair was a lighter shade of brown than usual, with the normal blond streaks in it. Like hell I was letting anyone dye my hair, as was suggested, so the hair stylists -yes, plural. As in more than one- got their vengeance by pulling my silky tresses up into the most tight, extravagant thing I have ever seen in my life, with these tiny little messy strands getting into my eyes. And used just three bottles of hairspray to do it.

Congratulations to them.

The hair was almost as pointless as the shoes. It was covered by this big, gaudy clip. There were like, a trillion bobby-pins in my hair. I counted.

And of course, connected to this nasty clip is the ever-necessary veil. I had it flipped behind me, because I couldn't see a damn thing if it was in front of me. It was too long, I think, but I'd been assured by the tailor that was also intentional.

I would have complained more if Nudge hadn't said that I didn't look like some mismatched, deranged swan, as I claimed.

Said face in the mirror didn't look like mine. It really didn't.

I'm a simple gal. And I'll agree that yes, I was gifted with virtually flawless skin and nice hair. So I never made it a habit to overly style either. Maybe a bit of lip gloss -some mascara if it was something really fancy- and I was gone.

So you can imagine what an hour of just makeup application did to me.

I looked like someone in a posh magazine. Not myself.

It was a little warm, and I was getting kind of light headed. I'm sure the constraint barreling my chest didn't help, but I suddenly needed to sit down. Right then.

Only I remembered that I couldn't sit in this dress. It was a total no-go. So instead I leaned heavily against the wall, fanning myself with one manicured hand.

I might have blown this scene if it wasn't for my five guests.

One of them was the aforementioned Nudge, my Maid of Honor. And yes, that is her real name.

Like I'd said, she and I grew up together. We all did. I was the oldest of our ragtag little group, and had been at the orphanage the longest.

Nudge was just two, making me five. Apparently, both of her parents had died. She wouldn't talk to anyone for weeks, but I finally got her to open up to me, and she has hardly shut up since. She said she didn't like her old name, and had dubbed herself 'Nudge'. It stuck, and no one in the orphanage seemed to have a problem with it. Of course, they were used to it by then, because I had picked my own name, and so had Iggy.

Iggy is just a few months younger than I am. We were both four when he showed up. He'd been dumped on the doorsteps and just left there. But he didn't seem to mind, which always made me wonder what sort of environment he was in before his abandonment. He's always been happy, if not a bit lazy. Back in our younger years he devolved an affinity with fire and bombs, which never went over too well with the other kids. He was the only one of us to get a gift from their parents though; the gene for Stargardt blindness. By the time we were seven, he was legally blind.

Gazzy -the Gasman, as we affectionately called him- and Angel were a joint package; actual siblings.

He'd been two, and she'd just been an infant when they'd been dropped off. Their parents just didn't want them. I was eight then. They'd both gone right under our wings, and Angel couldn't be more my child if I'd had her myself. Gazzy was a total prankster and was partners in crime with Iggy. He's a little punk, but kind and loyal to a fault. He used to do these imitations of Jeb. Batchelder -the manager of the orphanage- that were so spot-on it was eerie.

Angel, on the other hand, was just all smiles and sunshine. She was the cutest, most nice little girl anyone could ever hope for. The only reason she was never adopted was because she refused to go without us. So, while around the gang she was sweet, when prospective parents arrived she became a total witch. We all did. It was our defense mechanism.

Which brings me to the last member of our 'flock'.

He's second oldest, and has been with me longer than I can remember. We're all best friends, but he totally knows me best. I like to think I know him that way, but I doubt it. He's sort of the hard to read type. But we have our moments.

He's the one I'm closest to, I think. Ever since I've known him he's been quiet and a little dark. Not intentionally, but it's just his way. We've all grown used to it. But when it's just us, just the flock, he's something else. He's responsible and strong and all that good stuff.

And when it's just us, me and him, he's even more different still.

I don't know how to describe it. He just gets all compassionate and caring. Not mushy, he'd never be mushy, but he's always so concerned over me. It's endearing. It's always been endearing.

Which is why I care for Fang. Maybe a little too much.

More than I'm willing to admit.

Anyway, he's my best friend. So I shouldn't feel this way towards him. But I have for a very long time.

That's the main reason this is so hard.

I don't have a father, so Fang volunteered to walk me down the aisle. I don't think I'll be able to bear looking into his eyes.

This may be confusing then. If I love someone so much, why am I marrying someone else?

My top priority is Fang's happiness. It always has been and it always will be.

He's a big boy now, twenty-two, and thinks he can take care of himself. But of course he can't.

When we were younger, he'd made his feelings clear. I'd never told him mine, and for that I'm glad.

He didn't need to feel guilty about having someone like me holding a flame for him.

So he's had his girlfriends over the years. Different than me; once I'd accepted that my love was hopeless, I'd dated the boy who had been asking me out for a while. Sam.

Sam Larkin was nice. He was nice, and handsome, and funny, and rich. He was everything girls dream of finding. And he was convenient. So we kept dating. For nine years.

His family hated me. I knew that. But I never thought too highly of them either, so it was even. And Sam loved me. He must've; I had nothing to offer him, so what would be be getting out of marrying me?

And I suppose I did harbor feelings for him. After nine years, it'd be hard not to. But I don't think they're love. They're not lust. If anything, it's comradery. I think he had a relationship with another girl, but was in a similar position to mine. I didn't hold it against him. I don't even think he knows I know about her.

The flock didn't think too highly of him. Especially Fang. That thought makes me smile.

We're all grown up, but he still played the part of protective older brother, even if he is neither older nor my brother.

I broke free of my nostalgia and looked at the clock. Quarter to three. I had fifteen minutes left of being Maximum Ride. At three o' clock, I'd become Mrs. Larkin.

That thought terrified me.

Amidst my bout of hyperventilation, there was a soft knock on the door. One rap, three taps, followed by another rap.

The flock's secret knock. We used to use it to sneak into each others dorms at night.

Unable to speak, I shuffled over to the portal as fast as my heels would allow me, leaning over and unlocking the brass knob.

I pulled the door open a crack to find none other than Fang standing in the threshold.

Prepping myself for what was sure to come, I allowed him in, fastening the lock upon his entrance.

He was quiet while I turned around. We spent a minute just looking at each other. I don't know what he saw, I can't even imagine, but my breath hitched as I saw him in his tuxedo.

It wasn't because he looked particularly handsome -even though he did. The black tux he wore brought out his longish jet hair and coal eyes- but I couldn't help but see this in a different light. If it weren't for what I was wearing, this could very well be a scene from his wedding. The thought alone brought tears to my eyes.

He wasn't going to be the first one to talk. I knew that. He never was. So I started formulating my greeting through a watery gaze.

"I-"

"Congratulations."

I blinked. This was Fang?

"I know I haven't been very supportive through all of this, but I want to say I wish you the best of luck."

This was said so seriously, with such conviction, that a few rogue tears broke the frontier and fell. I was abstractly glad that the gobs of eyeliner I was wearing was waterproof.

It was true though. At first, Fang had shown outright detest of Sam. Then, once we became engaged half a year ago, he'd just been quiet on the subject. Utterly and totally. I didn't know whether I should have been grateful or disappointed. Grateful, obviously, at the lack of comments to farther crack my fragile heart and disappointed because, well, he's my best friend. It was hard to do something as big as this without your best friend's help.

His dark brows furrowed and he took a step towards me. Fang has always hated the rare occasions when I would cry. But the dam was broken now and I found I couldn't stop.

"T-thank you," I managed to gasp out. "Thanks for everything."

I met his black irises and the gazed at me with sympathy. He was probably so confused, but I wasn't finished.

"I'm so sorry."

Despite everything, he reached over and gently wiped the dollops of moisture from my face. It didn't make a difference; they started falling faster than before.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." From this close, I could feel his deep voice as much as hear it. I'd have none of this. I had suddenly felt that if I didn't tell him, or at least try to tell him, the very world would end that minute.

"But I do!" I cried -literally, might I add. "Have y-you ever made a mistake and regretted it so much that it hurts? I mean really hurts?"

He studied my broken expression before answering. "We all have. That's how we learn and grow. S'what I think, anyway."

I smiled bitterly, tasting the salt of tears. "I feel like my life has been full of them. I feel like I'm making one now."

Those brows of his raised just a tiny fraction. A sure-sign that he was somewhat taken-aback.

"No one is forcing you to do anything, Max." He assured me. And no one was. Just myself.

"I have to," I sobbed. "I have to."

He looked at me solemnly. "Max, if you don't want to do this no one-"

"You don't understand!" I cried hysterically. How could he not have known that this was for him? Without me in the picture to worry about, he could finally be able to move on with his life.

I instantly regretted my choice of words, of course, because hurt briefly flashed across his features before he schooled them neutral again.

"Apparently, I don't. Why don't you explain then?"

I took a quivering breath, gathering my wits. Which was considerably hard to do, with Fang's tanned hand still lingering along the curve of my cheek.

"I don't want this," I gestured down, towards my thrice-cursed dress. "I don't want any of this!" Here was a wide, and probably insane looking, gesture behind me. I think he got the point. The wedding. "I just want-" My fairly panicked eyes met his pensive ones and I stopped. "I don't know." Was the lame finish.

His finger stroked my cheek in a very calming way while he answered. "What do you want, then."

I was probably imagining it, but it almost seemed like he was searching my eyes.

I shrugged helplessly, vaguely surprised that I was able to do so in my current confines. "What about you? Do you know what you want?" I threw back.

He looked down, studying the floor for a time in a very Fang-esk way. "Yeah. I know."

I was somewhat hurt, quite angry, more than a little confused, and developing a headache worthy of being called a brain explosion. "Oh, and that would be?" I snapped tartly. Especially in that moment I was a bit annoyed with the mysterious allure the boy-turned-man before me just always exuded.

His hot coals snapped up, shocking me with the intensity, the desperation, I saw in them. "The same thing I've always wanted."

My breath left me in a way that had nothing to do with my gown.

"What-"

"Have you ever made a mistake and regretted it so much that it hurts?" He asked intently. The hand warming my face moved to linger close to my lips, not quite touching them but tracing the air just above. "I mean really hurts."

I swear that in that moment I fell in love with him all over again. And I fell in love with what I dreamed he was alluding to. But I couldn't think of anything to say; all my words, all my considerable wit, had decided to leave me.

He continued on, unusually talkative. "Because I have. And I think I've been making one for six months. But...I'm more sure of this than I've ever been of anything in my life."

Before I had time to be shocked by his words, he leaned down and kissed me.

I've read plenty of books describing kisses using words like fireworks, dizziness, euphoria...

I honestly didn't have time to think of those things. There was other stuff on my mind.

It's amazing how much something so simple as Fang bending over a bit and his godly lips touching mine can detach me from the world. In that instant I wasn't betrothed. I wasn't desperate. I wasn't anything.

He pulled back after a few seconds. He hadn't used any pressure at all, but my lips were tingling and my face was aflame. It was amazing how just one simple kiss from him could make me feel like a giddy school-girl again.

After a few more dazed seconds on my behalf, and what must have been an agonizing century on his, I realized he needed an answer. And I needed to give one.

And, since my words still hadn't returned, and that whole 'actions-speak-louder-than-words' thing I've heard so much about, I tentatively reached up -almost thankful for the heels- and kissed him.

Mine was as innocent as his, though I got all the same emotions, and when I pulled back a bit he was gazing at me in awe.

"I'm sorry." He said. Fang hardly ever apologized. I smiled.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." I murmured against his mouth.

"I love you." Were his next words. Somehow, they didn't shock me as much as I thought they might.

I laughed shakily. "I think you know I love you by now."

He smiled and my world lit up, as it always did when he graced me with one of these rare occurrences.

"Can we just go?" I asked. There was no well in hell I was going to marry into the Larkin family now.

Fang didn't share my sentiments of guilt. "I don't see why not."

Now that I thought on it, neither did I. It was probably horrible to say, but Sam's family had so much money that the cost of this wedding was a joke to them. A pittance.

That down, the next on my list was Sam. I liked him enough to feel utterly horrible about dumping him so abruptly. But...maybe something like this would embolden him to make a move on the girl he really wanted. And all I could pray was that his family liked her more than they cared for me.

I grinned brightly and that was all he needed for an affirmative. He kissed my nose and looked around thoughtfully.

"I can't give you all this." He said, motioning with his head to the vast amount of crap littered about.

"I know." I didn't want it in the first place.

"I can't give those." Was intoned. This time he meant my gown and shoes.

"I know." And thank goodness for that.

"I certainly can't give you that." The huge engagement ring on my left hand. I'd forgotten about it. I observed him contently.

"You can give me something so much better." And he really could.

Another grin was passed down on me. Without another word he took my hand and set upon pulling me from the room.

"Wait a minute!" I protested with humor in my voice. "Lemme leave the flock a note."

I set upon some nearby stationary, pen in hand.

"You try too hard." Fang laughed.

"No, I just live to watch over you guys." I said smugly, finishing my short letter.

"That's good then," He said seriously. "because I live to love you." I didn't think I'd ever tire of hearing that and, as he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, I didn't think I'd ever tire of him.

He kissed my naked shoulder. Another thing I'd never tire of.

"You look beautiful, by the way." I felt the rumble of his words echo through my back.

I turned around, business done, and punched him in the arm.

As the clock stuck three, the area was short one bride, and had gained a small envelope with a sparkling ring atop it.

-----

It was utter and total madness.

People were running to and fro, constant chatter, and somewhere in the back, a baby was crying.

The groom, Sam, was standing by the alter, not looking as dejected as he ought to, and his mother was right there next to him, no doubt telling him that this was for the best anyway.

The wedding planner was negotiating with Mr. Larkin, being assured they were still being paid in full, and someone had gotten a hold of the party champagne and was chugging away, already slightly happy.

This was the scene Max's 'flock' was forced to endure.

"It's so hot in here!" Nudge complained loudly, having given up her wedding party duties. Many of the pews around them had already emptied.

"At least you're not wearing a tuxedo..." Gazzy complained, testily plucking at the collar of his shirt, the jacked long since discarded.

"Why," the young, blond girl, Angel, asked. "would my dear brother rather be wearing a dress?"

The women cackled while the Gasman pouted angrily.

"Because, you know, that can be arranged." the tallest, Iggy, contributed, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

"Aww, you guys are no fun." Gazzy added. "Shouldn't this have both started and ended by now?"

Iggy moaned. "You're so ditzy. Haven't you noticed that there's been a hold up?"

"Where did Fang get to?" Nudge asked. "He left awfully early to get Max..."

Angel made kissy noises and the gang laughed.

"That'll be the day," Gazzy said. "I'll eat my shoe the day either one of them gives in."

Nudge began a rant about how the dress of the woman in front of them was so tacky -rather loudly, judging from the woman's sudden departure- when a meek looking choir-boy walked up to them.

"Uhm..." he said. "would you be the bride's guests?"

Iggy took up spokesperson. "Yep. That's us. Why?"

The boy looked relieved. "She left this for you in the Prep-Room..."

He handed Iggy a sealed envelope, marked with a simple 'Max's Family' in her messy cursive. Without adue, Iggy opened it, eyes roving over the surface.

It made for a very suspenseful moment, which was promptly ruined when Gazzy asked, "What does it say?"

The tall boy cuffed him over the head. "I dunno. I'm blind. Here," he passed the note on to Nudge who read it and grinned.

"Well, Gaz. How do you like your shoe, broiled or flambéed?"

She folded the letter carefully and stuffed it into her purse. It was something she'd like to hold on to. The words upon it, in Max's not-so-good hand writing, short and sweet.

'Hello, halcyon days.'

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There we go. A oneshot that took place within the span of fifteen minutes but probably took you more than that long to read and definitely took me more than that long to write. And pure Faxness. X3 It was sort of long, but meh, oh well. And I wrote the majority of this at like, 4-5am. So I'm hellishly tired.

And for anyone here who reads Bleach 'Hello, halcyon days.' was partially inspired by Orihime. I just really love the word halcyon lol.

I've been considering writing a multi-chapter MR fic for a while now, non AU probably. So I guess you can keep an eye out for that.

Please review and tell me what you think!

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-hanyoupup