"Max! Baby, c'mon, don't do this!" Fang shouted after the blonde. She paused in her tracks on her way into the house.
Spinning around, Max stormed up to him, "Don't you ever call me that; I'm not your 'baby'. Not anymore." She shoved at Fang's shoulder, making him stumble back into his car, before walking purposefully inside.
Max slammed the mahogany door loudly, locking it with the deadbolt. Iggy rushed into the foyer after the noise. "Max?"
"Yeah, Iggy, it's me." she answered, sliding down the front door to sit. She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested a moment.
"Max, what's going on? When you called you sounded upset; are you hurt, is Fang hurt - " Iggy paused. "Where is Fang?"
She didn't want to answer that. "Where are the kids?" she asked instead.
The blonde went still. "In bed, just like you asked." With silent steps, he sat down next to her and waited.
The two were silent for a moment, before a small sniffle broke through.
"It happened again, Ig." Max sounded tired, broken. "He did it again."
Iggy sucked in a breath. He had figured something like this had happened, but still... he had hoped. "You mean..?" he trailed off.
Max nodded before remembering he couldn't see it. "Yeah." Her voice was rough, the tears being held back detectable even without the boy's heightened sense.
Iggy didn't know what to say. What was there to say anyway? He was saved trying to think of something when the door at their backs shook violently.
Borne from years of practice and necessity, the two twenty-two year olds instantly jumped up to face the door, and any threat that would come with it. The door shook again with a bang, the locks straining to hold.
"Unlock the damn door, Max!" It was Fang.
At the sound of his voice, Max gave up her defensive stance to hide herself behind Iggy. The blonde jumped at Max's hands on his shoulders.
"I can't, Igs," she whispered. "I can't talk to him right now."
Iggy turned to her, lightly holding her hands in his, "I got this. You won't have to talk to him. Not tonight. I promise."
She nodded, "Thank you."
The blonde nodded, and Max hurried into the kitchen. There was now a door and a wall in between the foyer; Max didn't want to face Fang, but she sure as hell wasn't going to leave Iggy all alone to deal with an emotional and irrational Fang. She wasn't stupid.
Max could hear the deadbolt being unlocked, followed by the slam of the door and the heavy stomp of Fang's boots.
"Fang, look, it's not the best time -" Iggy started.
"Leave me alone, Ig, this has nothing to do with you," Fang said, roughly shouldering past his brother.
Iggy had quick reflexes, though, and grabbed the other man's upper arm.
"Iggy, let me go."
"I will if you turn around. She doesn't want to talk to you. Not yet."
A muscle in the dark haired boy's jaw clenched. "You know I can't walk away. I can't leave, not like this."
"Then I'm sorry, Fang - " Iggy was cut off abruptly.
Fang had brought up his free hand and punched the blonde so hard he stumbled backwards.
"What the fuck!" the blonde yelled, holding a hand to his jaw.
Feeling his muscles tense familiarly, Iggy launched himself at his brother. With his arms wrapped around Fang, he smashed the dark haired boy into the wall, pinning him there. Iggy could feel the wall shake, could hear Fang's heavy breaths as he struggled to unlace himself from the blonde's grasp, he could even hear the small, muffled shriek from the direction he knew the kitchen was. Max. Max was watching this.
Iggy's thoughts drifted for only a nanosecond to the brunette, but it was enough. It was enough that his concentration slipped ever so slightly. It was enough that Fang was able to slip an arm out from under his hold.
Once, twice, three times, Iggy was hit in the stomach. He grunted, but didn't back down.
With a swiftness borne only from years of practice, the blonde was able to maneuver his leg, blocking more punches, and landing a few kicks of his own.
Apparently, Fang didn't like that. Using the wall as leverage, Fang pushed off, making Iggy lose his footing and slamming him easily onto the ground. From there, it was like shooting fish in a barrel for Fang. Iggy had always relied on his sense of hearing to fight: hearing the rustle of clothing, the cutting of air as it comes closer; he relied on the feel of his opponent, subtle leans and turns that told him where the next attack was coming from. It wasn't like that with Fang. Fang was completely silent: his clothes didn't rustle, the rush of air coming only after it was too late to avoid the attack. His body gave nothing away either, his balance close to perfectly balance.
Of course, this was not the first time the two had fought - living together in close quarters your whole life can get infuriating - but it was one of the worst fights they'd had. In fact, the last time Iggy could remember a fight this intense, they were both about nine years old, and both had come out of it with a few broken ribs, Fang a broken arm, and Iggy a broken nose.
But even that was fought on a more even keel than this one. Fang had been.. not necessarily slower, but more detectable then. Now it was like fighting a ghost.
"What the hell, Fang!"
Above Iggy, Fang halted his assault and looked up. Max had emerged from the kitchen, the door still swinging wildly behind her.
At once, Fang's face drained and he looked entirely apologetic, "Max..."
Max shook her head, her ponytail swinging as she marched over, and with a fluidity uniquely hers, kicked her boyfriend solidly in the chest. He flew backwards onto his back, but the girl paid him no mind, instead going to kneel next to Iggy, placing a soft hand onto his shoulder.
The blonde waved her hand away, going to sit up, despite Max's protests. "I'm fine," he coughed, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth.
"No, you're not," Max said, but let him get up. He stood, albeit shakily, and leaned against the foyer wall.
"Listen to me, Max -" Fang started, standing, his hands up as if approaching a small animal.
"No, Fang, I'm not going to listen to you! You should leave. Now," Max said, turning her back to him and walking back towards the kitchen. Fang followed.
Max had just pushed the door closed when a hand gripped her wrist. She pulled her hand forward, but he wouldn't let go. Trying one more time, Max was able to pry her hand from Fang's. Spinning around, she kept an eye on the advancing man until she felt the cold granite of the the countertop behind her. A beat of panic crossed her at the thought of being cornered by an emotional Fang, and could immediately feel her instincts taking over.
Reaching blindly behind her, she groped down the countertop. Tossing napkins and things out of the way, she found what she was looking for. Gripping tightly, Max pulled a knife from the butchers block and held it firmly out in front of her.
Fang stopped immediately in his tracks.
"Put down the knife, Max," he said slowly.
"Then get the hell away from me."
He ran a hand through his black hair, "Jesus, Max, I just want to talk to you. You've got to let me explain!"
"Explain what, Fang? It's been eight goddamn months and I've had to listen to you 'explain' your bullshit answers three times. Three! Give me one reason why I should listen instead of kicking your sorry ass from here to next week." Max's voice was hurt, but as steady as her hand.
Fang's moth opened and closed. "Because I love you," he finally said.
Max launched the knife with no hesitation, missing Fang only by his quick reflexes.
"Bullshit," Max hissed, shouldering past him.
"You're a fucking psychopath, you know that?" Fang called out after her.
"Well," Max yelled back, storming down the hall towards her bedroom, "then maybe you should leave me alone."
Max reached her room, slamming the door closed, when an all too familiar boot wedged itself in between the wall and door, preventing it from slamming.
"Fuck, Max, calm down," Fang panted as he slowly won the war for the door. "She meant nothing, honest. It was one bad decision!"
The blonde let go of the door to retreat farther into the room. She could feel the tears building in her eyes, threatening to spill. "'One bad decision'? Fang, that's what you said the first time. And then the second. And the third, and do you know what? I'm done with it. I don't care. Have as many 'bad decisions' as you want, just leave me out of them."
Fang stepped inside the room.
"NO!" Max shrieked. "Get Out!"
"What? Max, this is our room, where would you like me to go?"
She shook her head, "It's not our room; not anymore." As the blonde spoke, the tears she so desperately tried to hide leaked out, staining her cheeks. She made no move to stop or wipe them away. She wanted Fang to realize just how much he had hurt her. "There is no more us. If there's no more us then we can't have a room." Max was proud that her voice came out strong and steady, despite the waterfall coming out of her eyes. "Now get your crap out of here before I throw it out."
The man flinched at her words, but stayed still. "Max," his voice was barely audible. It came out broken, strangled. "Max, please don't do this."
"You're the one who did this. You started this when you got cozy with that whore eight months ago...and then two months.. and today. Now move your shit, or I'll toss it myself," Max glared at him and counted to three. When time was up and he still hadn't moved, she grabbed their old clock radio from the nightstand and chucked it into the hallway. The plaster cracked, sprinkling the plush carpet with specks of white.
Her hand reached out again, but stopped. She finally got a response, albeit not the one she intended.
"You think you know it all, don't you?" Fang cried, with big, sweeping arm gestures and a ridiculous tone only used when his patience has been entirely strained. "The great Maximum Ride understands everything! She finds one thread, and thinks its a sweater, but guess what, Max - you don't know everything! You can't! You come at me with absurd accusations and barely give me a minute to understand what's going on before you're tossing me out. Who the fuck do you even think you are?"
"I think I was your fucking girlfriend! And if I'm so dumb, help me understand. Help me understand, exactly, how making out with a bottle blonde in the back of the supermarket wasn't cheating. Or the pictures of the red-head on your laptop? How were they not cheating? Really, Fang, I am just dying to know!"
Fang threw up his hands in frustration, "I can't even talk to you when you're like this!"
"Good! I don't want to talk to you either!"
"And do you want to know what else? If you have a problem rooming with me, then maybe you should be the one to leave. Because no matter how much of my shit you throw into that hallway, I'm coming back here every night."
The flow of tears had subsided now, and Max dragged a hand down her face to clean it, "Fine, whatever."
"Good," Fang said, walking in and sitting down on the bed. "Good luck finding someone to room with your moody ass."
Max had her eyes closed, her hands rubbing out the monumental headache behind her eyes. Her brown eyes, however, snapped open at her ex's comment. "I'm moody?" She glared. "You're only saying that because I'm not brainwashed by your charms anymore."
He laughed, "That's only because you have no brain to wash."
Max did not answer, instead rolling her eyes.
"If you can be rational, you can still room here," Fang said, amusement clear in his voice.
"She can room with me."
It was a quiet statement, spoken from the doorway. Both Max and Fang turned to the hallway.
Iggy stood there, still leaning on the door frame, but looking considerably more steady on his feet. There was dried blood under his nose and spotted on his white t-shirt.
He turned his sightless eyes on Max, "You can room with me."
Max smiled.
"At least until you two work this out," he finished.
Max smile disappeared and was replaced with one that was almost too sweet. "Thanks, Ig," she said, walking towards him, "but I think it'll be a long time until we work this out." Max swept out of the room without looking back, giving Iggy a kiss on the cheek as she passed.
XxX