A/N: Herro again, readers :) I might not update as much lately, and I don't know when it will be back to normal, but I have a valid reason (which I would rather not put on the internet). So anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter, and on with the show!

Disclaimer: I don't own Max Ride or any of the characters (but I might make a few of my own? I hope that doesn't annoy anyone; it does usually annoy me, especially when they take more focus than Max/original characters. Let me tell you a funny story. I've only ever liked a few that people have made up before, but then I noticed I was rambling, so I ended the author's note! Ha-ha!)

Max's POV

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.
In other words, a double crapuccino with extra crap. And then some.

My head was throbbing like a thing that throbs a lot, and my vision was fuzzy; I could hardly see anything. Someone was shouting at me, shaking my shoulders, and slapping me with a wet lion. "HICCUP! BONE-FRY! PEAS BONE-FRY!" What the hiccup is peas bone-fry?

A woman shrieked and started screaming about Pauline's 99 bun. Well I guess if it's big enough and comes with honey dip, that's a good deal. But why would you need to tell us all about it when that poor girl just got hit by a Taxi? Oh wait, that was me!

"WAKE UP! DON'T DIE! PLEASE DON'T DIE!"

"I'm calling 991!"

Oh, so they're not really making dinner? Aw. I'm hungry.

"But MA-AM I don't want to go today." I weakly smacked the person who wouldn't stop prodding me in the face. Ohh, they were crying. Right, why were they crying? Oh, I got hit by a Taxi. Hey, didn't I say that before?

"SHE'S ALIVE! SHE'S ALIVE!" they yelled in what I recognised to be an attractively husky male American accent. Well of course I'm alive, douche, it's not like I got hit by a Taxi or anything. Oh, wait, I did! Hey, I think I said that before, didn't I? Does he drive a Taxi then? Wait, Taxis have their own drivers, so all you have to do is get in and pay him two Galleons and then he'll drive you to Hogwarts. WAIT…

I could see properly now. The guy who hit me had long raven black hair and he was crying a rainbow – I mean, river. Right? No, I'm sure it's rainbow. So anyway – his eyes were really deep and dark, so deep I could like, drown in them or like, whatever. He had a tanned, defined face. I guess you could say he wasn't technically the typical surfer, but he did definitely look like he knew howteedoo in this town. Wait a minute; I have said that before, when I first saw this guy on the beach. That was when I got here. And then I saw him, when I left my hotel to get a job. Now he was here, almost killing me with his Taxi. I have a feeling he's going to show up later, too. Ugh.

"You could at least buy me dinner first." I waved him off, sitting up and rubbing my forehead. "I mean, when did the syrup come into this?" Wait, there was no syrup. I need serious help right now.

- - - - - - - - - Time Skip (Next Day) - - - - - - - - -

That hotel bed was comfier than I remembered. Maybe that's because it's wasn't my hotel bed; I was in a plush double bed and there was some dude sitting across from me, watching me sleep in… ohmygod iminmypants! Why the heck was I in my underwear? And where was I? Sitting up sharply, I eyed the room suspiciously. Was there something that happened last night between us that I should remember?

"Thank God, you woke up." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his long black hair. "I thought for a moment you were in a coma or something." My brows knitted together, watching him carefully.

"Who are you and what did you do to my pants?" I was surprised that he was surprised. If he had talked to me before, he should have definitely known that's the sort of thing I would ask first if I got kidnapped.

"My name is Fang, I washed your pants and…" he answered my questions first, and then he muttered something under his breath, staring wide-eyed, with his mouth open a little. He breathed out so hard I could almost see it, even in this heat. He quickly shut his mouth, sitting back and trying to act like he never said anything. But I was pretty sure I heard that, and if I heard it right, I needed to get out of his bedroom and fast because let me just repeat, I'm in his bed, in my underwear, and he just told me I'm gorgeous.

"I want my pants! Pants!" I yelled, jumping off the covers only to fall on the carpet with a thump because my feet were tangled in his bed sheets. I frantically kicked out of them and raced to the door, rattling the doorknob until it swung open and ran down the stairs, through another open doorway and right into the lounge. Which was by the way FILLED with people. And I didn't have any pants on.

They turned to me at exactly the same time with shocked expressions. Most of the furniture was white, and they were all holding fancy Martini-style glasses with purple liquid in them. It was obviously a formal do, because the women were in dresses, the men in suits (and don't forget here that there was also a load of teenagers my age and up, mostly male. And I still didn't have any pants on.)

"Does anyone know where he put my pants? Anyone? No one?" I shrugged and gave up, ran back out of the room and started searching the rooms for my beloved pants. My cheeks were burning; I've never been half-naked in front of so many regular people before. Of course I've been naked before, but not half-naked. That's a whole new experience. Ha-ha.

(In case you're worried, I'm talking about white coats. I didn't exactly have a choice. But now I've experienced it, I'd marry privacy if that was legal in Florida.)

"Pants pants pants pants," I muttered repeatedly under my breath, rummaging through some guy's under-pantaloons. Then something hit the back of my head, and I turned to see my very own pants lying on the floor. You jelly. "My PANTS!"

Pulling them on quickly, I found my shirt, socks and shoes underneath and put them on too. "Do you have my bag too, fairy pant-mother?" I asked whilst wrestling with my left sock. I've always thought socks were trickier than they're supposed to be. I think that's me though, because some people can just pull them on easily, and I have to spend half an hour trying to weld them with my feet.

My bag then came at me and I caught it in mid-air as I pushed off the bed, slung it over my shoulder and marched out of the front door. Once I was off the porch, I turned my head back to look at my fairy pant-mother, who actually happened to be Fang, and left with a "Thanks for the pants."

Fang's POV

Oh, sweet Jebus, did that really happen?

I was just getting a cab home, and half the drive was as fine as it could be, for loud and humid Miami. Until the cab driver reached down to open the foot compartment on the other side of the car, took his eyes off the road for just a second, and smacked straight into a girl.

Oh, sweet Jebus. Again.

After a while, once she had started to rouse, I lifted her bridal-style into the cab and went straight home. I put her in my bed, didn't talk to anyone, and stayed up all night watching her sleep. (By the way, it's kind of hard to creep over a girl you just hit with a car, if that's what you were thinking of.)

(WARNING: Possible innuendo ahead)

Her shirt had been stained with blood from her shoulder and her jeans were grazed in, so I decided to wash them for her. She was asleep, so she couldn't have done it herself; she needed my help (I warned you). She looked like the kind of person who was like a minefield; you can get around if you know the way but if you step a foot out of line you'll get blown up (you have to admit, that one was pretty funny. No? Well, don't sue me. I did warn you.)

I spent the rest of the night skipping between the bedroom and the kitchen and occasionally the bathroom, until finally the sun came out and she began to stir. "Thank God, you woke up," I ran a hand through my hair, stressed beyond belief. "I thought for a moment you were in a coma or something." She scowled at me, sitting up. It was only then when I realised how pretty she was. She had straight blonde hair with natural brown touches, messy from sleep. Her nose was narrow, her skin sun-kissed, and her eyelashes were something you could never achieve with mascara, and hardly ever get naturally. Don't even bring me to her eyes – they were wide enough to be cute but not vulnerable, and so deep and beautifully brown that if I could fall in them, I'd be swimming in chocolate. They got darker as you got to the edge of the iris, and they had emerald streaks reaching out from devastatingly jet pupils.

She was amazing, and apparently, my brain wanted to tell her that.

"I'm Fang, I washed your pants and damn you're gorgeous," but she heard it. Double crapuccino.

She hesitated for an excruciatingly long moment, and then suddenly fell off the bed yelling "I want my pants! Pants!" Lashing out with her feet, she stumbled across the room and almost yanked my knob clean off (I know it's a bit late, but there's some more for you) to escape.

Well, that's a surprise. Usually, girls don't want to escape my bed.
Ha-ha.

For at least ten minutes, I could still hear her looking for her pants downstairs, but she wasn't going to find them down there. I decided to give her a hand and gathered her stuff off my floor, headed steadily down the staircase and found her in one of the guest bedrooms, currently occupied by one of my male cousins. I threw her clothes at her, which she snapped up before asking, "Do you have my bag too, fairy pant-mother?" I chuckled, handing it over.

Plonking it over her arm, she made a swift exit and walked away with a simple "Thanks for the pants.", and left me hopelessly wondering who the heck she was.

Oh, sweet Jebus. I think it did happen.

A/N: Sooo how did you like Fang's POV? And did all the frantic pants stuff annoy you? Sorry if it did. :( I started this chapter two days ago, but I didn't really have the frame of mind, and I was forced to finish my maths homework last morning (which takes ages because I really suck at it), and I only just finished editing, so it's later than it should've been. I was considering writing another chapter of 60 Days and Mindgames and publishing them all together, but I think I'm going to stick to separate publishing for now. And also, sorry if you find any tense mistakes. I'm so used to writing in present, it gets a little difficult to constantly write in past!

My answer to last chapter's question: I would work at Blendini's, and hope I get a discount.

This chapter's question: What's the closest you've ever come to a real car crash?

-Faximum