Max stood at the bus shelter, just underneath the overhang, with rain pouring down so close to her that her bangs were getting wet. She'd cut her hair herself just after she left, in the bathroom of a McDonald's, using a magazine picture as a guide. Now her hair was, she had to admit, quite stylishly uneven. The longest it got though was just below her shoulders. The bangs were shortest, framing her face. She'd dyed her hair black, and on a fling had put streaks on every few bits of layers, with dark red and blue and purple.

With her skateboard next to her, the tail end on the pavement and the nose in her hand, those almost-skinny jeans and the tight band tee on, Fang had to admit she looked pretty punk.

He had tailed her, after she left the warehouse. She said goodbye to Angel and everyone else, and had almost let herself hug him before she pressed the necklace into his hand. Of course, once she left he had left as well, following her. For a few moments he hadn't realized it was Max walking out of the fast food restaurant, but the way she walked-scuffing her heels every few steps- was patent-Max.

Being away, it had changed her. She had on a bright pink eyeshadow-completely unnecessary- and DC shoes. There was a bright silver chain around her neck with little charms dangling off every few links, and a watch that had Mickey Mouse on it was on her wrist. A chunky belt, small studs in her ears, and all she was missing was a facial piercing.

Fang could tell she was changing herself-protecting herself-but still, it made him cringe when he saw her. He missed her, whether it was the old Max or this new image. He still wanted to wrap his arms around her and breathe the scent of her shampoo. Thank God she was still Max. The band tee she had on had a pair of wings printed on the back.

He followed her silently, predicting her every move, and losing her every once in a while. He always found her again.

Often he thought she must not have been flying for a while. If she had, he never saw her because with that backpack of hers and that skateboard, he didn't think she would have been able to take to the sky as easily.

So Fang followed her on foot, in the sky, silently every step of the way. He sat in the dark of the bus shelter and watched her watch the cars drive by.

Adam walked into the café, already knowing what had happened but not ready to accept it. Max had gone, taking most of her stuff with her, including the bracelet he had given her. He could still smell her in the blankets, he could still see the ghost of her walking in the rooms. He could still hear her say his name, hear her voice, feel the brush of her wings just before she took flight.

And then, he felt indescribably certain that she would be back.

Max sat in the motel room going through the contents of her bag. She had a set of extra wheels for her board hidden in the bottom. Four pairs of pants, six shirts, two tank tops, a pair of denim short shorts, and underthings. A macbook Air was nestled in the back, along with her cell phone and a wad of money. She had a comb and a few hairpins, a tube of lip gloss, mascara, eyeliner, and a few shades of eyeshadow, but that was pretty much it.

Her image would be perfectly fine for the next few weeks, at least.

Max sucked her breath in and heaved a sigh, then turned on the tv. After flicking through the channels she flicked it back off and pulled out a huge roadmap of the United States.

She was in the most northern corner of Maine now, and hoping to cross the border into Canada. A little action would have to be taken to avoid the legal procedures, but she was confident she could do it.

She pulled out her phone to check for any new texts. There was only one, the one Angel kept sending every day, even though she never got an answer.

WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK, MAX?

She shut the phone and put it away, falling back on the bed with her arm over her eyes, falling asleep with her clothes on.

Fang was quiet on the rooftop opposite the motel. The light was still on in Max's room, but he could sense no movement. In the few weeks that had passed since she left New York City, she hadn't gone much of anywhere. She stayed in one place for days and days at a time. The old Max would have gotten antsy and moved around constantly.

Without thinking even once about it, he jumped down from the building and crossed the quiet street. He slipped in Max's unlocked room, thinking that the old Max would never have let that happen.

She lay on the bed, curled up, her shorter hair hiding her face. All thought ceased and Fang brushed her hair back. She didn't even have to open her eyes. "Fang..." she murmured, and sank deeper into sleep again. Fang turned off all the lights and made sure everything was shut off, and he was about to make his way for the door when Max turned over.

"Don't... don't leave, Fang," she murmured, still half-asleep. "Stay with me." He hesitated, and almost left, but the sight of her, lying prone and vulnerable on the motel bed, struck him deep in the heart.

When Max heard Fang climbing on the bed, She rolled back over onto her side, curling up again. Fang fit his form around her, holding her tight with one arm and burying his nose in her neck. He stayed awake for some time while she fell asleep easily.

He thought about how far she'd come, and what the consequences of him showing up like this, would be. He also wondered if he didn't entirely hate this new Max, who still smelled like strawberry shampoo and still depended on him in some way. The new Max, who must still have all that bravery, courage, and strength hidden deep down, hiding from sight.