A/N: Good news: You got an update

Bad news: It might be a while. I have soccer starting and I'm going to be swamped from here until June. I want to wrap this up soon, so I'll be doing a few mass updates on weekends.

WARNING: I have not read FANG yet. NO SPOILERS, PLEASE.

ALSO: I don't want to be that whiny author, but I'd love more feedback. What am I doing right? Wrong? Help?

LASTLY: I give up. I cannot write a summary for this story that sounds vaugely non-cliched. So either my story is highly cliched (not unlikely) or I'm hitting a brick creative wall. So...

REVIEWERS: WRITE ME A SUMMARY! The winner...gets a summary. And recognition. And bragging rights. Help me out here.

People close to you can be stupid, ignorant, tattling pigs and you have to deal with them because they're sweet.

"So how's the hypothetically cracked rib?" asked Iggy.

"Hypothetically healed." I yawned, curled up on the couch then patted the space next to me. He sat.

"So," he said.

"So."

"Are you okay?"

I looked at him in surprise. "Yes, why?"

"You seem a little...off."

"Not that I've noticed."

"Well, I have. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Yes. In fact, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while." I paused. "I'm Hannah Montana."

He didn't laugh. "I'm serious."

"Wow. Way to kill the mood, Ig."

He sighed. "Anything happen today you want to tell me about?"

"Besides being attacked a homeless guy and his BFF who may or may not be working for a secret evil science lab and who've both managed to dent my pride? No, Dr. Phil, nothing. Maybe..." I hesitated. "it's you?"

"It probably is," he admitted. "I can't shake the feeling that...something big's going to happen. Soon."

"Define big."

"Uh..." he frowned, the skin between his eyes folding and creasing. "Life-changing."

"Well, I was wondering more if it was a good big or a bad big."

"A big-big."

"Helpful. You done with homework?"

"Yes, mom."

"Where's Jeb?"

"At the store. With Gazzy, if that was what you were going to ask. Why?"

"Well," I said guiltily. "I, unlike you, am not done with mi tarea. And I, unlike you, have a sudden craving to watch NCIS. And you, unlike Jeb, are not going to keep me from watching the unresolved sexual tension between DiNozzo and Ziva. Cheers."

"You know that there's no new episode this week."

Oh, right. "Oh well."


Maybe sometimes instincts are better than logic.

The phone rang.

"I'll get it," called Nudge from the kitchen.

BRRRRRRRRNG.

"Actually," she said. "Um. Fang. You, uh, might want to get..."

He got up and leaned against the doorframe of the study. "Why?"

BRRRRRRRRNG.

"It's, um, Anne."

BRRRRRRRRNG.

"Fang?"

BRRRRRRRNG.

"Get it," Angel called from the TV room. A themesong that sounded suspicously Disney floated out from that area.

BRRRRNG--Hello, you've reached---

"Got it," he muttered, grabbing the extension in the study. "Hello?"

"Anne Walker's not very happy with you."

The voice was male and not familiar.

"I didn't need you to tell me that," he said slowly. "Whoever you are."

"That's no matter. I'm just here to tell you that if you don't finish your assignment--well, you're screwed."

"I didn't need you to tell me that either. Are you my conscience?"

"A close, personal friend of Anne's."

"Does she know you're talking to me?"

There was silence for a moment. "I'm giving you a friendly reminder. Get this wrapped up by Christmas."

"Or?"

The line went dead.

"She doesn't know he's talking to me," he said.

"Who doesn't?" Angel inquired, popping her head around the doorframe.

"My new conscience." Fang winked at her. "Nothing to worry about." I think.

Not that I've had experience with this type of thing, but dates seem to turn out bad when knives start getting involved.