Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride.

I'm lying down, spread out on my bed, listening to some crappy romance song that has just sprung on the radio. Ugh! I don't want some slow song that will leave me contemplating Sam and Fang, I want some heavy rock piece that will stop thought altogether. I want to forget Fang's kiss, and I want my dad's unexpected and unwanted arrival to be absolved from my mind completely.

After Jeb had left, and Mom and I had both shared a protracted, comforting hug, I'd gone to my room to lose myself in Ambiguity. I was hoping the vicarious experiences would allow me to escape my own problems for a while, but that had not been the case. I'd been severely dismayed to discover how Samantha's turmoil over her father mirrored my own: Jack had forgotten about his family, much like Jeb had. But the most discerning contrast, however, was that Samantha's father had no choice in leaving his family, while Jeb had – he'd voluntarily left us.

I bury my face in my pillow then, thinking of how Samantha and David's relationship paralleled Fang's and mine. In the beginning, she perceived him as a nuisance and a pest: a provocateur with whom she should avoid. Only now, she treated him as her friend and confidant; a person who she relied on so heavily, that the dependency made her feel uneasy. I'd become reliant on Fang as well, even if it was just for the trivial things: to make me smile, to make me laugh, to offer a comforting gesture…

I pick up Ambiguity, and flick to the page I'd just read.

Samantha pulls her coat around her tightly, futilely trying to ward off the bitter chill from the cutting wind. David stands close beside her as they wait for the bus, his hands dug deep inside the pockets of his trench coat. She looks him up and down, admiring the way in which the coat snugly fits him, emphasising his broad shoulders. David notices her stare, and turns to her with a small smile. He realises she's shivering, and so removes his hands from his pockets to run them up and down her arms, trying to infuse some warmth into her slight figure.

Warmth flares up and down her arms. He takes a step closer and puts his arms around her, holding her to him.

"I'm a lot warmer now," Samantha mumbles, her voice muffled by his coat.

"That's good," David chirps.

"You can let me go."

"But if I do, you'll be cold and begin shivering and that wouldn't be good because you might catch a cold." He'd said it all in one, quick breath. Samantha swallows her laughter. He's such a chatterbox, and his reasoning is so ludicrous, she thinks.

Samantha begins to pull away from the embrace. "I think I'll risk it."

He eventually complies, relinquishing his hold on her. She misses his warmth instantly, but when he'd held her, her heart had begun to pound so loudly and at such a pace, that she feared he'd feel it through her thin coat.

Her eyes dart away from his, not wanting him to see the blush that's gradually blossoming on her cheeks. He's already caught sight of it though, and it warms his heart to know that he can have that affect on her. It gives him the confidence to be brash.

David gently cups the side of her face with his hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. He leans in close, slowly, brushing his nose along hers before placing a light kiss on her lips. His other hand moves to her waist, pulling her closer, before their lips meet again and begin moving in synchronisation. He parts his lips slightly, and Samantha loses herself completely in the moment, throwing her arms around his neck.

Eventually their kisses slow, until their lips leave each other's completely. David rests his forehead against Samantha's, his breathing ragged, a broad smile gracing his lips. The upturn of his lips, however, falls when he notes Samantha's frown and the way her eyes refuse to meet his. She pulls away, all too soon for his liking, and turns her back on him.

"Samantha," David says gently, "turn around. Please."

She remains obstinate, her back still to him. She can't bring herself to look at his face, to see the hurt…the confusion.

"I'm sorry," Samantha utters, barely discernibly, "I shouldn't have done that."

David walks towards her, forcing her to look at him as he turns her round. She hadn't expected to feel his touch, and the sudden contact causes her to let out a startled yelp.

A pang of pain shoots through him as he sees the confliction on her face. She bites her lip, rapidly blinking back tears.

"Don't say that," David whispers, "don't tell me you felt nothing."

She takes a shuddering breath, schooling her expression, as she fixes him with an impassive mask. She shakes her head in response, and David's heart breaks in that instant.

He shakes his head furiously, hurt and disbelieving. Had he imagined her blushes? Were all those signs a fabrication of his mind? Had he convinced himself that she was attracted to him?

"Be honest with me, Samantha. Have you never felt anything towards me? Did I imagine it all?"

For a moment her composure threatens to shatter, and she fears she'll confess everything to him: telling him how she really felt; telling him that she just couldn't initiate a relationship with him...not now, not with everything going on at home. Her life was already in disarray, and any intimate relationship would only complicate matters. But how could she tell him that, when she knew he would only perceive it as a minor inconvenience? He'd persist, she knew he would, and perhaps, in the end, she would cave in, and they'd be together for a time. But what kind of relationship would it be when she was working and looking after her brother, dealing with a drunken mother and visiting her father. She barely had time for herself, so how would she make time for him? He didn't need to get caught up in her problems, anyway. It just wouldn't be fair.

"Just say it, Samantha," David demands, "tell me you don't care about me. Tell me….you don't love me."

Her breath hitches. Love?

David's still gripping her shoulders, his eyes bearing deep into hers, searching for what he hoped will ease the ache in his heart.

"I love you, Samantha," he declares. "Don't turn me away because you think family problems are going to make this relationship complicated, ok? Because it won't. I'll make it work."

A rush of happiness floods through her in response to his words. She expels a long breath, surprised at the emotion swimming in his eyes.

Life is so unfair, she muses, because not only will she be hurting herself with her next actions, but she will also be hurting David. She just hopes he'll get over her, and soon, because he deserves better.

She doesn't speak until she's sure she has complete control of her emotions, and her voice will not waver.

She takes a deep breath, and says, "I don't love you."

I close the book and frown. Samantha and David were 'meant' to be together: that had been the general consensus of the class, and, eventually, even my own opinion.

So why was Samantha being so stubborn? Why couldn't she just put herself first for once? Yes, her actions were selfless, as she wanted to put her family first, and that was admiral. But surely there was a way for them to still be together?

My phone suddenly vibrates. I pick it up, and find my stomach sinking as I discover that it's from Sam. It reads: Hey Max. We haven't gone out in a couple of weeks, so wanna grab something to eat? I could pick you up in a couple of hours? Xxx

I text back a short reply: Yeah, sounds good. See you soon.

Letting out a long sigh, I get up from off my bed, hoping that I'm making the right decision.

"Hey," Sam says, greeting me with a peck on the cheek as I slouch into his car.

I give a small smile and click my seatbelt into place. He raises an eyebrow, picking up on my somewhat dispirited mood.

"So," I say, trying to infuse some optimism into my voice, "where are we going?"

The frown disappears from his face, only to be replaced by a bright smile. "There's a burger place in town. Sound good?"

I'm really hungry (I never thought I'd say that), but nod anyway.

The drive is thankfully short, as a tense ambience soon settles around us, making it incredibly uncomfortable.

We enter the restaurant in silence, take our seats in silence, and read through the menus in silence. I find myself unable to read the delicacies on the menu, and instead find myself ringing my hands furiously together. I sit on them in the end, surprised to find Sam scrutinising me carefully when I look up.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

My stomach drops. There's no point in prolonging the inevitable: I should just tell him.

"Um…I," I begin, "I like you a lot Sam…"

He holds up a hand, stopping me in mid-flow.

"You don't have to say it," Sam mumbles. "You're breaking up with me."

The forlorn look on his face threatens to break my resolve: I never wanted to hurt him.

My face softens, and I find myself reaching across the table to touch his hand. He removes his arms from off the table, however, and forces a somewhat bitter laugh. "I suppose I was a little naïve in hoping you'd stay with me," he says. "You don't look at me in the same way you do Fang." A small smile quirks his lips. "You become so animated when you talk with him. You smile a lot, too…only, it's different from your normal one. You seem to reserve that smile only for him." Sam's eyes leave mine then, and my stomach plunges even deeper. "I'd hoped, in time, you'd look at me like that. Guess it just wasn't meant to be."

I lean across the table, trying to catch his eye. Sam is such a nice guy, and he deserves so much better than me.

"Sam," I say, waiting for his eyes to lock back on mine, "I'm so sorry, you deserve better. You'll find someone else though, I promise."

He gives a short nod, the look of despondency still ever present on his face. "We're still friends though, right?" he asks, trying to force a smile back onto his lips.

"Of course!"

"And you'll still be our pianist?"

I pause. I don't want my presence to be awkward for him: I don't want to hurt him anymore than I absolutely have to. "Are you sure you still want me playing with you guys?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Well…yeah, you're one of the best pianists I know. And we're still friends, so…"

I smile again, getting up from my seat, and place a kiss on his cheek. "You really are a great guy, Sam," I say.

I'm curled up on the settee, aimlessly flicking through the channels on the TV. It's Sunday, two days after I'd broken up with Sam.

"Hey, Max," Mom chirps, bringing in a vase of flowers to place in the window.

I give a feeble wave, and turn my attention back to the TV.

Mom comes to sit beside me, a frown on her face. "Is everything ok, Max?" she asks.

"Of course." My response had been immediate, and lacked the conviction I'd desired to instil in my voice.

"Because you know, I'm always here if you want to talk," she continues.

I nod, and begin nervously rubbing my hands together.

"How was you date with Sam the other night?" she asks, still persistent.

Oh. I still have yet to tell Mom and Ella that we are, in fact, no longer together. I've been forestalling the moment, not prepared for the questions of why I'd broken up with him. I'm not prepared to tell them that I'd kissed someone else…twice.

"Um," I begin, "we're not actually together anymore."

She frowns again, and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Was it a mutual thing?" she asks, "Or do I need to beat him up?"

I smile at her latter utterance. "No," I say, "I ended it."

She nods. "Because of Fang."

I jerk back, surprised at her words. "No!" I exclaim. Heat instantly floods my cheeks. Mom's wearing that knowing look (it's the one all Mom's seem to have when they know you're lying), leaving no doubt in my mind that she doesn't believe me. At all.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Fang?" she persists.

"Positive."

She watches my expression carefully for a few more moments before nodding, standing up, and leaving me with my thoughts.

Nerves instantly flood me as I enter the classroom, my eyes instantly raking each of the students' faces for Fang's. I'm somewhat relieved when I note he isn't here yet. I'm not looking forward to the awkwardness that's bound to settle around us: we still have yet to discuss the kiss…um, kisses.

My apprehension, however, also stems from the fact that we will be receiving results for an exam taken a couple of weeks ago today. I thought I'd done…ok, but just couldn't be sure.

I take in the worried looks of my peers: some are visibly sweating. It looks like I'm not the only one freaking out about this exam.

"Right," Mr. Smith bellows, "I suppose you're all expecting your results." He pulls out a dozen manila envelopes, and waves them like a fan in front of his face. "They're right here, and will be distributed to you shortly. Let's just wait for the remaining students to arrive, shall we."

I tap my nails furiously against the desk, impatient.

Finally, the remaining students arrive, including Fang. He refuses to meet my eye as he takes his seat beside me, instead looking straight ahead.

"I already know your grades for this exam," Mr. Smith declares. "I was immensely pleased with some, and extremely disappointed with others."

As he hands Fang his envelope, Mr. Smith frowns, his lips, however, smiling when he hands me mine. I rip it open furiously, my smile broad and big when I see the A printed in the right hand corner. I feel Fang stiffen beside me. I glance over, trying to conspicuously look at his paper. It reads: D. What? How could Fang fail the exam? He's Fang, for God's sake! He never fails exams.

"Class will be cancelled for today," Mr. Smith declares. "Some of you will want to celebrate, while the majority of you, I'm sure, will want to go off and cry." His eyes train on Fang then. "Nick? Can you wait behind?"

Fang nods tightly.

"You ok?" I ask.

"Brilliant," Fang replies absentmindedly. He gets up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and walks over to Mr. Smith.

I grudgingly file out with the rest of the students. But instead of walking down the corridor and out the doors, I press my ear against the door, straining to hear the faint conversation.

"What's happened, Nick?" Mr. Smith asks. "Your project with Max was good. But this result, is not. You've been on a downward spiral for a while now: you've been handing in essays late, and I'm still waiting for that creative writing piece you promised me last week."

"I'm sorry," Fang mumbles.

"You're more than capable of doing well in my classes. So why aren't you? Is there something wrong at home?"

"No."

"Are you just being idle then? I won't tolerate slothfulness from my students."

"I'll do better."

"Yes, you will. I don't want to have to fail you at the end of this year, Nick. But if you don't buck up your ideas, I'll have no choice."

"I understand."

There's a long pause, and then Mr. Smith orders, "Just go. And I expect that work you owe me to be on my desk by tomorrow."

There's another pause, and then the door suddenly swings open, knocking me back. Fang comes out, his eyes widening infinitesimally when he sees me.

"Max," he says, "were you eaves dropping?"

"What?" I feign hurt. "No, of course not. I was…just looking for a penny I'd dropped."

He rolls his eyes. "You're a lousy liar." He pauses. "How much did you hear?"

I shrug. "All of it. Why didn't you tell me you were struggling with the work?"

Fang begins to walk down the hall, and I follow close behind. "I'm not struggling," he states, "I'm just a bit behind."

"Then why are you behind?"

"Just am."

"Maybe it's a good thing Sam's hand has healed then. You need the time to catch up, and quintet practice takes up a lot of time."

"Yeah," Fang begins, "you're glad Sam's back playing with you guys. You certainly won't need me anymore."

I abruptly stop. "What?" I exclaim. "You know I don't think of it like that. You knew you're playing with us was only temporary."

He waves off my response with a flick of his hand. He turns his back on me, and walks down the hall, leaving me extremely agitated and stupefied.

Fang isn't in class the next day. And Mr. Smith is more than a little vexed at his tardiness, asking me several times as to whether I know his whereabouts. I answer truthfully: I have no idea.

As soon as class ends, I'm out the door and dialling Fang's number. There's no response. Damn. I let out an aggravated sigh, and, annoyed and frustrated, drive to his house.

I have to knock several times before the door finally creaks open, slowly. Angel's head pokes through the door, a smile stretching her lips upwards when she realises it's me.

"Max!" she exclaims. "I'm so glad you're here. Fang went charging off ages ago, and hasn't come back."

"What?" I ask, startled. "When? Why?"

The door's suddenly pulled open wider, and the tall, lanky figure of Iggy appears behind her.

"Max? Is that you?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. "What's this about Fang 'charging off'?"

Iggy runs a frustrated hand across his face, ushering me inside with his other hand. His white cane clanks across the wall as he feels his way into the living room, and takes a seat by the door. Gazzy sits, forlorn, on the settee with his knees drawn up to his chin. I sit beside him and pat him on the back. Angel perches beside me, clutching Celeste close to her chest.

"We met with the Principal this morning," Iggy begins, "we, being Mom and Fang. I told the Principal all about the bullying, but he just said that they couldn't expel Dean and his friends because it had taken place out of school. The best they could do was suspend them. Fang wasn't pleased." He pauses, running an agitated hand throughout his hair. "When we walked out of the school, Dean and his friends were there. They made some comments about me being a blind idiot…called me Igiot…stuff like that. Fang went to lunge for them, but Mom pulled him back. As soon as we got home though, and Mom had left to go to the supermarket, Fang was back out the door. I think he went back to the school, to go after Dean and the others."

Damn…damn…damn. Why did Fang have to be so rash? Why couldn't he think before leaping in with his fists?

"Has he got his phone on him?" I ask. "I tried calling him earlier, but he didn't pick up."

"He left his phone at home," Gazzy declares, pointing to the phone on the fireplace.

"The idiot," I mutter, quietly from under my breath.

Suddenly there's a quick rap at the door. The door handle is yanked down, but because the chain had been put back on, it does not open. I go to the door, open it, and let out a long breath when I see that it's Fang.

His eyebrows twitch up in surprise before he winces at the facial movement. There's a large, purple bruise blossoming over his right eye. Dried blood is smeared across his nose and chin. It's on his shirt, too.

"Fang!" Angel exclaims, running over to give him a hug. He winces as she winds her arms around him.

"Hey, Ange," he soothes, patting her on the back.

She relinquishes her grip, and pulls back. "You're hurt," she declares. "What happened? Did you fight Dean and those mean boys?"

Fang stumbles through the doorway, his hand outstretched to help him to the lounge. I attempt to wind an arm around his shoulders, trying to help him, but he only shrinks away from my touch.

"Please tell me you didn't fight them?" Iggy pleads.

"Dean got what he deserved," Fang states. "I told him to leave you alone. I'm sure they will now."

I frown. "You didn't take them all on, did you?"

He shakes his head imperceptibly, and winces once again at the slight movement. "No. I only found Dean."

"Why the hell did you do that, Fang?" Iggy shouts. "You'll have just made him mad. He's going to be ten times worse than before now."

Fang's face drops, his eyes pleading. "He needed to be taught a lesson. He shouldn't be able to get away with what he's been doing to you."

"And now he's going to be even worse, because he'll think that I sent my big brother after him. He'll take it out on me, and he'll make my life an even bigger hell than it was before."

"Iggy…."

"No, Fang. You've just made everything a bloody lot worse. Thanks a bunch."

Iggy turns his back on us then, his cane whacking against the doorframe before his heavy footfalls can be heard on the stairs.

Fang looks stricken.

"Are you ok, Fang?" Gazzy asks in a timid voice.

Fang's face softens as he ruffles Gazzy's hair. "I'm fine, Gaz."

"Come on," I say. "I'll help you get cleaned up."

I don't wait for a response, instead grabbing his hand, tugging him up the stairs to his bathroom. He doesn't resist, and surprisingly, complies with my efforts.

He sits on his bed as I go to fetch a cloth, rinse it under water, and dig around in his cupboards for some antiseptic cream.

When I have all I need, I crouch on the floor down beside him, delicately dabbing at the blood crusted on his nose and upper lip. He breathes in deeply, refusing to show any sign that he's in pain. Occasionally though, his eye would twitch as I'd wipe over a blossoming bruise.

"Why are you here?" Fang asks quietly.

I'm not expecting the question, and falter for a moment. "Mr. Smith wanted me to give you our next assignment. " It wasn't a lie, but it could have waited until tomorrow. "Why'd you miss class?" I ask.

"Needed to go with Mom to see the Principal."

"We had a morning and afternoon class," I say. "You weren't in either. Iggy said your appointment was in the afternoon. You could have come to the morning class."

Fang pulls away from me, shifting back further on his bed. "Needed to make sure Mom remained sober for the meeting."

My face softens, and the hand bearing the cloth drops to my side. He looks away from me, towards the ground.

There's still blood on his face: under his chin and smeared above his lips. He'd gotten a bloody nose, but fortunately, it didn't appear to be broken.

I sit beside him on the bed, and gently turn his head towards me. I wipe the wet cloth just under his nose, removing the blood. He still refuses to meet my eyes though, instead, preferring to look at a spot just above my head.

The blood's gone, but there's water now glistening on his lips and chin. Slowly, I wipe my finger across his upper lip, removing the excess water. He shivers, and his hand snaps forward, stilling mine.

"Don't," he whispers, his eyes finally locking on mine.

It's only then that I realise how close we are: our thighs are touching, and our noses are just mere inches apart.

I look up, feeling his gaze. His eyes hold that perpetual depth again, and like magnets, they draw me in, closer, closer. Until finally, my lips meet his in a hesitant kiss.

His hand suddenly lets go of my wrist, moving to my back, where he rubs slow circles in between my shoulder blades, leaving trails of heat. His other hand moves to my neck, where he buries it in my hair. Our lips begin moving at a faster pace then, and suddenly I'm on my back, and Fang's hovering over me, propped up on his elbows.

"Fang? Fang? Where are you? Max?" The voice of Angel startles us, and we jump apart as if shocked. Seconds later she walks in and frowns. "Why's both your hair messy?" The frown grows on her forehead as she looks at Fang. "Why's your shirt undone Fang?"

I'm blushing bright red, I'm sure, and Fang's cheeks seem to have taken on much the same colour.

"My shirt's got blood on it, Ange," he explains, "I was just about to change it."

She nods, seemingly satisfied. "Ok. Do we have anything to eat? Me and Gazzy are really hungry."

Fang's lips quirk into a small smile. "Mom will be back from the supermarket soon, ok? So we'll all eat then."

She smiles brightly. "Okey dokey. Will Max be staying?"

"No," he says, "she has to go."

"Ok. We'll see you soon though, right Max?" she asks.

I glance at Fang. "I hope so."

"Good. Come downstairs soon? We haven't seen you much lately, Fang."

His face falls at her latter words, and he nods his head, forcing a smile onto his lips.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Fang runs a hand throughout his hair, emphasising its disheveled look. His back is to me, so I can't see his face, and know what he's thinking.

"Fang," I say, hesitant.

"I shouldn't have done that, Max," he mutters. "I shouldn't have kissed you."

I suck in a breath, and my stomach sinks. I'd realised it all too late: I realised I loved him all too late. And now he's moved on, and it's all my fault.

"Why shouldn't you have done that?" I demand. "It's not like it's the first time we've kissed. Are you trying to tell me that they were mistakes, too?"

He turns to me then, wearing that annoyingly furiating mask of stolidity. "I'm sorry," he says, "I shouldn't have led you on."

I gape, speechless, and look towards the ceiling with glassy eyes, hating myself for the tears that are congealing there. I blink them away rapidly, determined to not let him see how much his words are hurting me.

"You know," I begin, and force a laugh, "I broke up with Sam."

"You shouldn't have. Not for me."

"I didn't do it for you. He didn't deserve a girlfriend that cheated on him. He deserved better."

"And so do you," Fang says.

I sniff and tuck my hands deep inside my jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. "For a while there, I thought you might, um…" I pause, not sure whether I should continue.

He raises a quizzical eyebrow. I shake my head, deciding not to elaborate. I feel like I've been punched. Hard. And there's nothing more I want than to retreat home, bury myself under the covers, and never come out.

"I better go," I mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

"Yeah," he agrees, "thanks, for everything."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and leave the house without a word.

Sorry that it's taken me so long to update this week. School has had to take priority as I've had coursework (5 pieces!) to submit.

I hope this chapter was able to effectively hint at why Fang rejects Max, which is explained in Samantha's reasoning as to why she declared to David that she doesn't love him. I also hope no one is too disappointed or annoyed at me for postponing Max and Fang's relationship, once again.

The next chapter will also take just over a week to complete, because tomorrow, I will be going on a school trip to France (woo hoo!).

Thanks for reading.

Peace, love, and coca cola!