Hola, hola!

So, I've been AWOL for a bit, but I've been a little busy… and blocked in the writing area.

Yeah, I said the chappies would laid back, but I really have no idea what to do. They just have to come to me. And they're not.

So…

So here is chapter…. Is it sad that I can't really remember? Hold on….26!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Maximum Ride related. Comprende?

FPOV

The snow/ice mix pounds against the windows as the blizzard roars on. Angel is curled up into my side, scared of the large storm. The world outside looks like nothing but a mass of white matter, what with the wind blasting the snow so much.

The lights flicker in the house, pulling my attention from the blizzard outside.

I hate snow storms.

I look down again at Angel only to find her asleep, her body relaxed and her breathing even.

"Good," I think. "She's better off asleep during this."

I can't help but fathom at how in the world she fell asleep. Earlier I had turned the TV on and cranked the volume up so Angel wouldn't be so freaked out by the sound of the storm.

Currently, the TV is screaming as an episode of I Shouldn't Be Alive plays on the screen.

Yeah – story of my life.

To catch you up on recent events, I now have a few pints of hawk blood swimming in my system.

Obviously, I am out of the hospital (I got out a few days after the Avian Red cross generously donated, much to the doctors' freaked-out-ed-ness), and Dr. M gave (more like demanded) me a ride home, even though I told her I was fine.

What with the avian-rapid-healing and everything.

Dr. M just muttered, "You always are," and practically welded me to the passenger seat.

I got home just in time for a blizzard, it seems.

The lights flicker again then give up completely, cloaking the house in black. Silence falls upon the air as the TV dies, the person on the screen's scream abruptly cutting off.

Great. Just flipping fantastic.

Gently, I lift Angel's head off my chest and rise from the couch. I lay her head as softly as possible on the couch, trying to not wake her up.

She doesn't stir.

Score 1 for team Fang.

I straighten out to full height and let my wings extend a little, relieving the cramps from squishing them against the couch seat.

Then, with a sigh, I head to the kitchen to grab a flashlight and some candles to place around the house.

I navigate the dark house with ease; the dark doesn't bother me as much, since the raptor vision helps. Still, I know the house well enough to get where I want without running into something.

I trail my fingers along the counters, feeling the drawers and mentally counting. I stop once I reach the drawer I want. I grab the handle and pull it open, then proceed to feel around for the contents I desire. When my hand fingers a cylindrical, metal object, I give a small smile.

Success.

I pull the flashlight out and twist the top, instantly releasing a steady stream of light to the ceiling.

One small object for Fang, one big leap against darkness.

I use the flashlight's beam to find some candles and matches. Quickly and methodically I strike a matchstick against the side of the box, setting the tip on fire. I light the wick of the candles and blow out the match.

Now: strategic placing.

I go around the house and place a candle every few yards. Then, I enter the bathroom and put one in there.

You laugh at that, but it is not easy to pee when you can't see the toilet.

…that was a TMI moment, wasn't it?

Anyway.

As soon as the house is filled with subtle light, I sit back on the couch where Angel is sleeping. Grabbing a book off the floor, I start to read by light of flashlight, waiting for the power to come back on.

2 hours later

God, it is cold in here.

I never thought to consider how this small house + no heating (due to the power outage) = cold Fang and company.

There is no fireplace in this house, either – oh, and the only sheets in the house are on the beds.

Which, of all times, I decided to wash a few hours ago…meaning they are soaking wet.

Well, there are always Mom's sheets – but those smell like drugs.

I'm not that cold yet.

I take off my sweatshirt and lay in on Angel – its huge size covers her well enough, and my body heat trapped in it will warm her up.

Instantly shivering, I run to my room, scavenging the floor for one of my few shirts.

I manage to find a black T-shirt with a dark stain on the left side.

The shirt I wore when I rescued Angel.

It's been washed, but the stain is so worn in, the splotch where it once resided still exists.

Eh. Whatever.

I throw on the shirt, shivering as the cold fabric hits my bare skin. My arms are still cold, but at least I have a shirt on.

I don't have a lot of money, and I figure food is a little more important than clothes.

It's situations like these that make me question my priorities.

Hugging my arms against my chest and trying to conjure up some magical body heat, I head back to the living room.

I wonder if Max's house has no power, too, when I remember that she said something about her mom buying a generator a few years ago.

Maybe we should visit.

No way in hell am I flying out there – not only because of the T-shirt status, but also because light bird kid + 20 mph winds +snow/ice = BAD combo.

I look in the direction of the driveway. I really don't want to drive, but if it gets any colder, things could get bad here.

Then I remember that the last time I used the car, the door was ripped off and Angel was kidnapped.

Though I have retrieved Angel, I never did fix the door.

I was a little preoccupied by a gaping side wound.

Like I said, it's times like these that I question my priorities.

Well. Hm.

Conundrum.

I don't want to call Max and ask for someone to pick us up. Like I said, driving isn't a spectacular option right now.

What to do, what to do…

I look out the window, contemplating.

I watch as the door to our neighbor's (who really hate me, stereotypically assuming that I'm the crack whore delinquent in the house) house opens. The old man scurries out, goes to some brown pile, pulls up a few round pieces, and scurries inside.

Firewood.

Wait…

Ding!

What was that, you ask?

Oh, just a light bulb lighting in my head.

I can practically feel the mischievous smile on my face as the plan forms in my mind.

"What can you do with firewood, Fang?" you ask. "Especially when you don't have a fireplace!"

I'm nothing if not resourceful.

My neighbors would really hate me now, if they could know what I'm going to do.

Finding my worn tennis shoes, I slip them on. I silently jog to the back door and open it.

I almost get blown back inside by the draft that blows in.

With goose bumps instantly forming on my arms, I force myself forward and shut the door.

Trudging forward through ten inches of snow is never fun. Now, imagine doing it in thin tennis shoes, old jeans, and a T-shirt.

I really need to think of better plans.

As silently as I can, I walk up to the backyard of the neighbor's house. Pressing myself to the icy metal siding, I creep along, avoiding the windows so Mr. and Mrs. Grouch don't see me.

I spot the wood pile a few feet away… and right below a window.

Hm.

I tell myself I'll run and snag a few and retreat, all on the count of three.

1…

I jump forward, trying to use my bird-kid speed boost to carry me faster.

I grab for the top few pieces, trying to decide how many pieces of wood it would take to have a nice mini-bonfire in the kitchen.

Yep. That's my plan.

A mini-bonfire.

Does that require mini-marshmallows?

Ha! I make myself laugh.

My cold hands fumble over the wood, the numbness refusing to let me have a good grip on anything, and I accidentally drop a piece of wood.

Down the pile.

Making lots of noise, of course.

Damn.

I hurriedly pick it up and start sprinting as much as possible (which is hard in ten inches of snow) as I hear the sound of a chair scraping.

I make it to the back door of my house, then make a quick decision and continue to the side of the house.

I just make it around the corner when I hear a sliding door open and Mr. Grouch exclaim, "Who's there?"

I can't help the breathy laugh that escapes my lips as I take in how ridiculous this situation is.

I bend over to pick up the wood I dropped in the snow. When I stand back up, I almost drop it again.

I had been looking out at the backyard, and I saw a humanoid shape standing a distance away, the snow obscuring the face.

I walk forward, dropping the wood again in case I need my hands free.

"Who are you?" I shout, trying to make my voice carry past the howling wind.

The person makes no vocal response, but turns around.

It's a man.

And - no. No.

It can't be.

But I swear it looks like –

I wake up with my face in the snow and a stabbing numbness in my limbs.

Ugh. What am I doing out here?

I try to think back to how I ended face first in the snow.

However, the last thing I remember is leaving to get firewood for a mini-bonfire.

I look to the ground and see the wood lying in the snow a few feet away.

Huh.

I'll focus on this mysterious mystery… inside. Where it's warm.

Have I mentioned how freaking cold it is out here?

I pick up the wood and shuffle inside with numb limbs. I bet my lips are blue.

How long was I out there?

I shut the door behind me as soon as I enter the kitchen. I drop the wood onto the floor and walk into the living room to find the matches I left in there.

I walk into the living room; I see Angel is awake on the couch.

"Oh, there you are!" Angel says, smiling. "Max called. But I didn't know where you were."

I try to give her a smile, but it hurts – my face is frozen solid.

Angel's smile falls away as she looks at me. "Why are you blue?" Angel asks, confused.

"Just c-c-cold," I manage out. I shakily point to the sweatshirt sitting by her. "C-c-can I h-have that-t-t?"

"Sure!" she says brightly, and jumps off the couch, sweatshirt in hand. She hands it to me.

"t-t-thanks-s," I say, pulling it on and instantly feeling the heat.

Ah.

"Hugs always make me feel better," Angel says, then proceeds to hug my legs.

Oh my goodness, the warmth feels amazing.

"Brr! You're cold!" Angel says, looking up.

"Yep," I say, closing my eyes as I try to focus on warming up.

It is times like these that I wish I came with insulation attached.

Then I remember what Angel first said.

"You said Max called?" I ask Angel.

"Oh! Yep," she says. "She said that her daddy is coming to pick us up. She says we can stay the night 'cause her house is warm. It has some geni… gena…"

"Generator," I finish for her. She's probably worried we'll get too cold.

"Yeah. He will be here real soon."

I can't help but roll my eyes at Max's actions.

She's too paranoid, sometimes.

But I can't say I don't appreciate it right now.

I start packing a backpack for Angel and I, since we'll probably (be forced to) spend the night there.

I finish packing, and I sit with Angel, waiting for Max's dad to arrive.

…Now that I think about it, I have never met Max's dad. Even in our childhood friendship.

He was always gone… to work, I guess.

I riffle through the backpack one more time, double checking that everything we need is there.

It is, but then why do I feel like I'm forgetting something? Something important…

I am snapped out of these thoughts by the sound of a car horn.

"That's probably for us, Ange," I say, and I stand up, slinging the small backpack over my shoulder.

I open the door and hold onto Angel's hand to make sure she doesn't fall and/or get blown down by the wind.

We walk out to the giant truck parked on the road. It is a red Ford F150 with a giant snowplow attached to the front.

That probably makes driving easier, I guess.

I help Angel get into the back seat, noticing the warm air that fills the cabin. I shut her door and hop into the passenger seat.

"Hey, boy. Wow, you look cold," a voice says. I look to the owner.

Max's dad.

He has Max's light brown hair but has Gazzy's blue eyes, set off by large wire-rimmed glasses. He has a moustache above his lip that looks like a hairy caterpillar, and I instantly want to shave it off.

On his person is a white coat. A white lab coat.

Well, that's a great first impression.

I instantly turn away, silently convincing myself that Max's dad isn't going to run off with me to a secret experimentation lab.

"My name's Jeb. What's yours? Maximillia called you 'Fang', but I don't like nicknames."

Maximillia? I forgot that was Max's real name.

I have a mental laugh, but I stop the smirk from reaching my face.

"Nicholas," I say tightly, still not trusting this man. "And that's Angela."

"Good names," he says, and then proceeds to do a turn-about and drive away.

It can easily be assumed that the car trip will be incredibly awkward on my behalf and silent.

I am currently in the shower at Max's house, letting the scalding hot water flow over my numb limbs.

Stop fantasizing, readers.

All I can say is I love generators and their ability to keep heat going.

At this point, I'm already clean, and my fingers and toes are probably going to prune soon from the water, but this the nicest I have felt in a while.

Our house doesn't have hot showers like this.

I finally decide to turn off the water. I step out of the shower…

And the lights turn off.

"Mom! The generator's faulting again!" I hear Max shout.

"It's probably got some ice in it. I'll go fix it!" I hear Jeb shout.

I blindly grab a towel and start drying off, not really phased by the darkness. I reach down to put some clothes on…

And find nothing.

Crap. I forgot to grab the clean clothes out of the backpack.

I am about to put on the dirty ones, but they are so cold, I really don't want to.

Figuring this would be the best time to do so, I wrap the towel around my waist and open the bathroom door, planning to go to the guest room and grab my clothes.

Of course, I don't realize how hard it is to blindly navigate a house that you don't know.

See, since Max's house is significantly larger than mine, the middle of her house doesn't have windows – unlike mine, which is basically just a large room.

AKA, no lighting whatsoever.

I keep one hand on the towel and follow the wall with the other, feeling for an open door frame.

I find one, and I think this is my room.

So I step into the room like a person normally does.

Unfortunately, this was not my room.

Actually, it wasn't any room at all.

It was the doorway to the stairs.

And most people know what happens when you step wrong onto the stairs…

Yep.

Commence epic tumble down stairwell.

I land at what I assume must be the bottom, splayed all over the ground, faintly hoping the towel is still covering enough while consumed with thoughts along the lines of "Ow!"

"I got it!" I hear Jeb say.

Then the lights turn back on.

I see I am on the floor by the base of the stairs, towel (thankfully) covering my behind as I am sprawled on my stomach.

Only, the stairs face the open living room door.

Sitting in which were (of course) Dr. M and Max.

I try to hold down my embarrassment, but that is like trying to swallow a bunch of grapes at once.

Really hard.

"Um…," I gulp, feeling my cheeks heat up. "…What's up?"

Max and Dr. M continue to stare at my mostly naked self splattered at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah…I'll just go…," I say, then try to stand up. I stop, though, because there isn't a good way to stand up without completely flashing them.

Thankfully, they finally snap out of it and realize this too, for they avert their eyes.

Swiftly as possible, I stand up and re-secure the towel around my waist.

Then, the door opens and Jeb walks in.

His eyes instantly land on towel-clad me.

"Why are you down here in a towel, Nicholas?" Jeb asks, his eyebrow raised. I hear Max snigger in the background.

"Uh, well, you see, I tripped… power out… uh," I stumble uncharacteristically.

"Just get some clothes on, boy," Jeb says, and then walks away.

"Will do," I mutter almost unintelligibly and sprint up the stairs, mortified.

I find my room on the other side of the staircase door frame.

Of course.

As I shut the door and swiftly put clothes on, Jeb's questioning face taunts me.

But his face sparks something, and a different face flashes in my head.

A man, mostly obscured by the snow.

Where have I seen this?

The snow seems to pause for a second and his face is more visible.

I freeze, a shirt half-way over my head.

Why is the face of my father in my head?

Especially since he shouldn't be alive.

Hope you like it!

If you spot any errors, please inform me. I don't have a beta or any proofreaders (obviously) and it's really embarrassing when there is an error in my work that spell-check passed by.

You all know what I mean. I do it, too. Like when you read a fic where Angel is spelled Angle and I laugh, because I keep thinking, "Who's her father, Pythagoras?"

It's a little of a filler, but it's something.

This chapter is dedicated to Barton Hollow by The Civil War.

R&R?