This is THE last chapter of this story. It was posted on Christmas day, twelve o'clock AM.

So long, my good story. I've loved you. You rock. The reviewers, lovers, haters, whatever you ares, I love you. The reviews - even the rare bad one - are what kept me going. I loved them, and don't think I gave the reviewers anough credit. Keep 'em coming. I wanna hear what you think of this final chapter.

Don't like my ending? Too bad.

PS: I know you can't even have as much of a parking ticket to get into the FBI, but this is fiction, after all.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone besides Derek.

One Year Later

I waited by the luggage Ferris wheel, going from the balls of my feet to my heels, and doing it again. I was super excited. I hadn't seen him in a year. Sure, we had talked over the phone, e-mailed, yada yada, but it's been a year since I've really seen him.

"Waiting for me?" a voice asked behind me.

I whirled around, and a huge smile broke out on my face. "Fang!"

He grinned and gathered me in his arms. I hugged him just as tightly, squeezing the breath out of him."I missed you," he said into my hair, without whatever hair he had left.

"Me too," I replied. I noticed how he had grown a few inches. I had grown about one. He pulled back and came down for a kiss, but I stopped him by putting my pointer finger on his lips. He raised an eyebrow, obviously thinking, I haven't seen you in a year, and refuse to even kiss me? How fucked up is that?

"The last time I kissed you in an airport, you left me, and I got interrogated for being a possible terrorist. Is that going to happen again?" Well, it was true. I was released ten hours later. And they didn't give me any food!

He grinned, and looked from side to side. "No airport police guards . . . you're coming home with me . . . and there's a truck waiting outside for both of us."

I smiled. "Well then. I guess you can have your kiss." I got on my tip-toes and pressed my lips to his. He eagerly accepted the kiss, tightening his arms around my waist.

I remembered we were in an airport when people starting saying things like, 'Get a room!' 'He's cute.' 'Dude. How did he land her?' and others that I don't think would be acceptable in a PG-13 movie.

I untangled a hand from Fang's hair and shot everyone in a near-by area the bird. I mean, c'mon! I hadn't touched my boyfriend in a year, and they want to complain about it? There were no longer any complaints of our P.D.A. But I swear I heard someone say, 'This is a total turn on.'

We pulled apart, me smiling, and him grinned. Fang laced his fingers through mine, and I allowed him to slightly pull me outside.

And let meh tell ya. It was freaking cold for someone in jeans, combat boots, a dark blue long sleeve t-shirt, and really short hair. I had chopped it all off soon after Fang left, and kept up the chopping. It was still as wild and spiky, despite how it was in a usual spot now a days.

"How do you survive this?" I asked Fang, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Oh, c'mon," he said, pulling the black beenie off of his head and shoving it on mine. "It's not that cold." We got into the truck, and the heater washed over me. Yes!

I raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? This isn't that cold?"

He nodded, chuckling.

"Where's the Iganator?" I asked. He, Nudge, Gazzy, Angel, Ella, and Anne had come about two weeks before me. I had business to take care of.

"Probably making out with Nudge," he replied.

"Ah," I said. We sat in comfortable silence for a while.

"How did your art selling thingy-majig go?" Fang asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Oh, yeah. It was cool," I said. "And boring."

"Isn't all art?" he asked teasingly.

I shoved his shoulder. "Jackass."

"Aw. I thought I was a bastard," he said in fake sadness. "I was really starting to like that title."

"Uh-huh. Sure you were."

Maybe I should explain?: Before Fang had gone home - bastard/jackass - I had placed in the art contest. My painting was put on display in the museum in Phoenix, along with two others. I had gotten second place, a girl named Nyloc had gotten first, and His Douchiness (Yes, I'm still using his nickname. It's funny when he makes that face when I call him it. *snicker snicker* It looks like he's constipated.) had taken third place. Some of the art buyers people had wanted more. And that's my job now. I paint/draw what I want, then sell it. I'm making quite a bit of money, too. That was the business I had that delayed my arrival in Colorado, (I almost strangled Anne when she said I had to stay behind for the art thing. I still don't like her.) where I was going to meet Fang's family.

"What if your parent's hate me?" I asked and crossed my arms in front of my chest. Since when do I care about what people think about me? But this is the love of my life's family, and I really wanted them to like me for some reason.

Fang looked at me for a second, then turned his eyes back to the road. "No one could hate you."

"Sure. It's easy," I said and started to flick his ear, while saying, "Hating me now, hating me now, hating me now."

"Max, I'm driving," he said, chuckling.

I stopped flicking his ear. "Fine. But only because there's a possibility you could KILL US ALL!" I said over dramatically, putting a hand on my forehead like I was about to faint.

Fang rolled his eyes. "You are so over dramatic."

"And that's why you love me," I said, smiling.

"Uh-huh, sure it is."

My smile widened and I leaned back and closed my eyes. "I'm gonna *yawn* sleep a little." I fell asleep to Fang's rubbing my back.

Later

"Maax . . . wake up . . ." Fang's voice coaxed me out of dream-la-la land.

"Go away," I grumbled, and tried to roll over. I then remembered I was in a truck when my face hit door.

"Max, we're here," he said.

I was immediately awake, hyped up with nerves. "I'm up!" I exclaimed, and drowsily sat up in my seat.

"Good," Fang said, grinning. "Now might be a good time to get out of the car."

I glared at him, and opened the truck door. I hopped out, pulling my duffel bag with me. Geez. This reminds me of when Fang first came to Arizona. But the house didn't look much like mine. It was a cute little two story, painted a dark red, and white-ish egg-ish whatever-ish shutters.

"Whatchya think?" Fang asked, putting an arm around my shoulders.

I smiled. "It's cute."

"Cute?" he asked. "Wait until you see all the family members we manage to cram inside."

He was right. It was tightly packed. There were people all over the place. But we made a bee line for where he said his mother usually was at this time of the year. The kitchen.

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! His mom, Haley (Fang told me. He's a informative little bugger.), had light brown hair and hazel eyes. When we walked in, she turned towards me.

"You must be Max," she said, smiling warmly.

"Yep, that's me," I said, smiling back. We shook hands.

"You're a very beautiful young lady, Max," she said. "Nick here told me you were pretty, but that doesn't cover it."

I blushed. You got that right. BLUSHED. "Thanks," I replied, looking down at my feet.

"Um, mom?" Fang said, noticing my uncomfort. "We're going to put Max's stuff up, m'kay?"

His mom eyed us, then smiled, like she knew exactly what was going on in his mind. "Behave, Nicholas."

Yep. That just happen. It was so freaking embarrassing, and slightly awesome at the same time.

Fang coughed, trying to cover his blush, and I snickered. "Mom . . ."

"Go ahead," she said, and turned back to whatever she was chopping.

We exited the kitchen, which was filled with delicious smelling foods, and back into the crowded living room, which held the smells of many different people. I liked the food more.

We walked through the living room, where many people introduced themselves. I'm not even going to mention them all, because you probably won't remember all of the names, so yeah. Iggy, Nudge, Ella, Angel, and Gazzy were enjoying the snow with some of the younger kids, apparently, so we didn't see them.

Finally - and when I saw finally, I mean finally - we were in Fang's room. It was like any other room - a bed, a dresser, a closet, and a desk with a lap top on it. But I wasn't really paying attention to that, now was I?

Iggy

We were having a grand 'ol time in the backyard of Fang's house. There was snow EVERYWHERE. It was awesome.

Right now, Nudge and I were having a snowball fight. I packed my hands with snow and threw it at her. If it was possible to glare and smile at the same time, she managed it. She threw a snow ball at me, and I ran towards her. She did that play scream that said, 'You're not really going to hurt me, but I'm scared you will anyways.' You know the one.

I caught up with her, and hugged her from behind, lifting her off the ground. She laughed and said, "Let me go!"

"Not happenin'," I said and spun her around, making her laugh. "You know what? You're pretty heavy, so . . ." I set her down, and she turned around and slapped my arm.

"I'm not that heavy!" she said, glaring at me.

"No, you're not," I said, smirking. "You're heavier."

She sucked in a breath, glared at me, and threw snow in my face. In case you didn't know, snow is cold. I don't like having snow in my face. Would you like having snow in your face? Nope, didn't think so.

Just when I was about to throw another snowball at Nudge, one hit me in the back of my head. I turned around to find Max snickering. Her face was pink, and I could tell it wasn't from the cold.

I raised an eyebrow. "Where did you come from?"

"I thought you knew this, Iggy," she said, shaking her head to mock me even further. "When a man and a woman love each other very much-"

"Like you and Fang?" Ella asked, and I could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Oh, shut up, Ella," Max said, but she was red now.

"Max!" Angel said and ran to Max. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too, Ange," Max said and kissed Angel's cheek.

"Careful," I said. "We don't know where that mouth's been."

Max glared at me, and I flinched. (Yep. My man card is officially being taken away.) "That's disgusting."

"It is, Iggy," Fang said, coming beside Max.

I shrugged. "I can't help what my brain comes up with."

Max smiled. "Good to see ya, Ig."

"You too, Max," I said.

We said our hellos to Max, and the girls disappeared into the house, Max with them. So it was me, Fang, Gazzy, and a few of Fang's cousins or friends or whomevesr.

"Dude," one of them, I think his name was Derek, said to me,"your sister is hot."

Fang glared at him, and so did I. Blunt much?

"What?" he asked. "I'm just stating the obvious."

Another one said, "And Fang is as whipped as can be."

I snickered. "Yes he is."

"He is right here," Fang said. "And he isn't deaf."

"We know," I said,and stuffed my hands into my pockets. "Is there food?"

Fang shrugged. "Dunno."

"I'm going find out," I said and walked out of the yard and into the house.

Max

"So, Max," Nick said. (Not Fang, Nick. Fang's dad.)

"So, Nick," I said and took a sip of some of my hot chocolate, and a bite of cookie. Almost as good as mom's, but not quite.

"Fang tells me you've been arrested," he finally said.

"I have," I replied. "Several times . . . and have been interrogated for being a possible terrorist."

"Interesting," Nick said and took a bite of his cookie. Right now, we were both in the kitchen. Everyone else was asleep or at a hotel or at their house. I hadn't been able to sleep, so I came down to eat something. And now here I am. Talking to Fang's dad. Nick.

"Hmm . . ." I said and took another sip of hot chocolate. Nick made it, and damn it was good.

"You know, a lot of great FBI agents have been arrested sometime in their life. Minor crimes, of course," he said finally.

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to recruit me to being a FBI agent?"

"Yes and no," he said. "My son would probably want to kill me for even mentioning the possibility."

"He probably would," I said. Over protective Fang.

"But you're probably more than qualified, and can make your own choices. What were you planning on doing for a living, anyway?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

I shrugged. "Paint, draw. Arty stuff, I guess."

"Well, a lot of artists aren't recognized until they're dead," he said.

"Are you planning on killing me to make a fortune off of my already existing paintings and drawings?" I asked, smirking.

He chuckled. "No. I'm just saying you shouldn't lean on your art talents to get you through life."

I nodded, understanding.

"I've seen the drawings you gave Fang," Nick said. "They're . . . amazing. Almost like a picture. But like I already said, a lot of artists aren't recognized until they're dead."

"I know," I said. "But doesn't it take, like, forever to get into the FBI?"

He grinned. "Not if you know the right people."

I smiled into my hot chocolate. If I drank any more, I'd get the nasty grainy stuff from the bottom. "I'll think about it." I got up and put the cup in the sink.

I was about to wash it, when Nick said, "I'll get that. You go back to sleep."

"Thanks," I said, and exited the kitchen. I padded down the hall (That always makes me think of an insane asylum.) and up the stairs. I walked into Fang's room and walked over to the bed, where an awake Fang laid. Without a shirt on. Mmmmm.

"Did I wake you?" I asked and brushed some jet-black hair out of his face.

Fang shook his head and hugged my waist. He nuzzled my neck, and I turned around and kissed him.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, barely parting his lips from mine.

"Ditto," I replied. I traced the muscles on his arm and he shivered, making me smile a little bit.

"I'm tired," I said. Even though I wasn't . . .

"Hmmm," he replied, kissing me so lightly it felt more like a feather than his lips. "You're lying."

"No," I said. How could he always tell?

"Yeah, you are," he replied, and I could hear the small smile in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. "I'm just tired."

"I thought we went over this," Fang said.

I shrugged. "Just let me sleep."

"Are you mad at me?" he asked.

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"I dunno," Fang said.

"Just let me sleep."

"You know I can't do that," he said and tickled my stomach.

I giggled. Yep. Giggled. I'm ticklish, alright?

"Fang *giggle* stop it," I whispered. "We're gonna wake *giggle* someone up."

"Then tell me what's wrong," he negotiated.

"Nothing's wrong," I said, which wasn't a lie. "I'm just tired."

He stopped tickling me. "Alright. But at least let me tell you something?"

I sighed and squinted in the darkness, trying to make out his face. I had a little luck. "What is it?"

I could hear the grin in his voice when he said, "Merry Christmas." I looked at the clock on the bedside table. It read twelve-thirty.

I smiled, and kissed him. "Goodnight, Fang."

He sighed and tightened his arms around my waist. I didn't protest.

Of course, my life isn't perfect. would you like to hear the pros and cons of my life? Why, of course you do.

Pros: I have Fang, Angel, my family. I have a possible future in the FBI, Fang's family is really nice. I have my art talent. My life. A house, a bed, someone to share it with, a phone, food, and everything else that can't be put on paper.

Cons: We still don't know who took Angel, I have a possible future in the FBI, Fang's family is so nice it makes you want to slap them. There's always going to be someone making fun of my name (*cough* Iggy, Nick *cough*), and Lissa hates my guts.

. . . Meh. It evens out. My life isn't perfect. It's practically some cliche book or fan fiction (Why do those words end shivers uo my spine?). But it's my life, and there ain't nothing you can do about it. Not that I would want to do anything with it.

And merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.