A/N So I posted this a while ago in a separate fic, but I've been sorting through my writing and I decided I wanted to keep all my After Angel related fics in one place. Which is why I'm tagging this onto the end as a bonus chapter of sorts. This focusses on a bit of interaction between Max and Fang a few weeks or so after the main story ends, and kind of shows the way in which the events of After Angel affected Max.

Something was wrong.

The house was dark and still, and the only sound that drifted into Max's room was Iggy's snoring coming through the wall. Life had been calmer for the group in the past month than it had ever been before; since the disbanding of the School, there hadn't been the slightest hint of an attack coming in their direction. This was the point in her life where she had the least reason to worry, the least reason to be kept up at night.

So why was she still wide awake?

She sighed heavily, watching patterns move across her ceiling as the moon cast shadows of tree branches through her window. She liked leaving the curtains un-drawn, always had done; being able to see the sky from her bed was comforting, calming. Usually it helped her sleep. But not tonight.

Kicking her covers where they were twisted around her feet, Max raised herself up onto one elbow to get a better look at her alarm clock. 00:21. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, as if somehow the act of checking the time might have caused Fang to miraculously appear. No such luck. Where was he? It wasn't as if they had some kind of spoken agreement, she kept telling herself. Neither of them had ever explicitly mentioned the fact that he had ended up in her room every night since they'd arrived back in Oregon. But that was what happened. And he was usually here by this time.

It wasn't like there was no reasoning behind their unspoken arrangement: the things that had gone down in California – learning the true story behind everything that had happened to them, saving Dr Martinez, finding Angel alive, bringing down the School – seemed to have taken their toll on Max. Not during the day, of course. When she was awake she was still tough, still strong, still totally kick-ass. Night was a little different.

She grimaced and sat up in bed, rubbing at the back of her neck as she thought about the nightmares that had plagued her since they'd arrived home. Actually, perhaps 'nightmare' wasn't a strong enough word – her mom called them 'night terrors'. Apparently that was the technical term, and all in all it seemed pretty appropriate. Not that Max remembered exactly what happened during those nights when she'd come to, sitting bolt upright with Fang's arms around her as he tried to calm her down, but the feeling of utter fear lingered around her for a while afterwards, turning sleep into something that she wasn't really in a rush to get back to.

So, yeah, it had kind of become standard for Fang to appear in her doorway at around half eleven, just as she was going to sleep. Big deal. Everything else aside, it would've been nice to have him sleeping next to her anyway, to hear him breathing and feel the mattress dip under his weight, but with the added issue of the night terrors it had sort of become a given that he would turn up to – this was the part that made her cringe and smile at the same time – look after her.

Where was he now, then?

Not that she was worried or anything. No, 'course not. She wasn't that irrational. The time for being paranoid and anxious was past – they were all safe now. If Fang wasn't there it wasn't because he'd been drugged or taken or hurt. It wasn't because he'd left. It was because he chose not to be there.

But was that just as much a reason to worry? she thought suddenly. Why would he choose that? Had she said something? Done something wrong today? She winced, wrinkling her nose at her own panic; since when was she the sort of mutant who cared so much about one person's opinion of her? Quit being stupid, she thought, giving her head a shake. You haven't had one of those night terror things in about a week now. He probably just thinks there isn't any reason for him to be here anymore. Which stung a little, to be honest. She would've like to think that he enjoyed her company at night just like she enjoyed his; the idea that he'd seen it all as a job with an end-date wasn't particularly flattering.

Making a small growl of frustration in the back of her throat, Max shoved her bed covers off and made her way across the room. Without really thinking about what she was doing she ended up at Fang's door, her eyes fixed on the grainy wood in front of her, hand hovering in the air by the handle. After a few seconds of just standing there, almost frozen, she let her hand fall and dropped her head backwards to stare at the ceiling with an exasperated sigh. This is beyond ridiculous. Maximum Ride, you are pathetic. First off, it's Fang. If you want to go in, just go in. And seriously, you are not the kind of person who lies awake at night unable to sleep until a guy comes along to take care of you! Get a grip.

With a quick roll of her eyes, Max twisted the door handle and stepped into the room. The sight that met her wasn't exactly what she'd been anticipating – she'd expected to see Fang asleep in his own bed like nothing was wrong, or Fang sitting in front of his laptop, frowning quizzically at her as he tried to work out why she was in his room at this time of night. What she got was a combination of the two: namely Fang sitting slumped forwards in his chair, head resting on the desk, sleeping face illuminated by the screen of the still-open laptop.

The tension drained out of her and she laughed under her breath as she closed the door, moving further into the room until she was standing beside Fang. Dipping her head slightly, she peered at the page open on the laptop screen. It's been a while since I've posted here, so I guess I'm sorry about that. And it's not that nothing's been going on – quite the opposite, really – but we've all been kind of-… His blog. Max looked away from the screen, turning her gaze downwards to Fang's head on the desk; his neck was bent at an awkward-looking angle, twisted around to accommodate his strange sleeping position. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Max shook him lightly, bending down a bit further to speak into his ear.

'Fang.' Then a bit louder. 'Fang.'

He woke almost instantly, eyes open and alert, a quick breath being drawn in as he sat up straight. Max crossed her arms in front of her, not really trying to hold in a smile as she looked down at him where he sat.

'You know, as cute and angelic and just adorably peaceful as you looked-' Fang scowled. '-I'm fairly certain it's bad for your neck to sleep like that.'

His scowl deepened.

'Thanks for the lesson, Mom,' he muttered, tilting his head from side to side to work out the stiffness in his neck.

Max snorted irreverently as she moved away from him to sprawl across his bed, her head resting back on her hands. His gaze followed her as she went.

'"Mom"? Isn't that kind of… wrong?'

Fang rolled his eyes in a long-suffering way before giving her a look that she interpreted as a mixture of 'really?' and 'you're an idiot'. His expression just made her snort again, and the two of them entered a strange kind of stare-off across the room; after a few moments, Max caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of Fang's mouth as he let out a breath that could almost be equated to a laugh and turned back to his laptop.

'So what, you're writing a boring post or something?' she asked, picking at the fraying end of her sleeve.

'Nothing I write is boring,' Fang replied coolly, eyes still on the screen as he tapped at the keyboard.

'Boring enough to send you to sleep.'

The noise of his fingers on the keys stopped for a moment, then continued a little faster than before. Laughing under her breath again, Max tilted her head back, the sound of typing becoming strangely calming; her eyes started to feel heavy, and she shifted up the bed slightly to find Fang's pillow. A frown crossed her face and she sat up.

'Hey.'

'What?'

'What's wrong with this pillow?'

Fang twisted around to look at her, his eyebrows raised.

'I don't know, what is wrong with it?'

'It's seriously lumpy. Totally uncomfortable.'

The corners of his mouth quirked up.

'Don't use it, then.'

Chuckling at Max's glare, Fang turned away from her, his hands moving back to the keyboard. Max continued to stare at his back for a moment, eyes narrowed, then her tiredness won out and she flopped down onto the bed again.

Next thing she knew Fang was standing over her, nudging her gently, smirking at her grimace as she woke up.

'"Totally uncomfortable", then?'

'Shut up.'

'So if you were tired enough to fall asleep on my "seriously lumpy" pillow, why did you hang around here?' He crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised. 'Come to think of it, why did you come through in the first place?'

His words were deliberate, the smirk was still there... He was messing with her, no doubt. Max bit her tongue, giving him a not-so-polite look as her mind raced to come up with an answer that might preserve at least a shred of her dignity. No such luck.

'You are such a jerk,' she said finally.

He sniggered at that.

'A jerk, huh?'

'Yes. You know why I came through and you know why I'm still here. You just want to make me say it. Hence, jerk.'

The words were accompanied by a look that dared him to push it further; his dark eyes gleamed a little with the challenge, but instead of saying anything else about Max's game of changing rooms, he sat on the edge of the bed and nudged her with his elbow. After a moment of stubborn refusal, she rolled her eyes and shifted over towards the wall that bordered one side of the bed, making room for Fang to slide in next to her. He raised an eyebrow at her when she kept a gap of a good few inches between them, dipping his head to stare at her from under his brow in a way that said 'don't be a pig-headed moron'. Sighing, she moved closer, letting him lay an arm over her waist and pull her into his chest.

Closing her eyes, Max twisted a little to make herself more comfortable in his hold.

'Still a jerk,' she muttered, and she felt a chuckle rumble through him at her words.

She didn't need to tell him that she was smiling. No doubt he already knew.