Author's Note: At this point in time, I don't really care about squeezing as many reviews as I can out of you guys. I'd like to have everything posted before I go back to school, which is in about a month (AHHHH). Hopefully I'll just wrap everything up within the new couple weeks. Maybe within THIS week. Depends on if I'm feeling generous ;)

Chapter Twenty Six

Erupted

Walking out of my room, dragging my feet as I went, I rubbed the remains of sleep from my eyes. Yawning tiredly I passed the couch, where Fang was sprawled out, his head buried in his pillow. A blanket was twisted around his unconscious form, trailing mostly along the edge of the sofa and onto the ground. When I breezed past he stirred, becoming alert at the sound of my footsteps.

Knowing he'd join me soon enough, I walked into the kitchen area, my socks sliding on the smooth tile. My stomach growled continuously as I rummaged around the refrigerator for something to eat.

I was just pulling the carton of eggs from its shelf when a warm, significantly tanner than mine, hand reached around my torso and closed around my wrist. I paused, glancing over my shoulder at the culprit. Fang smirked at my expression, though his eyes reflected something infinitely more wary.

"What?" I asked blatantly, tugging out of his grasp. I set the carton on the counter beside the stove, bending to retrieve a pan from the cabinet.

"You shouldn't be cooking," he stated, sounding amused.

Once again he moved to block my advances, directing his body so that no matter where I turned, I couldn't reach the stove. I huffed at this, placing my hands on my hips. He crossed his arms over his broad chest in retaliation.

"Where's the logic in that?" I demanded, taking note of the sleepy look in his eyes, and the utterly adorable disarray of his hair. It stuck up in all the perfect directions, flawlessly mussed so that it looked like he had done it on purpose.

"Because I've had your cooking . . . and it's horrible," he answered sincerely, with a pitying look. Well, don't try to spare my feelings or anything.

"What are you talking about?" I was, quite honestly, astonished. "I've cooked for Angel and Gazzy for years. They've never once complained!"

"That's because they didn't know any better," he supplied, thinking this a suffice explanation for his claim.

"I am not a bad cook," I insisted hotly, not wavering in the slightest.

"Yes, you really are." It didn't appear that he was going to give up either. Good thing I was so incredibly stubborn he'd eventually cave just so he didn't have to hear me defend my honor any longer.

"Well, I'm not a gourmet chef or anything, but neither are you!"

"Max," he drew my name out slowly, trying a different tactic. He grabbed my waist, forcing me to take a step closer. After I was in his range he loosely placed his arms around my hips. "It's not necessarily a bad thing. I can fend well enough for myself, so it's okay."

Up this close, I could see his injuries from the night before more clearly. My brow furrowed at the ugly bruise marring his jaw, and I knew the bandage on his forehead shielded something much less appealing to the eye. Fortunately enough, his wounds gave me sudden inspiration.

"Oh yeah? So I'm just a horrifically abominable cook?" I clarified, raising my eyebrow while still trying to look like the news had truly put me off. There was no use in him getting suspicious before I dropped the bomb.

"Pretty much, yeah," he agreed without hesitation, which made me want to punch him in the gut, but I had to reign in the urge. The physical violence could come later, I reassured myself.

"Well in that case . . ." I said with a frown, that slowly morphed into a sly grin as I continued to speak. "I'll be cooking all your meals from here on out."

"Wha-?" he began indignantly, but I cut him off.

"Just until you stop street fighting," I said, although I'm sure the restriction didn't appease him any more than the simple fact of me cooking his food did. At those words he brushed a light finger over his busted lip, like he was remembering the blow that delivered it.

"Max."

"Fang."

He rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"You're an idiot," I reciprocated.

"I don't even understand why you're so against this. We both used to do it all the time," he pointed out with a sigh, though he did move from in front of the stove. I gave myself little time to be triumphant, though.

"Because, in case you didn't notice, I had to. But I don't have to anymore, and neither do you. There's no point in going and getting beat up every night for no purpose whatsoever!" Why was he being so dense? I really thought street fighting had been in my past, but it seemed to be popping up more than intended.

"I do not get beat up," he said blankly, though there was a smudge of defensiveness in his tone. His dark eyes were hardening, becoming lifeless. He was shutting down so that I couldn't get an adequate response out of him.

I turned my back to him, so that he couldn't see the way my eyes pinched shut and my mouth sealed into a thin line. Gritting my teeth I cracked an egg into the pan, sloshing in some milk as an afterthought so I could make them scrambled. As the heat on the burner intensified I deemed it appropriate to speak again.

"Fine. Do whatever you want Fang. I'll remember my opinion means nothing next time."

Silence. Then: "Max, you know that's not what I meant."

I shrugged, carefully concealing my emotions with a mask that could rival Mr. Emotionless himself. Trying to control my forcefulness, I grabbed a plate, dumping the contents of the pan onto it. Without sparing him another glance I exited as gracefully as possible, disappearing into my room. He could make his own breakfast. No way was I sharing my eggs with him.

The, admittedly, first perfect batch I had ever made.

- }{ -

It wasn't that hard to track him down after that. All I had to do was ask around a little. I knew they'd be meeting up around the old haunts anyway. It was just a matter of talking to the right people. Those who weren't out for my blood, for instance.

I wasn't really sure what I was planning to do exactly, when I got there. Or what my reaction was going to be for that matter. I hadn't been put into a situation like I knew it was going to be in so long, that I wasn't sure how I was going to cope. I just had to hope instinct would take over and do the rest for me.

When I slipped through the warehouse doors, I was immediately buffeted by the overwhelming stench that permeated from every inch of space around me. It was a mix of rust, stale air and drunken men. A beautiful combination . . . if you were insane.

Already the floor was littered with crushed cans and bottles of alcohol, the remains of the unidentified liquid sprinkled throughout. I carefully picked my way through the wreckage, trying to make myself as unassuming and invisible as possible.

Unfortunately, a young girl in the midst of totally smashed men wasn't the best cover.

Wandering, groping hands found me at every turn. My face was set in a permanent scowl/glare combo by the time I had made it to the front. My teeth ached in their clenched position, and I fought down bile as dirty fingers brushed against me. I was going to snap. Soon.

My vision was suddenly filled with Fang, and I quickly ducked my head, letting my hair fan out into my eyes. He was leaning casually directly across from me, his wrathful, dark gaze sorting out the audience. Mercifully, he didn't take notice of me, as I used the two burly men in front of me as partial shields.

"Alright, alright everybody. Settle down, settle down," a booming voice shot out above the general commotion of the crowd. The words only spurred a louder uproar, that eventually dulled into a low buzz.

"Good, good. We have a recently unretired champion with us tonight. So let's not waste any more time. Who's got the guts to take on The Shadow?" The announcers voice turned menacing, taking on an almost growling quality.

Guys jostled their buddies, cackling madly and trying to goad them into stepping up for the challenge. I let this go on for a few minutes, just observing. When nobody came forward, I decided I'd save the fools some embarrassment.

Shoving my way through the last steps, I hopped into the center of lights, making sure everybody could see me. I smirked as I shouted: "I think I'd like to take a shot at it."

Fang's glare trained on me was murderous, and I had to swallow down the urge to laugh. I could sense the confusion waving through the crowd. Some cheered, a part of their intoxicated brains vaguely recognizing me. Others were bewildered by the sudden involvement of a simple girl.

"It can't be!" The short, stocky announcer seemed in just as much awe. "Gentlemen, it seems revered fighter Maximum has returned for a rematch."

Nothing could contain the uproar of the crowd now. Screams and cat calls filled the air, surging forward deafeningly. People lurched forward, scrambling for a better view of what was sure to be a momentous match.

"Max, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Fang demanded, his voice dark to match the inferno in his midnight eyes. He stood centimeters from me, glaring harshly down his nose. I smiled sweetly in response, patting his shoulder.

"I just thought that since you liked it so much, maybe I should give it another try. See what I was missing," I replied lightly, grinning cheekily, much to his abhorrence. I could feel myself crawling up under his skin.

"I'm not going to fight you, so you might as well get out of here."

"But Fang, I came here to fight. If I can't fight you . . . I'll just have to fight someone else." I said the last part loud, so that my offer reached the crowd. By their cheers, they seemed to like that idea just fine. In fact, someone was already popping up to take a go at it. Wonderful.

"This is stupid. You're only doing this because you think you have something to prove. Let's go home. Now." Touchy, touchy. His tone was commanding, leaving no room for excuses or questions. Too bad I took orders from no one but myself.

I pointed to the poor sucker who was already preparing to get whooped by yours truly. His brown hair was cut short, his eyes matching the shade exactly. He wasn't tall, and he wasn't short. He wasn't totally built, but he wasn't necessarily slim either. All in all, he was your Average Joe. Incredibly unassuming and blendable. I couldn't even place him in an age rage, upon looking at him.

"You should probably get out of the way," I suggested to Fang, who looked like he was considering strangling me in response.

Reluctantly he shuffled to the side, hovering near enough to intervene if necessary. I don't know what he thought was going to happen. It's not like I was a complete newbie at this. Sure, I was a little out of practice. Fighting was practically ingrained in my brain, though. It was instinct. I couldn't unlearn it no matter how much I could possibly want to. After endless years and years of it, it stuck. At one point not too long ago it had been my entire life. He seemed to be forgetting that.

I shrugged my jacket off, leaving me in nothing but my shorts and a tank top. I chucked it at Fang, and he caught it easily in one hand, slinging it over his shoulder. His fists were turning white at the pressure they were clenched at, and I rolled my eyes. Over protective, much?

Slowly I twisted on my heel to face my opponent, who was already staring at me blankly. He didn't look tipsy in the slightest, standing straight with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He followed my every movement with his eyes, and I realized he couldn't possibly have been drinking. His senses were perfectly alert.

Well, this would be interesting then.

I stalked forward, cocking my head to the side. I circled him, just observing. He didn't move, looking straight ahead as I made my rounds. His fingers twitched, like they were aching to do something. Fine then. I wouldn't waste any more time.

There was absolutely no change in my movements. He couldn't have possibly seen it coming, as my fist struck out hard and fast; connecting with his temple harshly. He rocked to the side with the force of the blow, nearly toppling over. Quickly enough he righted himself, something sparking behind his heavy lidded eyes.

Tauntingly I swung again, my knuckles kissing his forehead as he ducked, striking out a punch of his own; faster than I would have anticipated. I took the blunt force of the heel of his palm into my stomach, grunting. I had underestimated his strength.

That was my first mistake.

After that the tension only escalated. It seemed that every blow I delivered was reciprocated quickly after by this man that I had previously considered an easy defeat. The tables continued to shift in either favor, never staying too long in one.

As we fought, exchanging punches and kicks, I could feel exhaustion creeping up on me. Starting out I hadn't really factored in my overall physical capabilities. My breathing was becoming more ragged, wheezing through my aching chest. Muscles bunched painfully, making it harder to move. I was such an idiot, charging off into this when I was nowhere near in shape.

That was my second mistake.

I did my best to knock him off his feet. It seemed that as time wore on though, my hits were missing their mark more and more. I'd aim for a sucker punch to his nose, and end up barely clipping his jaw. Kicking his legs out from under him was becoming a useless attempt as well, as I felt my strength waning.

He swiped suddenly, his nails raking against my arm as I raised it to shield my face. No doubt he was aiming for my eyes. The blood that trickled from the four thin lines was enough to give me motivation to prosper.

That was his mistake.

You could say my next move was a . . . low blow, but I wasn't taking any chances. Without hesitation I popped a fist into his temple, stepping dangerously close as he shook his head to recover. Not wasting another second I grabbed his shoulders forcefully in a vise grip, kneeing him so hard he probably wouldn't be supplying someone with a baby anytime soon.

Go Max, go Max.

He let out a satisfying groan, dropping to the floor like a two ton of rocks. Bending over his middle he continued complaining, and I smirked heavily. I'm going to take that as submission, and officially say I've won.

That was my final mistake.

Without any sort of warning he sprung up, a pained look on his face, but standing nonetheless. I was too surprised to move at the time, just staring as he hobbled a step closer. Then with a cobra strike he drew something from his pocket; something that glinted briefly silver in the bright white overhead lights, before it plunged right into the spot where my now scarred wounds from Arizona resided.

My last thought before the blazing hot pain in my side erupted and completely took over my senses was how odd it was that he would drag a knife down the same place I had been cut just a month or so before.

Author's Note: Oh Max. Hehehehe. Review?

P.S. Assuming that most of you have yet to attend, what colleges do you want to go to? I was talking about it with my mom even though I still have quite a ways to go.