Max POV:

I sat up abruptly, breathing heavily, my hand clasped over my heart holding onto the necklace for dear life.

I slowly exhaled, my breathing becoming easier as my eyes registered the dark surroundings. I was lying in bed. It was just another nightmare.

Another terrifying nightmare.

I glanced over at Rose to make sure she was still, well, alive. She was laying next to me, curled up against my side, her eyes moving rapidly underneath the lids. R.E.M. sleep. I didn't even know we needed it.

My fingers were still clutching onto the necklace so hard I was sure there was going to be an imprint left on my palm in the shape of a circle: the shape of the necklace.

The flock had given it to me just before I left. It was a simple chrome circle with my name engraved in the center and theirs engraved around mine. It had ivy on the border but all of this was still very tiny. On the backside was an old Irish saying: "May you live as long as you want, and never want as long as you live."

Whenever I was nervous or scared, and could afford to show it, I would cling tightly to the necklace. It had become my source of comfort since the day I left. Sometimes the memories the necklace brought with it hurt to remember, but they also helped and healed me.

I shuddered as I remembered the dream. It was a reoccurring nightmare I had had every night since I left. It wasn't so much a dream as a memory, lived over and over again. I wanted to break down in tears and hurt Fang every time I went to sleep.

I pulled back the covers and crept out of bed and down the hall to his room, making sure not to disturb Rose. I didn't know what I was thinking.

"Fang, get up!" I said, shoving him out of bed.

"Wha?" he asked, rubbing his eyes confusedly, but even so he jumped up, alert. As a natural reflex he punched me shoulder then did a roundhouse kick to my left thigh.

I kneed him in the stomach and as he bent down I shot out the heel of my hand and hit his nose with it, forcing his face upward so I could get in another kick to his ribcage.

As his head was flung back, he finally saw who it was and stopped fighting. "Max, what are you doing?"

"Fight back," I hissed. "Fight back!"

He looked at me, no emotion expressed on his face. I hated that. How could he control everything damn it!? He needed to show something! He wasn't sorry. He never would be! But I was going to make him sorry.

"Fight back!" I snarled. I shoved him back onto the bed, hitting his head on the wall.

He rolled over on top of me and pinned me down. I suddenly had awful flashbacks, racing through my mind. My breathing became shallower, faster. I stared into the black endless pools of his eyes, searching for something, anything, that would tell me what he was going to do. My fear must have shown, because he rolled off of me, getting up.

"Max, what are you doing?"

I hated that line. He talked to me like I was Rose's age. My breath came out in a hiss. My face was most definitely contorted, not in a scowl, but a harsh feral snarl. I wanted him to feel the pain he'd made me feel. He deserved it.

I lunged at him, my hand clasping around his throat, then throwing him down onto the floor.

He arched his back and jumped up, then grabbed my arm and swung me around into the desk with a thud, some of the papers flying down onto the floor.

I swung my legs around, knocking him over onto the ground face down. I jumped up on top of him and pulled his arms up, holding them behind his back.

"Fight back, coward," I hissed in his ear.

"No," his voice muffled by the carpet. "I deserve it."

"If you don't fight back I'll never forgive you!" I cried. "Show me you have some pride left! Show me you care enough about yourself to want to be forgiven!" I jumped off of him and prepared myself in a fighting stance, watching him warily.

He lay there for what seemed like an endless amount of time. His shoulders were slumped, his body relaxed. He didn't even care anymore. He wasn't trying to protect himself. But ever so slowly, his hands shifted forward, pushing himself up off the ground. He looked at me, death in his eyes, then pulled himself fully up so he was standing in front of me. His seemingly endless height toward over me, but size was not an issue. "You want me to fight back?" he asked. It was rhetorical. He didn't want an answer; he was going to give one. "I will."

He swung out his fist and punched me in the nose. I heard a jarring crack as my nose break and it began to gush blood. I stomped on his foot and brought my fist up as he looked down, breaking his nose as well.

He let out a roundhouse kick to my hip, making me stagger over to the side where he let out another kick to my ribcage, as his foot retreated so did my breath.

I kicked him in the shoulder, making him lean to one side then shoved him the rest of the way into his desk. The desk flew into the wall, making a huge bump sound. The others must have been awake by now.

He rushed back at me and pinned me down on the ground. I arched my back and swung my legs up at him, kicking him off of me. He flew onto the bed and laid there for only a millisecond, then he was back on his feet, shoving me into a wall with my neck enclosed in his grip.

His hand was around the necklace, an easy way to quickly choke and strangle me. But instead of doing that, he stared at it, wide-eyed.

He took a step back, and I seized the opportunity to kick him into the wall. He slid down it, faking an impairment. Bloodlust was in my eyes, adrenaline pouring through my veins. I needed a fight now that I'd started. I was seeing red; I had a need to finish what had been started two years ago.

Fang leaped up and pushed me down, pinning me down. The fear was coming back, overpowering the urge to kill him.

"Not so tough are you now?" he mocked, his hands pressing down on my shoulders.

I struggled beneath him to no avail. He laughed at my pitiable attempts.

Quickly he pulled me up, wrapping me in a headlock.

"What the hell is going on here?!" cried Iggy as he burst into the room. The light in the hallway shed painful illumination on just what was going on. Not to Iggy, but to the four others standing just behind him.

They all saw our bloody noses, the mess in the room, me in a headlock. They probably saw our ripped clothing, me clutching my ribcage where one rib was most definitely broken.

"Mommy?" Rose whimpered, looking scared.

I used the opportunity to grab the arm locked around my neck and twist it behind Fang's back, threatening to pop it out. He swung around and picked me up, lifting me over his shoulder fireman style.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Nudge pleaded, her voice filled with tears.

"We don't want you to fight!" Gazzy said.

"Let them," Angel spoke quietly. "They need to."

Everyone turned to look at her like she'd gone crazy. Well, not me and Fang so much, we were still fighting but only haphazardly.

"Max will never forgive Fang unless he actually defends himself. And he won't forgive himself until Max forgives him. And then we can all forgive him. See?"

"But do they have to do it so violently?!" Iggy roared. Eh, he was probably annoyed that we were interrupting his beauty sleep.

Angel nodded solemnly. She grabbed Rose's hand and the two of them walked back to the room I was sleeping in before.

"You get two more blows each and then you're done," Iggy said, waving a threatening finger towards us. "Or else."

"What does or else mean?" Gazzy asked innocently.

"I think it should mean Max and Fang have to cook their own food," Nudge piped up. "They're both awful at it and it would taste disgusting so it's a great punishment but then Iggy might run out of food because they'd have to try making their food so many times so then we might not be able to eat and oh my goodness we're going to starve and die and we'll never-" Iggy had smacked his hand over her mouth again.

"Nudge, Gazzy, go back to sleep." The two of them nodded and trotted off. "I change my mind," Iggy continued. "Fang, put Max down now. You are not fighting anymore. It is disturbing the kids and you're being downright annoying." Iggy said, then stalked off to his room.

Fang put me down gently and I stepped back, sliding down against the wall. Fang sat on his bed, staring intently at me. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to figure out what the heck had been going on in my head. He was looking for clues, some way I was holding my head, if my shoulders were slumped or not, the corners of my mouth turned in a frown or a smile, etc. He was good at reading me at times, but at other times I was much better at closing myself off and not letting him in.

"So," he finally said, "what was that all about?"

I shook my head. "Figure it out for yourself."

He didn't say anything for awhile. We sat there in comfortable silence together, each of us immersed in our own thoughts. Finally he said, "Why did I have to prove I had some pride and dignity left for you to forgive me?"

I stared at him. I would have thought that he of all people would have known that. "Because if you didn't, I wouldn't have known who you were anymore. Self-preservation is like you area of expertise. You would never allow yourself to become pathetic and to wallow in self-pity. If I could find some part of you that wanted to fight against it, then I knew the rest of you would follow."

He nodded, still deep in thought.

I got up and went into the bathroom, washing the blood from my face and examining my swollen nose. It didn't look too bad to be honest. It could be much worse.

I felt a prickling on the back of my neck, instantly alerting me to Fang's presence.

"I hate when you do that," I sighed, not turning around to look at him.

"What? Breathe?"

"Sometimes," I snapped. I turned around and faced him, looking straight into his eyes. Big mistake. They actually held emotion. He was regretful and guilty, but also pleading with me to understand that it was a complete mistake, that he had never intended to do it. He wanted to show me he missed me. And – I gasped inwardly – he loved me.

Without thinking, I stood up on my tip-toes and connected my mouth to his. I'm sorry, too my kiss said. I'm sorry for running away. Even if I felt I had a reason, I tacked on as an afterthought. With the way he responded, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer into him, he got the message.