She was born into the silence, into the screaming and into the peril. In essence, her parents thought it better for her not to exist at all, for her not to have to face what they have.

Moans of pain permeated the air. "Fang! Fang!" It was Max. She had been terrified at the discovery of her pregnancy. Horrified, she had agreed to raise their first child in the terrible shreds of the world left behind.

Fang was silently thrilled. He didn't say much, but offered Max and their child anything that she wanted. It was a she, Max said. Like me. Strong. Fang found it funny that the independent avian girl found time enough to worry about her child's gender. Playing the supportive role of uncle, Iggy helped Fang deal with the prospect of having someone else to care for – not someone like Angel, who might as well have been Max and his's kid, but someone who shared his genes, who had max's brown eyes or his black ones.

They all silently prayed that the girl wouldn't be born with the wings. Deep down, they really hated the idea of the kid being without wings, but it had caused the hell of a life that Max and Fang had been forced to win, playing tag-team with leadership and keeping alive the Flock for years. Like he had said before, Jeb got them out but Max kept them out. More or less, that is.

More screams, more ragged and less composed. Fang's brow was furrowed. He didn't like this – this feeling of not being able to save Max, as cliché as that sounded. Iggy's hand was placed on his wings. Offering little comfort, the gesture was appreciated.

Nudge's nervous fluttering conversation wafted out from behind the small makeshift tent. She was talking to herself; Max wasn't up for a casual dialogue in the middle of giving birth. Dylan's smooth tones also reached Fang's ears. Some part of Fang was still jealous that Max had asked for Dylan to be by her side. He wondered if she still thought of Jeb's plan – repopulate with Dylan, having perfect little winged babies. If children with Dylan would be winged, would then Fang's be the same? He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

It had been a long night; the moon was crawling up on the sunset with its paralyzing darkness. Fang could just make out the glow of the lantern inside Max's tent. If something went wrong, he couldn't, wouldn't ever forgive himself. He had done this. Himself. Alone.

There. There it was. Tiny, strangled cries and a gigantic sigh of relief. "He's beautiful," from Dylan. He? Fang almost laughed. Emerging with a moving blanket was Dylan. A big smile was on his face, though hurt was surfacing fast.

"Here's your son, Fang," he announced weakly. Fang took the small bundle into his arms. So…this was him. The little boy who had been called many horrid names from the whole Island for months (Helena-Krystal-Marie being Nudge's foremost favorite). Privately, Fang had picked out a boy name – Talon.

It was perfect. This was his. Talon, this human, was part of him. Black, thick hair like his. Fang rocked him as he squealed, peeling open his eyes. Fang smiled – they were just like his Mom's, like melted chocolate.

"So she's not a she, huh?" Max's voice trembled a bit as she hobbled out, supported by Nudge. Her hair stuck to her forehead slicked with the sheen of sweat.

"No, she's not," Fang said fondly. Max smiled a tiny, shaken smile.

She touched Talon's face gently, stroking his cheek. He yawned, exposing little, slobbery, pink gums. "Have you picked a name?"

"Yeah," Fang said. "Talon"

Leaning over slightly, Max pecked Fang's cheek. Warmth tickled its way through him; he didn't know if it was Talon or Max who caused it.

"Sounds good enough," said Max almost proudly. "I'm going to go get cleaned up. Take care of Talon, will you?"

"Of course."

This left Fang holding the baby. Alone. Panic swept over him. What if….what if Talon cried? It would show that he was only twenty and didn't have much to do with babies in the first place. After Dr. Martinez drug up the files which placed Fang older than both Iggy and Max, he was the oldest – but that didn't mean he knew how to take care of a small child by any means, besides Angel.

Suddenly, Fang turned Talon over gently. He skimmed his hand along the smooth skin of Talon's back, feeling two tiny feather-like projections extending from between his premature shoulder blades. Fang's heart fell. He would be just like them….a freak.

But maybe it wasn't a bad thing. He'd get to teach his son how to fly. How to slide across the clouds like you were ice skating, how to spin turns faster than even Max with her lithe, beautiful wings using some of the ways that Fang had learned from the hawks so long ago.

Iggy returned from his apparent leave to either go check on Max or deal with the fact that he was an uncle. Fang hadn't noticed his absence.

"So, what's the squirt's name?"

Fang glared at Iggy. "Talon." He returned back to his one-word answers and clipped tone.

"Geez," Iggy said, holding up his hands, "Didn't mean to offend you." He paused, like he was considering the weight of the moment. "Does he have…?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, well, I mean, that's great." Iggy pulled at his neck nervously. He knew it wasn't great. Unfortunately, Fang knew that his best friend (besides Max, of course) was sugar-coating it. Talon would be nothing more than an experiment to any of the remaining scientists on the island. And how would you feed a kid here, let alone a baby? Was Max going to – oh, wait. That made sense. Baby formula wasn't an option, so she would….yeah. Weird though. Fang shook the idea and rocked Talon back and forth.

Iggy wrapped an arm around Fang's shoulders. "You're going to be a great Dad, you know?"

Talon's eyes blinked open, wide and curious and shining. "I hope so."

And he really, really did.