Fang's not sure what makes him look. A subtle change in the atmosphere? The little breath she chokes out before she falls? Nudge, shrieking, "Max?"
Whatever it is, it's just in time. He whips around quickly enough to watch Max's wings collapse like a well-loved Chinese restaurant mai tai umbrella. There are maybe five seconds of pure confusion during which he strings together one thought - huh? - but in those five seconds alone she plummets thirty feet through the wispy stratus clouds, so he tables any further thought-stringing for a later time.
Angel starts to scream. That's when the fear finally kicks into gear and he dives.
What the hell happened?
There had been no gunshot, no attack. Fang is certain of this. So why the hell is she acting like she just had her skull pounded in by an Eraser?
It doesn't take long to reach her. The sight is unnerving. Her hands are clutching her head like a toddler might clutch a bowling ball: two-handed, spider-fingered, desperate. Hanging on for dear life. The angle of her brows and the twisted plea of her lips almost makes her unrecognizable.
And she's screaming. It's a high-pitched, guttural sound that a dying animal might make and it cuts through him like a saw, jagged and biting. Despite its volume and pitch, Fang can barely hear it over the blood rushing in his ears.
What the hell happened?
Fang has seen Max a lot of ways. Like, a lot of ways. But, until this very moment, not this way.
The way he snatches her from the sky isn't what he'd call graceful. Her wings have retracted halfway, maybe reflexively, so their bulk is crammed painfully between them, and when he pulls out of the dive and throws his own open, they're both jerked upward. One of his arms is roped around her back, the other under her knees, his hands white-knuckling whatever they can grab.
It isn't pretty, but she's not going to die. Or, that is, she's not going to fall to her death. Intracranial hemorrhage, infarct, or devastating neurological injury are still on the table.
His heart stops. A wound they can handle, no matter how serious. They have Iggy. They have hospitals and modern science, if it were to come to it. But this?
What the fuck is this?
"Fang!"
Nudge careens toward him, waiting until the last possible second to brake sloppily and almost plowing into them as a result. She looks like someone's switched her to vibrate mode, nervous energy jumping in her fingers and eyelids and that infamous motor mouth of hers.
The others crowd his periphery. Angel is inconsolable. Gazzy, terrified as he looks, is trying to comfort her. Iggy looks how Fang feels - like something horrible, life-altering, and irreversible is happening and he is powerless to stop it.
"What's happening?" Nudge demands. "What's wrong? Is she hurt? Is she okay?"
He considers every single one of those questions rhetorical until he realizes three other pairs of very freaked-out eyes are on him, too, asking the same thing.
He blinks. Nudge's mouth is moving again.
Is she okay?
Sure, they give him shit for his bulletproof memory and what they perceive as off-the-charts intelligence, even though he's reminded them countless times that memorization = intelligence. And, okay, maybe he's not humble enough to suggest that he isn't smart - for a lab-raised, uneducated fourteen-year-old mutant freak, he is damn proud of his comprehension of algebra, world history, and semantics - but it sure as shit isn't his fucking IQ score that clues him into the fact that she is very much not okay.
He's furious that they need him to tell them that. Until he remembers that he's the unofficial second-in-command and therefore the unofficial first-in-command at present.
The screaming has given way to a low moaning, but he doesn't dare shift her weight, terrified he'll trigger another seizure or stroke or whatever the hell it is. As she twitches pitifully in his arms, he fights to organize his face into something hopefully impassive.
When she finally blinks blearily up at him, it's like the sun coming out after Noah's fortieth night of rain.
"Man, you weigh a freaking ton," Fang says before anything more substantial or heartfelt can be uttered, because he knows his fragile composure is a meager soap bubble waiting to pop. "What've you been eating, rocks?"
It is, admittedly, not his best burn to date.
"Why, is your head missing some?" she says back with a truly pitiful amount of snark. He has to bite back a smile, partly because god damn is he relieved, and partly because it is one of her best burns to date.
"Max, are you okay?" Nudge says nervously.
"Uh-huh." Max says it automatically with a wince, but gives Fang a telling help, I have no idea what the hell that was look that speaks volumes and croaks, "Find a place to land. Please."
The fact that she has asked him to carry her to the ground instead of clawing her way out of his arms and taking off in a grand display of strength and feminist power is worrisome on its own. The "please," though, is what concerns him the most. It has nothing to do with politeness and everything to do with urgency.
She's scared it's going to happen again. Or maybe that something worse is going to happen.
Without hesitating, Fang starts to descend.
Iggy, who's been running damage control with the kids, instructs Nudge to take point on their V-formation and scout out an acceptable place for them to land for the night. Gazzy has somehow finally gotten his sister to stop wailing, although every now and then she lets out a gasping sort of hiccup that carves into Fang's already waning reserve.
Flying while carrying her is one of the more difficult things Fang has done and he's sure it shows. Instead of ragging on him for being weak, though, Max doesn't comment or even open her eyes.
"You okay?" he says quietly, but his voice sounds weird and wrong to his own ears. Tenuous. She hums in response. It is less than reassuring.
He asks her again, with a little more force this time. She hums again, but her eyebrows furrow a little with irritation this time, and Fang lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.
It's not until he lands that he realizes that what he's been feeling is pure, undiluted panic. It becomes very clear to him very quickly that he does not like panic, that, in fact, he hates panic, and that panic is positively not welcome, especially not at a time like this. He shoves it away, but it feels sticky and elastic and he knows it will be back.
If her skull isn't already shattered, his landing almost does it. What he intends to be a delicate sort of laying action ends up being more like an unceremonious dumping of her body among a bunch of scattered crabapples.
She makes a long, low noise that he knows she'd normally rather die than let anyone hear, but her palms pull away from her temples slowly.
Instead of doing anything leaderly, like assessing her, or telling her everything is okay, or talking to her, all he can do is stare at the stupid little fruit scattered around her. Bruised and warped and crushed with insides seeping out.
She clutches her head again.
Fang is paralyzed.
"Stay down, Max," Iggy says, and Fang hears the zip! of a backpack and the telltale sounds of their medical kit clinking in his hands. Max is no stranger to Iggy's neurological exams - they've all sustained enough head injuries to recite it from memory, at this point - so it's no surprise to Fang that she tries to shove herself upright.
It is feeble. Iggy pushes her back down. She growls at him, but it's clear he's not in the mood for her shit.
"Jesus Christ on the cross, Max, you were acting like you were having a fucking stroke. Lay the hell down and tell me how many fingers I'm holding up."
With his right hand, Iggy roots through the first aid kit and tosses Fang the penlight. With his left hand, he holds up his favorite finger about a half an inch from Max's nose.
She doesn't open her eyes. "One."
Iggy sighs, rakes his hand through his messy strawberry blonde hair, and shoves his other hand out to Fang.
"Check her pupils."
Fang takes the penlight from him. Drops it. Picks it back up, clicks it on. Drops it again when Max shudders and whimpers.
He wants - no, needs - to hit something. An irrepressible snarl forms on his mouth. Get a fucking grip, Fang.
In the next moment, Iggy swipes the penlight from him and calls over to where he has tasked the kids with finding a bottled water and something for her to eat.
"Nudge."
She's at their side immediately with two towheaded shadows. Iggy quickly walks her through how to perform a basic pupil and cranial nerve assessment. Then he stands and traces the handful of retreating steps Fang has subconsciously taken.
"Take a walk," Iggy says. It is quiet and firm. Brotherly, but still an order.
Fang glares at him. "What?"
"I said," Iggy says with exaggerated patience, although not unkindly, "take a walk."
Fang opens his mouth to argue, raises a finger to jab Iggy in the chest with, but he notices just how much he's shaking and drops his hand to his side. Max is curled up on her side again in the dirt, the kids look like they've been to war, and Fang can't get his fucking shit together enough to help Iggy, who seems to be the only one capable of functioning.
He looks at Max. She's following basic instructions and, so far, seems to not have had a massive stroke. Taking a second so he doesn't totally lose it in front of them all is probably a good idea.
Some second-in-command he is.
Wordlessly, he turns and stalks away. Not far, but far enough to let his walls down for a second. He gives himself the internal once-over Jeb showed him a long time ago - an exercise that has taught him how to compartmentalize and control what have always seemed like untamable emotions in him - and even though he wants to crush Jeb like one of these fucking crabapples after the last week, it still works.
For about thirty seconds.
A heavy feeling of dread keeps settling back over his chest like a looming thundercloud no matter what he does. Max dropping like a cannonball replays behind his eyes on a loop. His heart is pounding. He wishes he could rewind to ten minutes ago when he was blissfully numb and detached from his emotions, but it's obvious there's no hiding away from them this time.
His fist finds a tree.
What the fuck was that?
She's unraveling. The thought is invasive and unwelcome and sends nausea bubbling through him. She's going to die.
No. He leans against the tree trunk, bowing his head, and kneads his knuckles into his eyelids. No, she's not.
He hits the tree again, harder this time. Again. Again. The skin over his knuckles splits open and he swears curtly.
"Hey."
Fang startles comically at the voice. Iggy holds his hands up in a sort of universal whoa Nelly gesture. Fang blinks, meets Iggy's tired, unseeing eyes, and then looks at the rest of the group maybe ten yards past them.
How much time has passed? Nudge is kicking a small area free of branches and sticks and leaves and crabapple fragments. Gazzy is handing Max a granola bar, looking like he half-expects her to drop dead in front of him. And Angel's head is in Max's lap, Max idly running a hand through her curls with her eyes still shut and jaw still tight.
"You good?"
Fang actually cringes at these words. Some stand-in leader he makes. He growls a little, frustrated, and Iggy rolls his eyes and holds out a wad of gauze to clean his knuckles with.
"Save it, dude," he says. "Don't wanna hear it. I have no idea how you carried her for that long. You needed a breather."
It is only in this moment that Fang notices the soreness to his upper body and wing muscles. He holds a hand up, watching his arm as it trembles again.
She's going to die.
Fang takes the gauze.
"All that was overkill," Iggy says, gesturing to the clearing vaguely, "but, I mean, Jesus. I had to. I just kept thinking -"
She's unraveling.
She's going to die.
Iggy stops, dragging a hand down his face, and Fang doesn't bother asking him to finish. Without the context of sight, it's not difficult to guess the dark places Iggy's mind had gone.
"Not a stroke, not a bleed."
She's unraveling.
"Then what was it?"
If Fang's voice is a bit too aggressive, Iggy doesn't comment. He shakes his head and meets Fang's gaze with eerie accuracy.
"I don't know, man."
She's going to die.
Fang stands perfectly still for a minute. Fights to regain the composure he is typically so adept at maintaining. Does another once-over. Gathers those invasive thoughts into a nice little bundle and knots that sucker so tightly that he'll have to saw the damn thing open if he ever wants back in.
Good thing he knows for certain that he doesn't.
He clears his throat and claps a weary Iggy, whose adrenaline rush seems to finally be wearing off, on the shoulder. That touch turns out to be the proverbial torch-passing: Iggy drops his chin to his chest and takes a shuddering breath, wilting like a dying sunflower, and Fang whistles loudly with his fingers at the others.
The kids turn immediately, their gazes intense. Max cracks one eye open and raises her eyebrow, as if she's affectionately amused by the sight of Fang and Iggy standing at the helm of their family.
"Let's set up camp," Fang says firmly.
Instead of laughing or looking at him like he's lost his mind, the kids nod solemnly and get to work without hesitation. Nudge starts the search for firewood, Gazzy grabs a nearby branch and starts stripping the bark for tinder, and Angel extracts herself from Max to unfold their blankets from their backpacks.
Fang's not dumb - he knows their immediate obedience is situational - but he gives Max a very pointed look that says, See? They listen to me.
She smiles, a real one, and closes both eyes. Fang's heart gives a little lurch that he chooses to ignore and closes his eyes, too.
Next time, he will be ready. When Max is indisposed and the rest of them are scared and lost without their leader, he will keep a level head, bite down the panic. He will lead.
Because as much as he wishes it not to be true, he's got a bad feeling that there will be a next time.
A/N: During my recent reread of MR, I realized sort of how little attention this scene gets. After Fang scoops her up it's a fade-to-black cop-out sort of ending to the chapter, and then they kind of move on like nothing even happened. The way JP writes the brain attacks, though, is kind of a Big Fucking Deal, and with everything that the flock knows (or maybe everything they don't) about spliced genes and spontaneous "expiration," I would imagine tensions would've run a little higher the first time around.
I also feel like this is the first moment we really see a very vulnerable Max, to the point where Fang would need to step in, and I wanted to explore what that would be like for Fang. He seems to dote on her more after this scene, although I may be seeing what I want to.
I'm thinking of doing some more of these one-shot/two-shots of specific Max/Fang moments in the first two books from Fang's POV. Let me know if there's anything particular you'd like to see.
As always, thanks for stopping by.