Ok, so I have decided that it is Christmas in July. HUZFLAH! And so, without further ado, here's the continuation of Mistletoe that I was nearly held at friendly chalk- point for. (You know who you are, Leshawna…) Sorry for the delay… Hehe… Ok, before you kill me…

Disclaimer: No.

And now, ON WITH THE STORY!

-One Week Later-

Ok, I have seen. And I think that I really, really want to just crawl into a little hole in the ground and live there for the rest of my life, seeing *only* the dirt, which will be constant and not change. Oh jeez, I'm going to hate this. So much.

I was currently standing outside of Fang's bedroom, arm raised to knock. And effectively scared shitless.

I am Maximum Ride, World Saver Extraordinaire, Split Second Decision Genius, Fierce Leader of the Flock, Winged Angel of Cookie Lovers Everywhere, and other various titles that expressed my awesomeness. I did not go back on my decisions. It was a "one time and done, never look back" type of thing. I did not go back and rethink things once they were finished. I was not supposed to wonder after my decision was made whether or not it had been the right choice when I told Fang to back off…

And I had been regretting making that decision ever since I had gotten home after our little scream off.

I had been so ecstatic after we had gotten back to Mom's with Fang disappearing into the background almost immediately after we had landed, leaving a few parting words behind. The Voice's words were pushed to the back of my mind and I honestly thought that I had successfully stopped the awkwardness between us, and everything could go back to being the way it had been before puberty had gone and sunk its evil claws into my life.

It took me all of four days to realize how completely wrong I was and just how much I had screwed up. The giant lump of… whatever it was that was separating Fang and I had gotten much, much worse.

Mom's house is average sized, with three floors (including the basement), four bedrooms, a kitchen, some closets, a living room, and a bathroom. There were nine of us in the house- ten if you include Total-, so someone was almost always in a room with someone else.

Fang managed to make sure that we were never in the same room at the same time, and made the house seem like a frickin mansion. If I entered a room, he was just leaving. He sent Angel to tell me messages. We never spoke face to face to each other anymore, and I hated it.

The only time that I saw Fang was when we all ate dinner. But it's not like that was even normal anymore either. Fang took to sitting at the other end and side of the table now, next to Nudge. And Fang hated sitting next to Nudge, since she was always talking. Don't get me wrong, Fang loved Nudge like one of the sisters he never had, but they were complete opposites. He was pretty much a statue with a little bit more personality- but not that much. And Nudge, as I've said before, could make Mother Theresa an axe murderer.

That's how bad this situation was. That Fang had taken to torturing himself to get away from me. The tension was so thick between the two of us that Gazzy, the Gasman, King of Obliviousness, had stopped me in the hallway yesterday and asked me if something had gone wrong between Fang and me.

That was the last straw, and I finally sucked up my pride- or, at least, I tried- and told myself that I was going to go and set things right with Fang again so that this giant problem between Fang and I would just go away.

And then maybe I could finally go back to sleeping peacefully at night...

…. if only I could just knock on the flipping door.

The Voice popped in at that exact moment. Max, just get it over with. Avoiding an obstacle only makes it seem much larger in the long run.

What have I told you about reading all those fortune cookie sayings?

If the Voice was an actually person in front of me, I could have seen him/her/it rubbing its temples in exasperation. Max, just go in there and do it. You'll stop having those fever dreams sooner, and you won't have to keep staring at Fang wondering what is going on between you two every time that he enters the room.

I DO NOT STARE!... I… look with intensity.

Inner Voice rolled his eyes. Keep telling yourself that, Max.

I drew in a deep breath, and finally knocked on Fang's door. A grunt came from inside the room, and I had to roll my eyes at the classic Fang response. At least that hasn't changed.

Summoning all my courage, I answered back, "It's Max." Crap, I was hoping that my voice wouldn't waver when I said that.

I stood outside of Fang's door for what felt like about three years, and my heart ran a marathon, swam the English Channel, and then dropped all the way to the center of the Earth when Fang didn't answer the damn door.

I was tempted to just say, "Well, I can't say that I didn't try!" And then I would turn around, lock myself in my room, and not come out from under my covers for seven days and nights. That would also be ideal…

My heart kick started itself when, after what seemed to be the longest pause ever, I heard the quiet shuffling of Fang's feet as they padded across his bedroom floor to get to the door. I inhaled a deep breath when I saw the doorknob begin to turn, and I nearly keeled over and died when I saw Fang's face up close for the first time in about a week. Did he always have those golden flecks in his eyes?

Fang stepped out fully into the hallway, and leaned against his now closed door. He raised one eyebrow in response to my presence, and I couldn't help but flinch. "What is it?"

I ask you, is it wrong that I was so elated when I heard him finally talk to me after so long? Even if it was three words?

"Umm… can I… talk to you?" I wanted to kill myself. I hadn't realized that this would require an actual full conversation with Fang. That, and I also hadn't accounted for being this nervous about this talk. See? *This* is why I avoid situations like these.

Fang stared down at me for a few seconds, then stepped sideways to let me through. I let out a little sigh of relief, and walked into his room.

The other thing that I hadn't accounted for—well, you know what? I hadn't really thought this through in any way. So I hadn't thought to factor in a lot of things.

For example, I was in Fang's room. As in the safe haven for dark, silent, anti-social bird kids everywhere, of which there were not many. I didn't think that when I walked into Fang's room (silly me) that I would feel super claustrophobic and or caged. I mean, the entire place is dark. The walls are all black, the bed spread is black, and the only thing that was even slightly colored was Fang, due to his un-intended tanning. But that's it. I usually avoid going into Fang's room, because although he says that the black- on- black interior makes him feel like there are no boundaries, it makes me feel like I'm in that little box that they have on airplanes for emergency supplies that I'm pretty sure is air- tight and can't be broken into by anything.

In other words, Fang's room scares the living crap out of me.

Second thing that I hadn't really taken into consideration: Fang's door. Fang has this thing that he likes a lot, called privacy. And we all usually give it to him—you know, unless Iggy's busting into everyone's room telling them to get their butts downstairs, since the food's ready, or, you know, I'm telling everyone to get their butt in gear because we got some of our favorite furry friends coming at us from 3 o'clock. I mean, you would think that this sort of arrangement, "I don't bother Fang unless I need him to do something for me or I need to warn him about the dangers of staying here for another second, and he doesn't start prying through my business", would work out extremely well, yes? Well, Fang has always been the one to go that one extra step and shut the door. What can a 14- year- old bird kid be doing in his room by himself that he needs to shut the door, I don't really know. (Although my best guess is that Fang has been doing a lot of illegal things online in the confines of his room, and he doesn't want any of us to get involved and end up in prison or something, which I suppose is very thoughtful of him... I mean really?) And I never really thought much about it, because it was just Fang's business and Fang had always been like that, so I never said anything.

The problem with that is that now, since I was sitting in Fang's room, on his desk chair, and about to engage in a conversation that would possibly make everything okay again, Fang thought that this conversation should be private. Not that I have a problem with that. I didn't want Iggy and the kids listening in on this sort of thing.

It's just that he closed the freaking door. And my stomach dropped to around the area of my feet to say hello.

I perched myself on the very edge of Fang's desk, making sure that if I needed to, I could leap up and run to the door without any problems. Fang followed in behind me, and with the resounding click of the door, he sat down on the edge of his bed. He stared at me expectantly, and I bit my lip hard. I was a little angry at him, but then again, this was Fang, who had said to me that he would go back to the way that it all had been before. I couldn't get angry with him; not starting conversations was not what Before Fang did.

I decided to take a stab in the dark. "I don't like this."

The only response that I got was a raised eyebrow, and I flinched again, slowly getting angrier. "It's not the same. And it's wrong. Really wrong."

Fang blinked twice, international Fang language for "Go on. Keep talking." I resisted the urge to punch him in the throat, and settled for yelling at him instead. Things tended to come to me better when I was screaming at someone. "Talk, damn it!"

Finally, I got real words from him. "I thought you wanted me to go back to the way I was before," Fang said calmly, and I was pissed that he could just sit there and say things like that as if they didn't have any completely horrible consequences. This conversation was probably one of the most awkward, uncomfortable, tense conversations that I had ever had, and here was Fang, acting all detached as if none of this mattered to him.

I couldn't help but let out a growl, and I realized somewhere in the back of my mind that I was no longer sitting on the edge of Fang's desk, but standing with my fists clenched at my sides. "That was before it got to be like this," I said lowly, wondering if any of this was going to get through to him.

I felt tired and worn out, but a glint came into Fang's eyes, and I knew that this was going to take a lot longer than I had fantasized that it would. "So, you're saying that you were wrong."

I tensed up. He did not just pull that.

If there's anything that I can't stand, it's people proving me wrong. It irks me, because then they get all haughty and start to look down on you with these stuck up expressions that I just want to punch off of their faces. Because really, I ask you, who likes those types of people?

The dictionary definition of "Error":

One: An unintentional deviation from what it correct, right, or true.

Max's definitions of an error:

Two: Hell no. Not in this world. I don't do wrong.

Fang seemed to be enjoying himself, as a small smirk appeared on his face that Before Fang would have probably only kept as a hinting, not a full blown smirk. If that had happened back when we were all still living in the E-shaped house, I tell you, I would have gone mad and just locked myself into my room, muttering to myself.

It was nice to know that even though the conversation hadn't gone very far, Fang was attempting to help my mental stability stay that way: stable. On the other hand, he was trying to make me say that I had made a mistake by telling him not to change. Hmm, a paradox… I feel as though Fang is trying to drive me into an early grave.

"I admit nothing. I'm just saying that I hate the point where we've gotten to now, where you put yourself directly in the line of fire from Nudge's mouth in order to avoid me, and Gazzy asks me whether or not something is wrong between the two of us." Feeling that I had defended my pride enough, I then launched into another tirade to get Fang off of the topic of my being –psh- wrong. "You know, Fang, we as a Flock are a well- oiled machine. And you trying to avoid me like the plague—"

"And that isn't what you did before? I mean, damn Max, you said it yourself. Can't you give me anything straight anymore?" Fang said, getting up from the bed. I do not like the way that he looks down at me. Damn it, why do the boys get the growth spurts? He used to be shorter than me! Granted, that was about 5 years ago and by about an inch, but still!

Outside of my mental rambling, Fang was throwing what could be eloquently put as a tantrum. At least, in the Fang way. "You have been sending me nothing but mixed signals, Max, damn it! And I'm freaking sick of them!" Except that he didn't use the word "freaking". "First, you say that you don't like change, and now you're all for everything staying exactly the way it is! Make up your mind, damn it, Max! You're giving me a freaking headache!"

He stood there, and I watched as he pulled at his hair, and clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting until I could get a word in. And then I realized that I was being completely unfair to Fang. The guy just wanted someone to hold onto and call his girlfriend, for crying out loud. So, because as the leader, it is my job to smooth everything over and make sure that everything works out well, I tried to help out Fang's case.

"Look, if you want a girlfriend, just say so, because I'll ask Ella to help you out with that," I said, and Fang threw up his hands before sitting back down on the bed, his head in his hands. He let out a groan, and I realized that I may have possibly not in this moment said the best thing.

Dropping his hands from his face, Fang fixed me to my spot with a look. "Why are you so dense?"

I don't think that I could have been more surprised if he'd asked me to marry him… well, actually, yes I could have, but that's not the point. The point was that I found that extremely random and very untrue.

"Excuse me! I am not dense! You're the one who doesn't seem to realize that I don't like you kissing me!"

Fang stood up. "Max…"

I bit my lip hard, trying to avoid his eyes. He came over and I heard him sit next to me on the desk. "So you don't want me to be the Old Fang, and you don't want me to start kissing you. So Max, what do you want from me?" Fang asked, and I didn't have to even look at him to know that he really wanted an answer.

You need to help him out Max. Tell Fang what you really think, and stop trying to get out of the situation because you were wrong.

Oh, who the hell asked you?

But unfortunately, I knew that the Voice was right, annoyingly enough. I had put Fang through the ringer, and I really needed to get this over with so that it wouldn't be super awkward anymore.

"I can deal with change," I started off quietly, and Fang edged a little closer to me. "I have to, otherwise something would have happened differently a while ago, and things wouldn't have happened." You know, like puberty. That bastard. "I just… this change…"

I shut my eyes, and was horrified to learn that my voice had been wobbling throughout my entire speech. If I start to cry on top of all of this, I swear that I will to move to Mexico, change my name, and become a tour guide for the remainder of my lifetime.

Fang wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Too much?" I nodded, feeling sleepy all of a sudden from the warmth that Fang was emitting.

"A little slower…" I mumbled, and I could feel Fang's gaze intensify as he turned toward me. He looked… well, scared, and I realized that Fang was freaking out about this like I was. You know, just not as much.

"Slower?" Fang said very quietly, and I opened my eyes, latching them onto my toes. I nodded, and he continued just as softly. "Not stop?"

This was it. The decision that would decide whether or not I fixed this or screwed it up forever. I think I just forgot to breathe.

I bit my lip, and avoided Fang's eyes for all that I was worth. "Slower…"

Fang's hand moved lightning quick from his side to my face, and even though I didn't want to, I was forced to look him in the eyes. He stared down at me, checking as though to make sure that I had really say that—Boy, do *not* start with me….—and then did the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen.

He smiled. Teeth and everything.

And that was also when he started leaning, and I nearly had a panic attack. Oh gosh. What if it's too fast? What happens if I start to freak out again? Why am I asking myself these questions like a spineless teenager?

At the last minute, Fang veered off slightly to the left and kissed my cheek. I let out a little sigh, and Fang asked, "This good? Slow?"

Oh, he's right. He was so, soo right. I *was* dense. But now… "Yeah," I whispered, and I smiled. "It's good."

…Told you.

Stop talking. You're killing my new- found buzz.

Oh, how I love this. Sort of. I feel like it wasn't my best, and this was my first real case of writer's block. I feel as though this has been some sort of initiation process for me as a writer, and am oddly proud of myself for overcoming it. So it is finally done. Enjoy and reread, if you want to. AND REVIEW!

Peace, love, and, "SON OF A BANDERSNATCH!,

Skittles31