A/N

So... I wonder who's reading this? This is my favorite story to write, so here is Chapter 6, long overdue.

That's all.

Enjoy. :)

"What? Max, what is it?"

Fang's long, lean fingers tap the table impatiently as his dark eyes implore me.

T-t-t-tap, t-t-t-tap, t-t-t-tap.

This perplexes me. Even with my amnesia, something in the back of my mind says that Fang never idly tapped his fingers…

"I think I just had a flashback," I tell him, staring down at my scrambled eggs.

Raising an eyebrow, he takes the adjacent seat. "Well, enlighten me, Maximum."

I frown. "Well, we were both in school – class just ended – and there was a slutty redhead fawning over you… and – and I had this boiling feeling in the pit of my stomach, I'm not sure what it was, and I didn't know why I felt that way – "

"Jealousy," Fang supplies, crossing his arms across his chest. Is that a smirk on his face?

"Possibly." I glare at him. "Unfortunately."

He shrugs, but the smirk persists.

"Well, I stormed out of the classroom when you wouldn't agree to come home, and then I met four others… I think older versions of Gazzy, Iggy, and Nudge. And a girl that looked like he could be Gazzy's sister… Angela – Angelina – "

" – Angel," he corrects. "Ah, that was back in Virginia, Max. We were fourteen, and the ginger was going out with me, and you were all jealous because you were in love with me and all that but you hadn't yet realized."

"I thought as much," I say slowly, taking a bite of the eggs. "For a jerk, you sure make good eggs."

He rolls his eyes and says very sarcastically, "Thanks. Well, you can make better eggs than I can."

I glower at him as best I can while wolfing down my toast and retort, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He takes a napkin and swipes the crumbs off my chin with a flick of his hand. "It means you can't cook for your life, Max. What did you think it meant?"

My face burns red. I sense my eight-year-old self mentality is gone, but the memories are the same, which is the frustrating part.

Fang only laughs. "At least you're getting your dirty teenage mind back."

"You wish."

"Yeah, I do actually."

"Ugh."

"Say it. Say it, out loud," Cedric – er, I mean Edward – says, sporting his usual sleepwalker appearance.

"A mermaid, you're a freaking mermaid," I yell at the TV screen before K Stew, as boring as ever, whispers, 'Vampire.'

Fang is watching too, from another sofa chair, his face a mixture of revulsion and amusement. He idly sips a decaf coffee. Another weird attribute I never thought Fang would have, didn't he love caffeine?

I keep getting these weird sensations that Fang's habits aren't true. But it can't be, he remembers everything, I'm the one with the amnesia. All I know for sure is that he has changed more than I could ever imagine.

Changed for the worse, unfortunately. Fan-freaking-tastic.

My head pangs again, pain pulsating like a heartbeat, and my hand inadvertently clutches my forehead in reflex. These headaches are Erasers punching and clawing the walls of my skull; they are little eruptions of pain when I least expect it. The Advil hasn't kicked in yet. I can feel Fang watching me through the corner of his eye but I ignore him, clenching my teeth and focusing my gaze on the television screen.

My mind isn't working properly, my thoughts are disconnected and Fang gets annoyed on the seldom occasion when I can't finish my sentences. He may be my caretaker, but I still can't stand him.

Does that idiot not realize my annoyance is so much greater than his? I'm only the one that has to put up with a broken brain. Fang, you retard, get your panties out of a twist.

Melodramatic music begins. K Stew and Cedric – I mean Edward – kiss. Yuck, why the hell did Fang get this movie out of everything else we could've watched? To irritate me, probably.

There are no more TV channels. No Food Channel. No Nickelodeon. No CNN. Who am I kidding, the actors' bodies must be smoldering somewhere in dilapidated Hollywood right now. I had almost forgotten that half of the world outside me is obliterated. I wince with guilt.

Fang hooked up the DVD player. I feel like a worthless hack, I'm indoors watching movies while people decompose ten miles from my house. Wonderful.

I wanted to go do something, even something trivial, but Fang pretty much ordered me not to:

Can I go?
No.
Why not?
Max, you cannot leave this house.
Why the hell not?
You have to be monitored 24/7 –
What?
I… meant that your wings are still weak; they need conditioning after such a long time of inactivity. Not to mention your blond head is still banged up, believe it or not.
I swear, you asshole, if you call me a dumb blonde one more time, I'll –
You'll what?

Silence.

Fine, I won't go. But it's my choice, not yours.
Of course it is, Maximum.

I hate to admit it, but Fang's right. I'm in no condition to go outside. My wings are stiff and my body isn't in mint condition. The muscles are there, but I haven't used them in so long…

So we're sitting here, watching Twilight (barf). I know Fang has been, and still is, watching me. He assumes I'm an immature, naïve eight-year-old with a dirty mind (doesn't that just sound lovely?) but I'm on high alert. I don't want to spend another year in a makeshift hospital. One year of sleeping is already too much. I am Maximum Ride, and I will not be useless.

This is why I have to present myself as stable. And Fang will help me, despite his asshole-tendencies.

It is one in the afternoon. I have recollected a total of two memories. The first was Fang flirting with that Lissa, obviously. The second was of Fang carrying me, bridal style, as he flew high above the ground, the rest of the Flock in close proximity. My head was in more pain than it is now, and I saw white lights dancing before my eyes as I looked up at him. Dark wings extended and gliding through air with ease, I knew he was several years younger, and his eyes seemed kinder. He shifted my body in his arms ever so slightly and asked me, What have you been eating, rocks? I retorted with, Why, is your head missing some? And though my headache plagued me, I managed a small smile before his windswept hair disappeared, along with the clear blue sky framing his face…

Present Day Fang couldn't figure out the exact time that happened, which I found odd because the recollection was much clearer than the first of him and Lissa. We came to the conclusion that it was some time before he left me but after we retrieved Angel from the School.

"Max? Maximum? What, you not enjoying the movie?" Fang quips, and I sit up, I hadn't realized I had lied down. Meanwhile, K Stew and Cedric – damn, just assume when I say Cedric I mean Edward – display their terrible 'acting' skills as Shark Boy makes an appearance. And by Shark Boy I mean Taylor Lautner. I will never get all these celeb names straight.

I bury my face into a sofa cushion. "You know I hate this movie. Turn it off," I say through the pillow, my voice muffled.

With a shrug, he ejects the disc. "Want to watch something else?"

"No."

"Do you need anything? You okay?" I find Fang at my side, massaging my shoulders in a sudden instant. I flinch and peel his fingers off, the massage aspect was relaxing, but it involved him touching me, which I am still testy about. I remember all his smirks and snide remarks and feel the urge to be bitchy, so I lash out, "Do you really care if I need anything?"

I expect him to be angry, but he laughs, which frightens me more than if he would have yelled. He chuckles softly, "You're hilarious."

He heads toward a door with a weird smile on his face. "Don't go outside, Maximum."

"Uh-huh."

"Stay in here, Max."

"Uh-huh."

"Don't go outside," he repeats.

I'm an amnesiac, boy, I'm not deaf. "I won't."

He turns to leave before adding one more thing: "And I know you might hate me, but remember that I'm all you've got."

I frown at his retreating back and whisper, "You might be all I've got, but I could do better."

It was too quiet for him to hear. Not that he would care if he did.

A/N:

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