Co Ed Shopping by bluewingedkitty

Happy Anti Kristen/Rob/Hardwick for Maximum Ride Day! I'd like to mention several things:

1. Whoever came up with this is a genius.

2. If you are reading this, go sign St. Fang of Boredom's petition. The link is on her profile.

3. My opinion on the Subject: I have nothing against Katherine Hardwicke. But Kristen Stewart can't act for her life, and Robert Pattinson could not look less like Fang if he tried. Plus they DON'T look 14. At all. I have a very long theory as to what possessed Ms. Hardwicke to suggest such a thing that I will gladly share with you. However, not here. I'm babbling enough already. But Kristen/Rob in Maximum Ride? For the sake of all that is pure and light and good in this world, JP/ Hardwicke /whomever casts these people, do not cast Kristen Stewart or Robert Pattinson in the Angel Experiment.

4. On a completely different subject: This idea has been simmering in my head for a while. And so I dedicate this oneshot to all ye who have experienced their Monthly Gift, the Crimson Tide or, simply, the Curse: the menstrual cycle. Through the PMSing, the breakouts, the awkwardness, the cramps and the bananas, we have persevered. We've had our share of slip ups, near misses, and embarrassing squirm-worthy moments. Heaven knows I've had mine. Go ahead and share if you want to, because we feel your pain. So here's to us, ladies. Enjoy. Guys, this oneshot might freak you out a bit. Just saying...

This A/N is almost a page long. Well, I had a lot to say...

WARNING: THERE WILL BE OOC-NESS. I know that both Max and Iggy are a bit...weird, but, let's say Max is PMSing and Iggy is being...weird. Weirder. Than normal. Because without the OOCness there is no story. So HAH.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything...

Iggy could hear the methodic beeping of the scanners, the plastic clicks of the register and the almost imperceptible hiss of shopping cart wheels. The grocery store. Home of wailing children, frazzled parents and starving college students. He grinned.

"So, can we make this quick?" Max asked, touching Iggy's arm, guiding him to a cart. "I don't like leaving them alone..." she trailed off. Iggy knew she was biting her lip. She always did that when she was worried. He could picture the frown lines on her face deepening. With good reason, too. The rest of the flock was hiding a little out of town, camped up in a glacier-made hill covered with thick forest. Perfectly safe, but most places that seemed that way were anything but. Experience had taught them that, and it was a hard-learned lesson.

"Yeah, we'll be fast," Iggy assured her. "Let's go."

They glided off, Max in the lead, Iggy pushing the cart behind her, following her measured footsteps across the tiled floor. The cart they'd picked seemed to be rather old and one wheel was persistently squeaking. It was irritating. Iggy sighed.

"So," Max said. Squeak. "What fruits do we need?"

Iggy let the cart roll to a stop, consulting the grocery list he'd constructed in his head. Squeak, sqeak, squ... "Nothing fresh. Canned stuff. We don't need anything in the produce section."

"Bananas."

"What?"

"We need bananas," Max said firmly. Iggy heard the snap as she pulled a few from a bunch on the rack. They made a dull thud in the cart. "Carry on."

Iggy pushed the cart. Squeak, squeak, squeak. "Nothing perishable, which means nothing fresh. So let's get into the aisles. Which way?"

Max laced her fingers in the metal bars at the front of the cart. "This one," she told Iggy, glancing back. He was wearing sunglasses, but she could tell he was frowning. "What?" she asked him, leading the cart into the first aisle.

Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak. "Freaking cart is squeaking."

"That really annoys you?" Max chuckled.

"Yes," Iggy said acidly. "It does. A lot. Sooner we're done, the better."

"Great. Here we are..."

"This is the medicine aisle," Iggy told Max, hearing the clacking of pills in bottles.

She looked at him, astonished. "How'd you know that?"

He smirked. "Super sonar hearing. Surely you know by now."

"Whatever." Iggy heard Max pick up a bottle and set it in the cart. "What's that?"

"Ibuprofen." Squeeeaaak, squeak, squeak.

"...why?"

Max did not reply.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

"What's this aisle?"

"Umm, crackers, it looks like," Max said. Iggy felt along the shelves until he reached a cardboard box.

"That is one very red container," he commented, feeling for a logo. "Oh, hey, Cheez-its."

"No Cheez-its." Max slapped his hand away. "Try something healthier. Like this." She set something firmly in the cart. Thud.

Iggy felt the color scheme. "Eww, Triscuits? Can we get some Ritz, at least?"

"Okay, fine. Here." Thud. "Now let's go. Time's a-wastin'." Max dragged Iggy, who was trying to feel the color of the box to see if it was really was a box of Ritz, into the next aisle.

Squeeeeak.

"Here. Canned stuff." Max began loading the cart with various cans. "Ravioli." Thud. "Green beans." Thud. "Mandarin oranges. Hm, okay." Thud. "Corn?" Thud. "Soups." Thud. Thud. Thud. "Hey, what's this?" Thud.

"SALTINES?" Iggy interrupted indignantly, clutching the offending box tightly and waving it under Max's nose. "Yuck. You are not serious. That's disgusting. I mean, ew. And did you really think you'd pull that off? Do you think I'm blind?"

"Yes. And I also think that if you're hungry, you'll eat anything. Including saltines." Thud.

"Go get some Ritz crackers. I may be blind, but I have standards."

"No. You sound like Total. Ooh, sardines." Thud.

"Sardines?" Iggy looked ready to explode. "I will not—!"

"Kidding. Geez, Iggy, chill out." Max rolled her eyes, grabbed a few more cans and dumped them in the cart. Iggy was pouting.

"I want my crackers," he said stubbornly. Max snorted, amused.

" And now you sound like a two-year old," she told him, grabbing his elbow firmly and steering him and the cart into the next aisle. Squeak, squeak. "And not an Angel two year old. An normal two-year old. Whoops, cleaning supplies. What's next?" Squeak, squeak, sqeak.

Iggy sighed, still pouting. "Kraft's mac and cheese," he mumbled at Max. "Then granola bars."

Squeak.

The rest of the shopping passed without incident.

Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak.

"Are we done?" Iggy wanted to know, leaning on the cart. "If I hear that cart squeak for one more minute I swear I will—"

"Almost," Max said reassuringly, glancing at the clock above the line cash registers. "One more thing."

"What? There's nothing left. I want to go," Iggy whined as Max led him and the cart into one final aisle. Squeak, squeak, squeak. "What else could there be?"

"Feminine hygiene," Max informed him.

Squ... Iggy stopped dead.

"That's right," Max continued cheerfully. Iggy seemed to be choking.

"Feminine—" he managed to splutter before his throat closed up again.

"Hygine. Spot on," Max grinned. Iggy looked ready to die. "Oh, come on. You know what that is, right?" She turned towards him with an air of superiority. "Girls who have their period need stuff. Because, you know, there's a lot of blood and all. It can be quiet messy." She patted him on the arm.

Iggy was completely and totally out of his league. "But...you..."

"Of course I get my period, silly." She let out a tinkling laugh. "What did you think I was, a chicken?"

"Kinda..." he said faintly.

"Well, nope." Max turned to face the shelves. "Let's see..."

Iggy seemed to recover slightly. "Okay," he said weakly, grabbing a random box. "Let's...let's go now..."

Max fixed him with a sympathetic stare that of course he couldn't see. "Those are panty-liners, Iggy," she said slowly, as if talking to a young child. "They won't do any good at all. I need regular pads and tampons."

Iggy sank down onto the floor. "Oh, sweet...." he muttered to himself. "Just kill me now..."

"Now," Max said loudly. "Let's see. I usually have a pretty strong flow, so I'll get maximum strength pads—no pun intended." She spared a glance at Iggy, who looked utterly helpless.

"Right," she continued, grabbing the package. "I like Kotex. So let's see."

"Are you done?" Iggy asked, looking hopeful, getting to his feet.

"No," Max said. "I need overnight pads and tampons. Duh."

"Oh..." Iggy said. "Oh, geez."

"Hm...that looks good," Max murmured, examining another package. "Leak-lock system and Comfort-Dry cover...for a fresh, dry feeling. That's good...oops, it doesn't have wings. No pun intended. Again."

"Wings?" Iggy asked feebly, gripping the grocery cart like a lifeline.

"Mmmhmm, they wrap around for more protection. Oh, Maxi-Wings...am I the only one who sees the irony?" Max glanced back. Iggy was steadily turning a bright, bright red. Max smirked to herself and happily began reading about the benefits of the overnight pad. "Now, this is the most absorbent pad that they have. It's got a lot over coverage, seems like...the wings...plus it's wider and longer than the standard." She nodded in approval and set in the cart.

"Can we go?" Iggy asked, closing his eyes and trying to muster a shred of dignity.

"No," Max said, grinning in an unholy way. "No, I have to get a box of tampons." She turned back to the shelf.

"A box of what?"

"Tampons."

"What are they?" Iggy asked, curious despite himself. He'd heard of them before, just not the specifics.

"Oh, they stop the bleeding from the inside." Max pursed her lips, trying not to giggle, waiting for the obvious follow up question. Just you wait, Mr. Sexist Pig, she thought evilly. I've got you now.

"How?" The question had flown out of Iggy's mouth before his brain had time to register them and tell his mouth that it really didn't want to know the answer. Oh, no, he thought. Oh, sweet heaven, she's going to answer, isn't she? Someone save me. Anyone. Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy and right in this world, please don't answer that question.

Inwardly, Max cackled a truly wicked laugh. Outwardly, she turned to Iggy and said placidly, "The tampon is inserted by gripping the applicator with a middle finger and thumb and gently inserting it all the way into the—"

"STOP!" Iggy screeched, plugging his ears. He knew enough about female anatomy to know what Max was about to say and he knew that he would melt into a quivering blob of testosterone-less bird-kid if she said it. "LALALALALALALALALAL—" Unfortunately, his super sonar hearing was too good to miss the next part.

"—until all that is left outside is the finger grip. Put the tampon into place by pushing the end of the applicator with the index finger until it reaches the finger grip. Then, slowly pull the applicator out, and throw it away. Tug the string at the end of the tampon and make sure it is secure. It should not feel strange or uncomfortable. If it does, pull the tampon out and try again."

"—LALALA!" Iggy gingerly removed his hands from his ears. Max seemed to be done.

"Do you want to know how to take it out, too?" she asked innocently.

"NO!"

"Relax all your muscles—"

"MAX!"

"Okay, okay," she said, sounding irritated, but Iggy could hear her grinning. "That's what the box said. You said you wanted to know."

"Oh, just get the freaking box of tampons and let's get out of here," Iggy snapped, holding his head in his hands. I'm scarred. For life.

"Excuse me, young man?"

Max and Iggy both spun around, fists up. Max saw the speaker and nearly laughed. It was an old granny. But not a soft granny. An iron granny. Who probably tamed wild horses on the prairie in her youth. And who was glaring at Iggy furiously. Max had a good idea what was coming next. She touched Iggy's arm to let him know it wasn't an Eraser or something that was likely to kill them. Something that was going to kill Iggy of embarrassment was something quite different, she reasoned.

"I heard you in the aisle over, degrading the workings of the female body!" the iron granny said sternly, brandishing her purse. "And that is unacceptable! Just because you men don't have to deal with the menstrual cycle you assume that it's no big deal! Well, let me tell you, young man, it's no picnic. I had cramps so bad I needed to miss school every month! And my mood swings—I don't know how my family put up with it. I sympathize with your poor girlfriend here, having to deal with such insensitive nincompoops like you!"

Iggy was struck dumb. "Erm—she's my sister," he finally whispered, mortified.

Max was doubled over in silent giggles. That was priceless. That is SO going on the blog. 'Ninety year old lady called Iggy a nincompoop today. Why? Well, let me tell you...'

"Hmph." The iron granny pushed up her glasses. "In that case, I truly empathize. I had brothers too. You need to deal with him your entire life."

Max took a deep breath, trying to stop her sudden attack of hysterical laughter. "Oh, he's a sexist pig, but we manage," she said airily, gulping down a snort, and patting Iggy on the back. "We can go now, Jeff." Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Iggy was unusually quiet on the way back. He seemed lost in thought.

"Sorry," he said unexpectedly. Max put on a skeptical expression. For her own benefit, obviously.

"For...being a nincompoop?" Max asked with a completely straight face.

"Um...yeah," Iggy mumbled. Max smiled.

"Ah, that's sweet. Don't."

"Don't..."

"Apologize." Max angled close to him. "You being a nincompoop is why we love you. You can't help it. Like Fang can't help being an emo addicted to his blog. Like Nudge can't help being a talkative shopaholic freak. Gazzy can't help being a flatulent eight-year old with dark talents, Angel can't help being a creepy mind reading child and Total can't help being a cosmopolitan and therefore obnoxious canine that is smaller than a rabbit." Max nodded impressively. Iggy raised his eyebrows.

"Really. Gazzy has 'dark talents'."

"Do you not recall the time you and Fang got in a fistfight over something he said in Fang's voice, you sprained your wrist, Fang fractured three ribs and got the most spectacular black eye I've ever seen and I got a massive hand-sized bruise on my leg that turned rainbow colors the next day trying to pull you two apart? Then I yelled at the two of you for one and a half hours and I yelled at Gazzy for five minutes because my voice gave out and I couldn't talk for a week? You do remember that, right?"

"Yes." Iggy glowered, shifting his shopping bags and rubbing his left wrist awkwardly. "But what I meant was that it sounds nicer that way. A...nincompoop doesn't sound exciting. Or cool."

Max laughed. "Cool? Your self-esteem really must be suffering."

Iggy scowled and pointedly turned his head in the other direction.

She relented. "All right. How about 'Iggy can't help being a sexist, lock picking and highly sarcastic cooking pyromaniac'?"

Iggy sighed. "It's a start."

"It's all you're getting. Look—"

"Love to—" he interjected.

"Ha ha. Look, we're here." Max folded her wings and dove for the tree blanketed hill, feeling the air whoosh from her lungs and the air tug at her clothes, pulling up and landing softly in the middle of the camp. "Anyways, apology accepted. Watching a nice granny yell at you was enough for me." She gave him a reassuring hug, and added "By the way, my period is due to start in a couple of days in case you haven't figured this out yet—"

"Okay, TOO MUCH INFO, EW," Iggy said loudly, disentangling himself from her. "THANKS SO MUCH, MAX."

"So." Fang wandered over and surveyed the smirking Max and furiously red Iggy. "How was the shopping?"

"Hell. On. Earth," Iggy snapped. "A ninety-year old lady verbally assaulted me and the cart wouldn't stop squeaking. I need to blow something up. Excuse me." He stalked off.

Fang just looked at Max. She shrugged.

"Were you sexually harassing him?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Max laughed.

"Naw, his ego's just bruised. And his manliness was threatened. He needs to go compensate now."

"Meaning?"

Max grinned. "I went shopping for feminine hygiene products."

Fang blinked. "Ah..."

"And he got called a nincompoop by an iron granny. It was hilarious," Max continued, grouping the shopping bags. "Where is everybody?"

"They've kidnapped my laptop."

This caused Max to laugh again. "Aw, poor Fangy."

Fang stared at Max. "Are you PMSing?"

"I don't think so."

"Um," Fang said. "Are you drunk?"

Max laughed yet again. "I'm not," she said, wiping the corner of her eye. "Trust me. Just hungry."

Fang looked at her calculatingly. "So would I be able to get away with this?" he asked quietly. Without waiting for an answer, he leaned down and kissed her, quickly and gently on the lips.

Max closed her eyes, letting herself go, just kissing. With Fang. And it felt right.

Kissing, oh my G—KISSING?!

She froze and pulled away, looking absolutely furious. "I said I wasn't drunk. Andyou. Are. A. Nincompoop," she hissed and slapped him across the face.

Eyes watering, Fang gingerly fingered his cheek. "You are PMSing."

"I am," she snarled and stormed off. "And I'm starving. Men...I'm going to go blog about this now!"

Which left Fang staring wordlessly after her. Women, he thought. And their hormones.

A/N Whew, I HATE writing in third person. THe old lady? She wasn't an OC...she's not actually a CHARACTER...so. Um. Yeah. Cause apparently we're not supposed to have OCs for Day of Anti-Hardwicke...SHH... And I dunno about the ending. When in doubt, end in Fax. Or something. Although the top bit could qualify as Miggy. Before you ask, I was thinking about doing this oneshot with Fang and therefore making some fluffy wuffy Faxness moments. But in the end I decided on Iggy cause (1) He's overlooked way too much. (2)Fang doesn't talk enough. And (3) I LUFF Iggy to BiTs! Yay fangirlness! Heeheehee. HEARTS!! LUFF!

*stares at above* Yeah, I'm going to get some sleep now.

BlueWingedKitty.