Iggy's First Drive by flYegurl

Okay, so I got this idea randomly today. I just sat down and wrote it out in one sitting. Talk about a numb butt.

Aside from that, it was pretty fun to write. But sorry if Nudge seems uncharacteristically un-talkative.

Disclaimer: I do not own Iggy, Fang, Max, Angel, Gazzy, Nudge, Dr. Martinez, or Ella. I do, however, own the old corn field and the squirrel that Iggy almost hit. And Fang's black Prius.

Nudge POV

"You got the keys?"

"Yup."

"Great," Iggy grins mischievously, rubbing his hands together in that evil way of his. His eyes, though blind, manage to reveal a depth of cunning and… oh no, not that expression…

"Iggy, you're making that face again," I sigh tiredly.

"Am I?" he asks, not even bothering to hide it.

"Yes, and if you don't knock it off, I'm not coming."

Iggy's grin drops slightly, his eyebrows drawing together. "But you know I can't do it without you," he whines. Yes, whines. Not really a noise you'd expect to come out of the six-foot-four pyromaniac blind bird kid, but hey, "don't judge a book by its cover."

"Yeah, you need me, but I'm not putting one finger in that car unless you take that maniacal grin off your face and at least try to be serious."

"Okay," Iggy agrees, losing the grin and setting his face in a dramatically intense expression.

I sigh and open the door to the driver's seat of Fang's black Prius. I know, I said Prius. With Max's whole "save the world" thing, she won't let any of us do anything even remotely Earth-destroying. Like, no dropping (literally, out of the sky) off at Steak-'n-Shake for a milkshake on long flights because of the Styrofoam-cups they use. And no more eating out at McDonald's or any other tasty, cheap fast-food joint because they are "too damned polluting" (quote from Max). Of course, we sneak off and eat out anyway, but if we let her catch on we're dead meat.

I press the button to start the ignition.

"Don't you need to put the keys in?" Iggy frowns. I laugh.

"It's a Prius, Iggy. It has, like, an on-and-off button. You just need the keys because it has this sort of sensor thingy, and the car won't turn on unless it's with you."

Iggy nods uncertainly.

Of course, I'm only fourteen, so I don't have a license or anything. But I've managed to entice several of Ella's older friends to teach me.

I pull out of Dr. Martinez's driveway, turning onto the road. Iggy bounced up and down eagerly (another thing I'd never expect him to do. I was always the bouncy one.)

After about a fifteen-minute drive, I turn out into the field. It's an old cornfield, which used to be owned by a farmer. But his farm went bankrupt, and the field was left abandoned. Generations of teens had been coming for years here to practice their driving, or at least that's what Ella told me. You could see the tire tracks all over the worn-down weeds and grasses.

I park the car and turn it off. Iggy jumps out his door and stands in the midst of the crushed grass, his head cocked as if trying to listen to the positioning of the objects in the field. I climb out of my side and stand for a moment, staring at him. For a seventeen-year-old genetically-engineered mutant bird kid, he looked a lot like an excited four-year-old. His eyes were alight with excitement, his mouth shaped into a happy grin. His strawberry-blond hair hangs glossily down and bit past his shoulders, styled---dare I say it---hotly, with a large bit of overlong bangs hanging over his right eye. It's spiked up in the back, though unlike Fang's thickly gelled hair this is natural. Iggy's hair frames his face, the beautiful color bringing out his pale skin and icy-blue eyes. His cheeks are high, his nose and neck slender. I can't believe I'm only noticing it now, but Iggy doesn't look bad. In fact, he looks pretty damn good.

"So…" he starts eagerly.

"So what?"

He jumps impatiently. "You're going to teach me."

I sigh. "I know, Iggy, I know. But you have to promise me a couple things first."

"Okay."

"Number one: be careful. Be as careful as if Max were staring into the back of your head."

Iggy shivers and involuntarily turns about, as if to check that Max wasn't there now.

"Numero dos: be serious about this. You're never going to learn otherwise."

Iggy nods.

"Number three: God Iggy, don't kill us."

He grins and reaches back to run his hand through the spiky part of his hair. "Okay."

"Fine. Get in." I hold the door open invitingly, and Iggy jumps straight over the car, his wings opening slightly to control his descent, and lands in front of me with a gust of displaced air. I jump slightly and he smirks, climbing into the driver's seat and almost greedily clutching at the steering wheel. I go around and climb in shotgun.

"So what now?" he asks, staring blindly ahead of him.

"First, turn on the car."

His fingers hover over the dashboard, but before I have to tell him where the button is he finds it and presses it. The car rumbles quietly to life.

"Okay. Now, here's the break, gas," I tell him, bending over to place his feet on the pedals. "And the gears here, and you've got your hands on the wheel."

Iggy nods, and very suddenly we're rocketing forward at a dangerous speed.

"IGGY! STOP!" I shout. We stop with a sudden jolt and I snap forward, my forehead banging into the dashboard. Groaning as I sit up, I turn to look at Iggy whose expression is confused.

"What?"

"DON'T DRIVE SO FUCKING FAST!"

"Ooh, language," he chides, wiggling his pale eyebrows.

"Whatever," I sigh, slumping back. "Iggy, you've got to ease into the gas. Don't just slam it down! That could get us killed!"

He shrugs. "I don't know anything about it, remember?"

Okay. By now, you might be wondering why I'm trying to teach a blind pyro, who, I have to add, loves explosions, which is not exactly the most comforting thought. Especially when he's at the wheel of a car for the first time in the history of ever. Ever ever.

Ever.

So here's the story about how I accepted his request.

"Nudge," Iggy said as I passed his room in Dr. Martinez's house. I turned and stuck my head in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Come in here for a second."

"Sure," I answered, stepping into the room. Iggy's room is messy, but not as much so as you'd think. I mean, he is blind, but his room is neater than Fang's. Or Max's, for that matter, even though Max is always the one complaining about how lazy and crude and disgustingly dirty boys are.

"Nudge," Iggy said again, sitting up in his un-made bed and staring in my general direction. Which reminded me, oddly, of the T-shirt Iggy'd got Gazzy for his birthday. It read "I fart in your general direction," (a quote from 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' (I love that movie!)) and suited Gazzy perfectly.

"Uh huh," I answered yet again, walking up to him.

Iggy had grinned. "Can you taste this for me? I made it. There's a batch downstairs."

He was holding out a cookie, with icing done so intricately I still don't know how a blind kid had done it. Then again, his whole bedroom was plastered with drawings and sketches and paintings done by said blind kid. What can I say, he has a gift.

I took the cookie and admired the flowers and butterflies and little birds eggs etched in icing. "Looks great, Iggy. Better than Dr. M's."

Iggy grinned and watched as I wolfed it down.

And was suddenly woozy. I couldn't think straight.

"So Nudge," Iggy started calmly, putting a hand on mine. In my delusional state, I hadn't been able to prevent my blush. "How did it taste?"

"As good as you look," I'd admitted dazedly. He'd seemed taken aback for a moment, then continued.

"That's good. Don't you think it's unfair that Max won't let me drive?"

I'd nodded assuredly. "Totally. I mean, you're just as good as her and Fang in every way. You should totally be able to drive if you want."

He'd grinned, that maniacal grin that always sent shivers down my spine. "Well, that's good. How about you teaching me?"

I'd thought it over dreamily for a moment. "Of course, of course."

Iggy'd smirked. "You have to promise me, Nudge, that no matter what happens, no matter what, even if the reason you promise is because you're drugged, that you'll teach me."

"I promise, Iggy."

"Promise you'll do it tomorrow."

"I promise, pooky."

He looked annoyed. "Swear it. And don't call me 'pooky.'"

"I swear it, pooky."

His face had twisted into a grimace here. "Never call me 'pooky' again."

"No."

"Aw, come on Nudge. I don't even know where you got that name."

I'd grinned dreamily again. "Pooky."

"Aaaargh."

A few minutes later, the drug wore off. I'd sat up hurriedly.

"No," I moaned. "I didn't just…"

Iggy grinned. "Yeah. You did."

"No," I refused, shaking my head.

"You swore it, Nudge."

I sighed. "What drug did you use?"

He smirked evilly. "Valium."

"You don't mean… Max's..?"

He nodded. "Yup. She loves Fang thiiiiiiiiis much," he smirks, holding his hands apart.

I grinned grudgingly, followed him downstairs, and sat in front of the TV with him, finishing his batch of cookies.

(The Valium had been in the icing of my cookie, which he'd made separately from the icing used for the rest of the batch. But apparently Gazzy had mixed the bowls up in the middle of icing, and… well, to make a long story short, we'd both spent the rest of the afternoon dazedly spilling embarrassing secrets to the Flock. Not one of my favorite memories, but it's not exactly Iggy's fault…)

So that's the story.

The only good thing that came out of it was… well, at least Iggy was as out of it as me when I supposedly confessed my love for him.

Stupid Fang.

"So how do I work this thing?" Iggy repeated.

I sigh and begin to work him through every step of driving. This takes longer than it had when I learned, mostly because Iggy is blind and I'm super worried that he's going to, well, blindly ram us into an unseen tree.

Which would not be fun.

Finally, Iggy is driving like a pro. Or, as best as he can with no eyesight.

Which is surprisingly good.

I even let him drive us home. Of course, I made sure he was SUPER accustomed and used to the movement of the roads, the turn-offs, the… everything.

He does really good. The only accident we had was when a squirrel jumped in the way of the car. I screamed bloody murder, and Iggy's sensitive ears had basically overloaded and the car swerved into a tree at the side of the road.

When we pull quietly up Dr. Martinez's driveway, I watch the front door worriedly. Hopefully Max or, God forbid, Fang hasn't caught us. But no.

When Iggy stops the car he proudly gets out, but I drag him around to examine the damage of the tree.

It's a pretty big, silvery gash in the side of the sleek black door.

"Uh oh," I mutter. Iggy feels the tear, and quickly darts into the garage, returning with a hammer, a can of tape, and a roll of duct-tape.

Iggy proceeds to hammer the gash down, duct-tape it sealed, and paint black over it.

When he's done, it's almost perfect. Except for the barely noticeable dents. And the fact that it's painted duct-tape.

But, Iggy argues, by the time it starts falling off there will be no evidence. And if Fang notices the dents, Gazzy through rocks at the car. Our little story, as revenge for the Valium-icing mix up.

We walk through the door and I return the keys to Fang's jacket pocket.

"Hello?" Iggy calls down the entrance hallway.

"What?" we hear Fang call from the TV room. We walk down to the room.

Fang turns and frowns at our faces. "Why d'you look so smug?" he asks cautiously.

"No reason," Iggy answers, his evil grin lighting his face.

Fang shrugs. "I bet you're just happy," he throws a smirk in my direction, "that Nudge is so deeply in love with y---"

"YOU BE QUIET!" I shout, diving on him. He laughs as I shove my hand over his mouth. "Not. A. Word."

"No promises. Get on my nerves once and…" he draws a finger across his throat.

Okay, I think. Never ever ever let Fang find out about the gash in his precious Prius. In fact, never let Max find out. She'd kill Iggy, then me, then Iggy again. Because apparently the blind kid can't drive.

I think Iggy's a pretty good driver, a sweet voice is projected into my mind. Angel.

Don't worry, Nudge. I won't breathe a word.

Thanks, Angel.

No problem. Besides, I don't want you to die. Or Iggy.

That's good.

Iggy walks into the kitchen and begins to make cookies. I love watching him bake.

"Hey, Iggy!" Fang calls suddenly.

"What?" Iggy calls back.

"Nudge loves you thiiiiiiiiiiis much!"

Iggy turns in surprise, a dash of flour on his cheek.

I dive on Fang and begin to pummel him.

His bruises don't fade for two days, which is a pretty long time considering our healing factor.

So how did you like it? It took me longer to write than I thought it would. I thought it'd be like a short little two-page thingy, but it's a bunch longer. Sorry if it got a bit tedious, but this story just didn't seem like a chapter one to me.

Review! Iggy will love you eternally! He'll even send you some Valium via air mail… air mail his way…