Frozen on an edge by missmissyeyes

Disclaimer/Notes:

//Just to be clear, this contains SLASH. That means guy on guy. No like? Not my problem. Just don't read it.

//Look. Fang and Iggy are the same they'd always been. This isn't deliberate OCC. It's just them, except they're gay. (Or finding out they are. Whatever you see fit.)

//I highly recommend not reading this if you're uncomfortable with mature/sensual subjects. It's not full blown pornography, but it's not totally innocent either.

//This is sorta based on a poem I read in class. (See below.)

//This takes place before the fourth book; just sometime after the third. (There is no Fax in this FF, though, okay?)

//I do not own Maximum Ride.

Thanks for the time.

- Paige

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

-Fire and Ice, by Robert Frost.

Frozen on an edge

Iggy would never have seen the world's true hate if he hadn't been brought up in the school. He never would have to of gone threw true trauma. He never would have been claustrophobic... he never would have been truly stabbed or hurt in any way.

He couldn't have seen the once inhumane malice in a person's eyes.

But lying there, next to the sleeping flock, felt nice. He couldn't exactly see them, but he heard them. He felt them close. And along with the acute wind's whisper, the grass and tree's sway, his calming thoughts roamed. Yes. He would give anything for them, even if it meant an actual human life. He didn't know exactly how, but he loved them all dearly.

He truly did.

"Yo, Ig," He heard a voice and a firm hand shaking his shoulder.

"What is it?" Iggy turned and faced Fang, not feeling the tad bit annoyed. He wasn't going to get any sleep, anyway.

"It's time to go," Fang answered. He got up from his crouch and started waking the others.

Iggy used to feel scared in the sky. Because he was blind, he didn't really know where he was going; he just felt the wind's direction on his shoulders. He followed on edge—the hairs on the back of his neck standing profusely. Never ending Goosebumps was a part of flying. But now, when he could hear the flock's wings, he felt comforted beyond doubt.

After years of observation and pursuing, Iggy had grown accustomed of the flock's flying styles. Like a scent, each of them had their own beat, their own method to stay aloft. Max, for example, could have the same timing for hours. But once and a while it changes erratically. Iggy, who had thought of this for sometime, had guessed it was her deep thinking. Max was known to overreact to her own squeamish thoughts. It might not have showed on her face, but it sure showed threw her flying cycle.

Unlike Max, Nudge's wings were always erratic. Come to think of it, so were Gazzy's. Iggy noticed the younger kid's had a more inexperienced, immature approach in flying. Much like their thinking. This usually applied for every child, unless that child was Angel. Her thinking could be quite immature, but her flying was surely not. Her small wing's sorta swayed in the air, marking the true grace she had been gifted with, along with her mind reading ability.

But none of the flock's aptitude could match Fang's. He wasn't graceful in the slightest, but nor did his wings tremble or waver. He made slow, brawny, swishes with his wings. Iggy could practically feel Fang's muscles against his own; it had made him tremble. Iggy had always found that strange. Was it Fang's strength that made him shiver? The sheer power of someone stronger than himself? He did not know. He just knew he felt, as he wasn't before, protected. That's what Fang provided him with. Protection.

He remembered the day he escaped the school. He and Fang had been separated from the others, and were running side by side. Back then, Iggy was shorter than Fang, and was quieter than ever before. He didn't know if that was the school's effect on him, or it was just because he was pretty young. But Iggy certainly knew Fang wasn't shy.

They had stopped running, right in the middle of the forest. It scared Iggy. He had been used to the cold feeling of the stone in the school; the metal gurney he was strapped to daily. Those walls seemed like comfort compared to the unfamiliar sounds and texture.

It was all quite blurred, but he had remembered Fang put his hand on his. The tendons surged threw his own body, making that now familiar shiver. How he longed for that soothing touch again.

Iggy whispered Fang's name in the whisk of the moment. It sort of sounded like a condemned prayer, drooping off his lips like tears. Like wax off a burning candle. Iggy was felt low and isolated at the moment he half expected Fang not to catch it. To the naked eye, people would have seen nothing. Even Max couldn't, and would not, see it.

But Iggy felt Fang tilt his head just a bit, the tendons surging threw his own body like static. It left sparks and tingles erupting threw his body; the given warning and invitation. Iggy shivered. He knew, with that, Fang knew just what he'd done. Or what he hoped he didn't. And if Fang asks, Iggy would say no. He didn't dare call his name.

They had landed with no problems.

"Why is it snowing?" Max asked, shuffling her feet into the cold dirt. Iggy knew well enough not to answer, and he guessed, so did Fang. But that doesn't mean his witty ass isn't going to hold back.

"I don't know, Max. Maybe because it's cold?" Fang said. Iggy heard him sit next to the sleeping forms of the younger. It wasn't too late, but they were tired. Iggy didn't blame them. He, himself, felt the ache in his wings and the heaviness in his eyelids.

"No, Fang," Max answered patiently.

"It's spring," She said in awe.

"It can snow in spring, can't it?" Fang breathed.

Iggy presumed Max gave him the bird. "Whatever."

Iggy placed his head on the icy dirt floor and wished for a nice sleep. Which with his life, he probably wouldn't get. He thought about Fang instead.

---

Iggy's eyelids fluttered unwillingly. He didn't want to wake; the effervescent and colorful dreams couldn't have ended so early. So he didn't move. But he still opened his eyes, getting ready for the next hectic day of his life. But there wasn't a problem or dilemma. There was just Fang, who had sat next to him.

Iggy didn't feel too much expression or distinguishable features come across his face. The only thing he could feel was the strong beat of his dear friend's heart. It was beating in a regular avian motion—right along with his own. It was so vibrant and clear, like Fang had leapt out of his own dreams into his reality. Iggy could have mistaken the feel of his own chest against his. So didn't dare move from the cold floor, in fear it might end.

"Why did you call my name?" Fang asked quietly.

"I didn't," Iggy said, just as planned. He kept his breathing in a standard motion. He could act this out. Like a masquerade—a masked opera. Except this was much, much, easier. Right?

Iggy couldn't tell Fang what he was thinking about. He would think Iggy was stupid and childish. It made him cringe.

Fang sighed in response. "You're all quiet. Just talk, man."

Iggy knew he had been silent lately. He was thinking. Just thinking.

"I'm just tired. Tired of moving," He lied.

"All of us are," Fang began, sounding impassive. Iggy didn't know why.

"But c'mon. Why don't you say something to Gaz? He might not admit it, but he misses you, Ig," Fang placed his hand on Iggy's shoulder. A moderate, normal, Fang like gesture.

"No," Iggy shook his hand off, feeling pestered and controlled. But oddly, he wondered why that one touch still lingered and coveted.

"Wanna' arm wrestle? You loose, you talk?" Fang pestered further. Iggy knew neither would win. Fang and Iggy both had the moderate bird kid strengths. If it wasn't for Iggy's seeing problem, they would be each the other's equal.

"I'm tired," Iggy replied, turning over. He was not giving into his own selfish intentions.

There was a long, awkward silence. Iggy almost felt bad... until Fang tugged him to his feet.

"Let's take a nice, long, walk." Fang said under his breath.

Iggy guessed Fang wasn't so quiet today.

Iggy's feet shuffled along the hard ground, leaving dirty marks threw the collecting snow. He had begun to get cold, so he used his free arm to rub his bare shoulders freely. His other arm was just barely brushing Fang's; making a new fixed and influenced power pulsate through Iggy.

Fang had gotten quiet again. He didn't find that unusual, but it still disappointed him greatly. He thought he could at least speak with him, just the slightest bit. Though the sound of his regular breathing, throbbing pulse, and lively walk comforted him to no end... it just wasn't enough. He felt so... secluded with him, so isolated. Like they were both the only two roses in a fix of foul rain.

With a thought, he felt that the cold wasn't there. He dropped his arm, letting his body to its own warmth. With a reflection, he felt the wind wasn't driving his hair in a crown around his face. He stopped struggling feebly with the strands in his mouth and eyes. With a contemplation, he stopped worrying about the world roughly revolving around him. Nothing could possibly drive him mad in this firm world of his.

Finally, Fang spoke. "Are you cold?" He asked, just as Iggy felt his leg muscles constrict. He stopped along side him.

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying, idiot."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes. You. Are."

Iggy didn't even bother to snap back. He steamed off, knowing Fang would just follow. And it wasn't long before he felt his arm brush Fang's. Iggy felt the static turn on again, like a switch. His skin bubbled like a fuse. His veins channeled like wires.

Fang sighed. "You never change." He said softly, his warm breath releasing through out the air in little puffs, just like the men smoking in New York City. Except this was much, much, more healthy. More endearing. Despite this, Iggy didn't say anything in return. His shoulders rose, then fell, just slightly—just slightly enough—so only Fang can see it. Perhaps feel it.

"When you're in a good mood, everything is a joke," Fang's eyes fell upon Iggy, for a simple, quivering moment, then went on, "but when you're angry or upset, the smallest thing infuriates you."

With that, Iggy felt Fang's arm shift out of his reach. His heart stopped. His veins froze. He even stopped dead, trying to seek back his self control. Though it wasn't long before he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, making him jump, he couldn't help but be fearful for a moment. But before Iggy could yell in retort, or yelp in surprise, Fang spoke.

"I'm here," he said gently, his words drifting off his lips like fluid. It made Iggy's skin produce goose bumps. He quaked noiselessly, not saying a word. Until he heard something, making him freeze mid-motion. "Ig?" Fang asked. "What is it?"

Iggy knew Fang wouldn't hear it. They might both have the same avian enhanced hearing, but Iggy's ears were more trained. He couldn't see, so his ears were used more often. With more expertise.

What he had heard was a soft vibration, a yielding tremor just under his feet. It traveled through the trees, just like a limp fluid. Like a haunting. Something chilling. Something fearful, yet engaging.

Iggy's lips parted, moving in a sweet unison. His thoughts were starting to pull together, starting to sow together through thread and a silky fabric. He grasped Fang's arm, just before he could tell him through words.

It sounded like, felt like an... "Avalanche."