Drabble time=3
Not long enough for ff.net, but I still love this piece, because it has baby!Max:)
The keys jingle in her hand happily, bouncing this way and that with each step she took. The noise, however, was drowned out by the wailing infant resting in the crook of her arm, who's face was red in fury at being ignored despite her desperate shrieking.
"Shh, shh. You're going to see daddy, okay? Chill." The baby stilled, gazing up at her mother with something kin to understanding in her chocolate eyes. "I'm going to miss you, my little angel." Max cooed, small hands curling into fists as her tiny wings fluttered again the bare skin of Valencia's arm, trapped.
"It's time, Valencia."
She was in love with him. That was the only reason she had ever agreed to the crazy idea of making a baby together and giving it wings. Now, the scientist knew it had been a mistake she had made; the child's father was heartless, was letting their child be taken away and put in a cage to be expiramented on.
Valencia Martinez wasn't strong enough to say no, despite how much she loved the bundle of blonde hair and peach skin in her arms. She handed Max to her father.
The man she loved, and the daughter she adored walked out the door that day. She couldn't bring herself to regret having Max.
This one is supposed to 'capture the mindframe of a serial killer' so I hope I got.
"The general philosophy is 'I think, therefore I am.' I disagree." The knife glinted menacingly in the low light, swinging languidly to and fro. Her eyes followed it vervously. Her chair creaked in complaint as she thrashed against her bindings for the thousandth time since she was strapped down.
"Sure, I think, bust so do all the animals, but humans are always trying to glorify themselves, make themselves look superior to all other life. The fools." He's getting madder and madder with each word spoken, his placcid face flushed and his arms pinwheeling wildly.
He calms some, and smiles a rotten grin, "But, me? I'm not like that; I'm an animal in it's most primal mode that everyone else likes to act liike it doesn't exist, or that they're above it, above their instincts. But they aren't, I'm not, nobody is! If society was to give the okay on killing, people would jump on the oppurtunity. It's such a great... stress reliver." His smile stretches slowly, and he raises one bony finger to stroke his captive's cheek, skin cold and clammy against hers.
"My philosophy is simple. Like an animal hunting for food, killing to survive. My philosophy is," he leans in, chapped dry lips right up against the shell of her ear. "I kill, therefore I am." The knife rose, like a rollercoaster on it's last pitch of track, it's last high point, then dropped down, only there were no passengers screaming, just her.
Another Max/Fang.:)
Maybe he had always loved her. Maybe there was no maybe in the equation.
Fang had always loved Max. He had tried to convince himself otherwise, and had, for a few short years, fooled himself into believinghe didn't care for her as anything more than a friend. And then all his carefully constructed beliefs, theories, and ideas came tumbling down around him in what Ella and Nudge would call a 'hot mess'.
Which leads him here, two years after his break down, watching her help a seventeen year old Nudge with complicated schematics for a super computer. Her hair is longer, blonde, and wavy, her milk chocolate eyes are warm. She's positively glowing and looks happier than he ever remembers seeing her.
Max was a woman now, taking care of them having given her the greatest potential to grow, but her physical appearances had finally caught up sometime in the past year. The leader had gone from a scruffy teenager to a capable, normal looking young woman. It amazed Fang, really.
As if feeling his eyes on her, Max looked over her shoulder at him, eyes locking with his. The world freezes and both of the twenty-or-so-olds get lost in each other's eyes momentarily, before both jolt slightly, and look quickly away.
He's loved her as long as he's known her, since she was dragged into the room he was held in, kicking and screaming, so small but still a force to be reckoned with. He'd had his oppurtunity at her too, but he blew it with denial and insecurity. Now he was starting over, back at home, waiting to swing his bat at the first chance. And this time? He was going to do it right.