What if Tomorrow Never Came?

It was raining on the way to the hospital. Fang didn't notice. The sixty-seven year old had more important things to think about.

"You sure you're not hungry, Dad?"

His son's voice sounded oddly clear today. Fang's didn't sound nearly as lucid. "I've already told you once. I just want to get there."

He felt his son glance at him but still, he did not move his eyes off the road in front of him.

"You know," his oldest began, "I took Timmy to see that movie. I knew that you wanted to take him but I just thought that with all this going on, you wouldn't mind."

He was talking about a movie? Fang shook his head. Or did he? He thought he did. "It doesn't matter."

Peter looked at his father for a moment before moving his eyes back to where they belonged. "Dad?"

"What?"

"…Nothing."

Neither spoke the rest of the way to the hospital. Once they got there, they went to the third floor and to Fang's wife's room. Max looked as bored as she did yesterday. Fang didn't smile at her. She didn't expect him to.

"You should be at work."

Peter did smile, however. "I told 'em I'd be a little late. I didn't want Dad driving in weather like this."

Max glanced at her husband before looking back at her son. She was about to say something when Fang spoke.

"You can leave now," was all Fang said as he sat down next to Max's bed. The chair wasn't all that comfortable and his back hurt but Fang made no complaints.

"Alright. Call me when you're ready to leave, okay? Whenever, I swear."

"Just go."

"Bye, Peter," Max said. Her son smiled at her but didn't go to give her a hug. He knew it hurt for her to move and hugging her would just annoy her.

For the first ten minutes after he left, Max and Fang didn't speak. When you were together your whole life, there's not really much to talk about. They ran out of things years ago. That is, until Fang noticed something.

"What happened to Mr. Ferguson?"

Max blinked, her mind taking a minute to comprehend the question and another to remember the answer. Mr. Ferguson... her roommate. "Died."

They were silent again. Then Fang remembered something else.

"Your fish died."

"I have a fish?"

"Yes. Did."

Max hadn't been home a long time and, with her memory already deteriorating, something as stupid as a fish didn't register. "How old was it?"

Fang's face never changed. "Never mind. Forget it."

That made Max laugh a little. Fang found no humor in it.

"Fang?"

"What?"

"I want to die at home."

They had this fight every other day. Again, his face never changed. "No."

"You know being hooked to these stupid machines isn't the way I want to go."

"You shouldn't want to go at all."

"Fang, please."

He just stared straight ahead. "Angel called."

"Who?"

"Angel, Max. You know Angel."

"Oh…yeah. What about her?"

"Just saying that she called the other day."

"Was Gasman good?"

Fang didn't want to remind her that Gasman died five years ago in a car accident. "Yep."

"That's good. His wife?"

Gasman was gay and his partner, Bill, died with him. "Great."

"Their kids?"

They had none. "Good. The youngest is graduating college in the spring."

Max smiled. "That's good."

"Yeah."

Max opened her hand and, without even thinking, Fang put his in hers, running his thumb over her fingers. They had aged, of course. You don't get to sixty-seven without aging. They just hadn't aged appropriately. Max looked young and Fang younger. Very few wrinkles too. They looked good for their age. They looked great in fact. Great…just like Gasman's imaginary wife.

"Fang?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

He leaned over, ignoring his aching back, and gave her a kiss. "I love you too."

Fang had trouble the next morning. He wanted to be with Max but he also needed to finish packing. The real reason he didn't want Max to die at home, comfortable, was because pretty soon, there would be no home to die in. He wasn't sure how to tell her that.

"Dad, I can pack. You go be with Mom."

"No, Tracey. For the last time, leave me alone."

His daughter rolled her eyes. Fang didn't see though. He just wanted her gone.

"At least let me help-"

"I don't want you all going through our stuff."

Shaking her dyed red hair, Tracey walked out of the room. "I'm going to go buy you some breakfast, alright?"

He didn't answer her. She was probably trying to poison him anyways. That's all his daughter seemed to care about anymore. She was forcing him out of the house he had lived in since he was 22 because it would be better for him. Yeah right. That's all kids ever want. They mooch off you for the first 18 years (30 in his son David's case) and then can't wait for you to die so they can take their inheritance.

At the moment, he was going through the guest bedroom closet, looking through old boxes. Max kept everything. It was all trash to him but… He didn't know. It was so hard to throw away her stuff, act like she was already gone. It wasn't fair. He worked his whole life to have this stuff and now he had to pick only a handful of things to take with him to the retirement home. Peter offered to keep some of the stuff or rent him a storage space but Fang refused. He didn't want to be a burden for any of his kids. They were vultures but he loved them.

He cursed under his breath as one box fell the floor, narrowly missing his foot. It sounded like something broke in there too. Fang looked at the contents and felt nostalgia overtake him. They were old pictures, ones that he couldn't even remember taking. They had all been framed. Some where of the other flock members, some of him and Max. The frame that had broken was the one that made Fang's breathe catch.

It was the last photo that had ever been taken of the flock all together. This photograph he remembered. He was probably 30 something back then. Fang sat back on the floor, just staring at it. Yep, they were all there.

Iggy was in a suit. It looked nice but it was way to flashy for the occasion, seeing as everyone else was in jeans. Gasman may have been the gay one, but Iggy was the flamboyant one.

Iggy had died probably a few years after that photo was taken. He got shot. Unsolved case. Fang hadn't been talking to him when he died. Some stupid fight. Fang longed to remember what it was even about but he couldn't. The day they got the call from his wife that he was dead, Fang was crushed. Whatever the fight was about, it wasn't worth it. But what fight ever is, really?

Iggy had his arm wrapped around Nudge's shoulders, but, if Fang's memory served him right, they were fighting when it was taken. Iggy had taken Nudge's 12 year old to an R-rated movie. He had to laugh, thinking about it. In truth, Fang was the one that took Jamal to the movie but Iggy took the blame for him. They were brothers. That's what brothers did.

Nudge died just ten years ago. Cancer. Even to the day of her death, she was still Nudge. The last day that Fang talked to her, she was telling him all of the gossip around the hospital. What doctor was sleeping with what nurse, which intern was stealing pills. All the stuff Fang could care less about but listened because it was Nudge. He loved Nudge. That's just another person that he expected to out live him whose funeral he had to go to.

Gasman stood next to Nudge, a little in front of her. His arms were crossed but his face showed his playful attitude. He had his tongue stuff out, making a face for the camera. The Gasman was just as much a kid that day as he was the day Jeb first took them to the E-shaped house.

It was a year after Iggy died that Gasman decided he was gay. Fang was sure that the revelation had something to do with his best friend's death but Gasman said he was born that way. Fang couldn't get how he could have married a woman and then decided he was gay and left her. It was selfish, in Fang's view. No one was born gay. But then again, Fang had never had any feeling for another man besides friendship. Max said he just couldn't get it. And he couldn't. That much he would agree to. But he still loved Gasman. He was still like his little brother. He still read the eulogy at his funeral.

Angel was next to her brother, smiling as angelically as ever. Her eyes betrayed the rest of her, though. That was the day she found out her fiancé was cheating on her. Angel loved parties though and refused to let that ruin her mood.

It was weird knowing that it would soon just be he and Angel. They had saved the world with the rest of the flock but what made them so important to be the last two standing? It made no sense. When he talked to Angel, she still spoke about life as if she had years and years to live. In her mind, she probably did. Fang wasn't so sure. Angel had no children, no husband. Just her, her faithful dog, Total (Not the original, of course. He had died many, many years ago. Plus, this one was a German Shepard and a lot less annoying.), and the bottle. Angel wasn't an alcoholic, of course not. She said that you're only one of those when you can't quit. She can, she just doesn't want to. Fang figured it helped the pain so he made no objections. Smoking and drinking. If that's what got her through the day, who was he to judge?

Next to Angel, of course, was him. Fang looked pretty good back then. He was home on leave. Yes, Fang had joined the Marines. After saving the world forever, the only thing that kept his mind alive was serving. Though he loved being away, when he was home, Fang spent ever second he could with Max. He had his hand intertwined with hers in the photo, not smiling on the outside but surely on the inside.

Being in the Marines messed some things up. He missed Tracey's birth, missed all of their birthdays at least twice, and, of course, just plain missed them. It was hard but it was bearable. Sometimes, when he thought back on it, he wished he hadn't joined the military. It would have had him home a lot more. Maybe even made him less strict. None of his kids really liked him growing up. They loved for him to be home but hated for him to be around. Max was lax in her parenting, Fang was far from it.

Next to him, of course, was Max. She was showing at the time, pregnant with Mark. She was smiling but only a little. Max was rare to full blown smile. Fang liked that. He loved that. He loved Max, till the day he died and there after.

Fang glanced at his wedding ring. He wore it everyday of his life since he got it and would even after Max was gone. It was as much a part of him as his wings.

He was still staring at the broken picture frame when his youngest grandchild, Derek ran into the room.

"What'cha doing, Grandpa?" He asked, coming up behind him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Daddy brought me to help you move."

"I don't-"

"There you are, Dad," Peter said, walking into the room. Then he noticed the broken glass. "Dad, you're going to cut yourself."

Fang just sat the picture down and stood up. "I don't need help. I don't want help. This is my house until the day I sell it. Get out."

"Dad-"

"Now."

Peter sighed. "Come on, Derek. Grandpa's not feeling well."

Derek frowned. "Okay. Bye, Grandpa."

Fang didn't even look at him. They just all came in his house like they owned the place. They didn't. It was his and Max's house, no one else's.

"Oh, and Dad? Tracey left a bag of food in the kitchen. Said that you weren't in a good mood and she'd see you later."

"Just get out of my house."

Peter picked up Derek and finally went away. Good.

After they were gone, Fang left the room, not feeling like cleaning anymore. He went to his bedroom and laid in the bed. It had been forever since Max had been in this bed with him. She never would be again, if he was being honest with himself. But, like he did the other day when talking about Gasman with Max, he was lying to himself. They were going to be fine. They were going to keep living their happily ever after if it killed them.

Max's condition worsened as the week went on. By Friday, they had all said their goodbyes. All except Fang. It was that afternoon when Peter finally convinced him to just do it.

"Are you hungry?"

Fang looked at her. "What?"

"You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm fine."

She looked at their entangled hands. "They all say that I'm dying."

Fang blinked. "We're all dying, Max. Never once are you really living. From the time you take your first breath, you're dying."

Max didn't say anything for a few minutes. "When are you going to say it?"

"Say what?"

"Goodbye."

Fang found his words were all jumbled and tangled together. "I'm not going to."

She looked at him with her brown eyes. "What?"

"I'm not going to tell you goodbye, Maximum."

"Why not?"

He looked away for a second before looking back. "If I say goodbye, that means that I'll never see you again. I can't do that, Max."

"Fang, I've given you my whole life. You have to give me something."

He shook his head slowly. "I'm not doing it."

Max squeezed it hand. "I always wanted to go to Germany."

"What?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"You've been before," he told her.

Max frowned but had already moved onto another thought. "I haven't talked to Gasman. I want to tell him goodbye."

Fang bit his lip, hard. God, he just wanted to…wanted to…die. "Max…"

"What?"

"I want to tell you something."

"Then say it."

He took a took a deep breath. "I love you."

"I know."

"No, you don't," he said. "I love you, Max."

"Fang, I know that."

He just shook his head. No she didn't. It was quiet for a minute before she spoke again.

"Fang, please tell me goodbye."

Whenever she spoke now, her sentences dragged on. Not from word use but from the fact she spoke so slowly, as if each word hurt.

"No," he said again. "Before I leave, I'm going to say…"

"Say…?"

"That I'll see you tomorrow."

"What?"

Fang nodded. "Let's just pretend that we'll see each other tomorrow."

"Why?"

Fang shrugged. "I don't know. It's easier than saying goodbye, isn't it?"

Max was silent for a second and Fang thought that she had moved onto another topic in her head but then she spoke. "You got that from the sixth sense."

"What?"

Max nodded. "Yep. The little boy says it."

For some reason, Fang found this hilarious. He laughed for the first time in a long time. Max laughed with him. Then it was silent again. Max went to sleep. The silence stayed until around six o'clock.

That's when Max finally passed.

Fang stayed there, holding her hand. He knew that she was gone but he couldn't move. Some doctor came in and said something but he didn't hear him. It wasn't until his son came in and put his hand on his shoulder that Fang dropped her hand.

"It's time to go," Peter whispered. Fang got up slowly. As he followed his son from the room, his eyes stayed on Max until the door shut firmly in place and he had to leave her behind.

Fang didn't say anything the whole way home. Peter didn't go with him inside. Fang just got out of the car and went into the house. He stood there for a minute before going into the guest bedroom. He grabbed the picture frames that he had left on the floor and picked them up. One by one, he threw them at the wall until he got to the last one. He just dropped it and ran to another room. He knocked all the boxes over that he could before he got too tired to do more.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was. What had he ever done? What? He went to church every Sunday, tried not to curse, rarely drank, never once hit his wife. What had he done?

What really wasn't fair was that the last thing they talked about was the sixth sense. He had always thought it would be something romantic, at least an I love you. But no. He wasted it on the sixth sense.

As Fang finally laid down in his bed, he felt tears come to his eyes. He hadn't cried in he didn't know how many years. His first laugh and cry all in the same day. He just closed his eyes and let the tears run down his cheeks. As he feel asleep, he whispered something under his breath.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Max."

Tracey found him, dead in his bed. Fang had gone in his sleep. When Peter found out, he just shook his head. It only made sense, after all. His father couldn't live without his mother. He didn't care what medical term they tried to put on his death, his father died of a broken heart. That's all there was to it.