A/N: This is the chapter that raised the rating. Enjoy, or don't, at your own risk.
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Rachel worried about him, always.
He was gone more and more now. Sometimes all night.
She'd been happy when he first began walking outside the apartment, happy for him, that he was feeling well enough to do it. His bruises were all but gone now, so he wouldn't draw stares.
The first few times he had asked her to come with him. They walked hand in hand, a few blocks at a time. He needed it; still, a month later, he had fainting spells, or unpredictable moments where he would forget where he was, and apparently how to speak, and she would need to be there to guide him home.
These were few and far between now, and Loki was enjoying his freedom doing god-knew-what.
Three thousand dollars' worth of twenty dollar bills on the coffee table. And that was before he'd been able to leave the apartment. What kind of trouble could he get into out in the world?
Often now she would come in and find groceries on the counter, in the fridge. Meat and vegetables, neither of which Rachel ate if she could avoid them. Loki was so strange.
Her closet was now full of his clothes, real clothes, not the crappy thrift store ones she'd bought him. She couldn't bear to look in there, it made her too nervous. Once she was unfortunate enough to see the price tag hanging off a blazer sleeve. The minor heart attack that resulted half-killed her.
Where was he getting the money?
Several of her friends had met him now; he was normalized enough that he could sit quietly through a movie night, or a pre-workshop home rehearsal with a singer or two.
He had cracked that tiny half-smile when she introduced him, without clearing it first, as her banker boyfriend Nigel Greenstone. Later, he said it was a good idea – for all he knew, he was a criminal with the whole world looking for him. Loki was an unusual enough name that any mention of it couldn't be a good idea at this point, with him still confused about his past and his physical progress so slow.
The friends she had over for the movie, two couples (one gay and one straight), had a lot of questions which she settled with a pointed "Nigel doesn't like to talk about himself," and they got the hint. Still, he got googly eyes from everyone all night. Of course he did. It wasn't every day you met someone this good looking.
"Nigel" flirted right back if he got the opportunity, much to Rachel's surprise and jealousy. She tried to hide it. His right. He could grin charmingly at whomever he wanted, laugh at whatever stupid jokes he found funny for some unholy reason. She had told him he was free, and she meant it.
Neither had forgotten the incident at the piano. He didn't join her on the bench anymore. And he was gone so often. She knew that one day he was going to vanish altogether.
The knowledge saddened her, but she did her very best not to show it. They never talked about where he went, and when he came home, they were still friends. Together they watched movies on her computer, her pride and joy, a $250 netbook with a seven-inch screen. She picked the movies, and she had a feeling he didn't really watch them. Lost in thought, always, her Loki. But his presence was comforting.
One night in the shower she contemplated losing him. It shouldn't be so bad. He didn't contribute anything to her life but himself and the fascinating mystery of his origin. They rarely even talked – or rather, he rarely talked. She talked at him. But she could talk at a dog or a cat.
She had lived alone for years. Where had the attachment come from?
The answer, of course, was that it had been there from the first moment she'd seen him reaching out to her on that stupid fire escape. He was hers. She wanted him around… well, if not forever, then for a long time. Her mystery man.
A tiny sob jumped out of her throat, surprising the hell out of her.
And Loki was there.
How he'd gotten the door open without her hearing it, she had no idea, but he pushed aside the shower curtain and had her wrapped in his arms before she had a chance to be surprised.
"Stop this," he whispered in her ear. His breath was cool on the tiny water drops. "Stop thinking this way."
She was naked; he wore a button-up shirt and slacks, but still he held her to him, and the water from the shower soaked them both. The sobs were still in her throat, and though she didn't understand what was happening anymore, she let him comfort her, rock her side to side.
"I won't have you crying, do you understand? Not over me."
She thought she'd been so quiet. He must have heard the sob.
Rachel wiped her face on his shirt, laughing at herself. "Got it. No more crying."
He released her and held her at arm's length, examining her breasts, the drops of water rushing down the lines of her stomach muscles, lower. Rachel found herself trembling in spite of the warmth.
"You don't have to-" she began, intending to repeat her piano bench speech to him.
"I know. I'm quickly learning that in this world I don't have to do anything. I can do exactly as I please." And he pressed his cool lips to hers.
God, he tasted good. She could have stayed in that moment forever – her tongue against his, the water running between them, the feel of his hard body under his wet shirt, his hands on her breasts, her stomach. He got his shoes and socks kicked off at some point in that hazy, confusing moment, and then he was in the shower with her, still fully clothed, pressing her against the slick tile walls, one knee between hers.
At the touch of his finger inside her, she almost passed out.
They took a long time, that first time. He went to his knees and made her come before she'd even gotten his shirt off. Her fingers clawed through his hair; its feather-softness was just as she remembered from the first time they'd been in this bath together, him practically an invalid, her his shy, embarrassed nurse.
Tongue working all the way, he moved up her body, back to her mouth, and finally, finally she got her shaking hands on all those buttons of his. There seemed to be a hundred of them before he was bare to her.
He was hard and long, and it had been a while since she'd done this. It hurt at first; they were both desperate, thirsty for it, and he slammed inside her, pinning her against the wall with her legs around his waist, in a single, brutal motion.
Their groans of pain and pleasure were identical.
The water ran the whole time. Minutes, hours, seconds swirled in Rachel's head during their lovemaking. How long had it been? Loki seemed to know exactly what she wanted. She thought of his mouth on her breast, and there it was, his teeth clutching her, dancing on but never crossing the line into pain. She wanted his fingers running down her back, digging into her, and there they were. He crushed her into him until she cried out, even though she wanted more.
And he seemed to be having as lovely a time as she was. The green of his eyes was almost swallowed by the extreme dilation of his pupils, the few times she managed to meet his eyes between the kissing and gasping and urgent attempts to pull closer, closer, closer to each other. His mouth was everywhere, hungry for her, moaning ravenously if their motions pulled them apart.
Their foreheads were pressed together when he came inside her. They were breathing the same warm air into each other's mouths.
Water pounded onto his back; they lay in the tub with him on top of her, taking the brunt of the shower. All that reached Rachel was a fine spray on the face; Loki kissed the drops that formed on her eyebrows, threatening to fall into her eyes.
Both were weak and shaken.
"You must forgive me for barging in like this," Loki said, sending them both into nervous laughter. A sigh escaped Rachel as he slid out of her body.
He didn't leave. They shared the most wonderful bath Rachel had ever had. They washed each other's hair and rubbed soap over every inch of each other's bodies, rinsed it away and tasted the difference.
Later – two hours and three times later, to be exact – they lay in Rachel's bed, still naked, Loki's arm wrapped around her shoulder.
"I want you to know something," said Rachel. "About why I was crying."
Loki sighed down at her. An affectionate sigh, with a crooked smile attached. "Yes?"
Rachel chose her words carefully. "Whoever you are, Loki, I've got the feeling it's somebody really important."
"Do you know," said Loki, "I've the very same feeling."
"Well, that's not good," said Rachel. "Not for me. Because I'm not important."
He tried to interrupt her with a kiss, but she pressed a finger to his lips.
"I think that some day, some day soon, Loki, you're going to remember who you are. You're going to remember that your place isn't in a twentieth-story one bedroom apartment with a random girl you barely know."
Green eyes sparkled down at her. He was listening carefully.
"I believe," she said, "that on the day you remember who you are, you're going to disappear from my life the same way you came into it. Bam, all at once, maybe right back into the sky. I want you to know that I expect it. That I'm okay with it. You're something special, and you can't wait around for me. But please promise me something."
He nodded. The three stress lines that often appeared in the middle of his forehead when he was having his staring episodes were suddenly carved deep. Rachel hoped that meant he was taking this seriously.
"Just promise me that before you go you'll say goodbye. Leave a note, something, anything so that I don't wait for you. That's what worries me every time you leave. That it'll be the last time and I won't know it and I'll be here wondering forever. Wondering whether you're dead or whether you've left. Let me know. Okay?"
Loki nodded again.
He dug his fingers into her hair, pulled her up into one more kiss before they were finally able to sleep.
Rachel liked that he didn't try to argue with her about his eventual departure. They both knew she was right; lying about it wouldn't make either of them feel better.