We are the long forgotten sons, and daughters that don't belong to anyone. We are alone, under this sun. We work to fix the work that you've undone.


Loki had little time to stay amused at the child before he heard the door to Sam's room open, and Brad's footfalls in the hall.

"Ah, love, you might want to put your toys away before your mother sees you out with them," he had responded to her, yanking her blade from her with ease and tossing it to the other side of the balcony, it clattered against the rail. As she dove for it, he quickly stepped back into the room, closing the door and righting the shutters and standing at the desk, right as Brad opened the door. The man held disapproval in his eyes, his face set in a dissatisfied frown.

"Luke," he nodded his head to Loki, "Sam seems to think you aren't a threat, she's told me how you've helped her out. Thank you. She's never brought anyone home before -"

Loki cut him off, "She's never needed to," there was a double meaning in his words.

Brad sighed out through his nose, gestured to two chairs with a table between them on the same wall as the door, and the men sat. "What happened in the arena? She's not talking," Brad asked.

"One of them charged her at the end, knocked her down. She'd have been pulverized, had it not been for that armor she wore." Loki didn't mince words, and he watched Brad's face lose a bit of colour, his fists tighten at his sides. He was glad to see it, still holding it against the man to send a woman to do such things, despite his injury. Where was her husband, anyway? "She would have died at the storage facility had I not found her there. They would have made it to her eventually, she could barely stand on her own."

Brad held up his hand, "I got it. Look…I don't know what to do, here. I owe you, we all do, but we can't be too careful. I want your weapons. All of them, it's the only way I'll be able to sleep with a stranger in my house." Loki raised a brow, "No offense," Brad amended. "It's just until I can trust you, okay? Can you at least do that for me?"

Without a word, Loki rose and picked up his bag, handing it to Brad. He watched the man retrieve five large knives, root around for a minute, and hand it back to him.

"That's it?" He questioned.

Smirking, Loki took his bag back and said, "Well, as you can see, Sam is also saving me."

Brad stood, one hand on the back of his neck, "Yeah. About that, I'm sorry about your friends. She told me what happened." He nodded to the bed, "You can crash there. We'll figure things out in a little while, but we have a lot of work to do. Sam can't really do much, she's drugged up pretty good, and we have a lot of food to store. Come on, I'll show you around, you can pick up the slack."

Loki looked down at the man, stopping him. "Bradley, yes? Can I ask, where is her husband?"

Eyes widening, Brad opened his mouth and closed it again, before cautiously asking, "What has she told you?"

"Well, nothing. She didn't even tell me of her family until we were at the unit and I had agreed to come with her. Then she threatened me, then you threatened me, and now here we are. I saw her ring."

"Sounds like Sam," Brad mused. "He's dead, it happened a couple of years ago. It's not my place to tell you anything else, now come on."

Loki kept his face impassive and followed Brad. He was shown the layout, the garden on the roof, and the two large chest freezers in the pantry off of the kitchen. He helped portion out food, rotate goods, and clean supplies. Sam's sons were just as cautious, if not downright awkward, around him. Harper stayed in her room or in the garden, and no one mentioned her to him.

He kept that to himself, and didn't see Sam for three days. He occupied his time in the home by observing her family, helping when he could, practicing his magic when he was alone. Loki seemed to be getting stronger, and was pleased with it. Sam had three children; Michael was the oldest, Lee the middle, and Harper the youngest. They were all battle worn, and independent. Michael was the most intelligent of the three, quiet, bookish, always tinkering to improve the quality of life of his family in the tower. Tall and thin, he was the younger male version of Sam; except for his eyes, they were warm and brown where hers were bright and green. Lee reminded him of Thor, all brawn and action, golden and warm. He was the muscle of the family, lifting and moving heavy loads and objects, and his blue-green eyes were kind. Sam's youngest child, Harper, reminded him of himself as a child; tortured, secretive, not quite fitting in with the rest of her family. Her skin tone was distinctly different from her brothers, though, her eyes naturally more narrow. Both of the young men favoured their mother, while Harper looked nothing like them.

It was on his fourth day there, in the morning, that Sam caught him by surprise. Loki was on the balcony off the kitchen, awake before the rest of the home, and he had been trying to teleport to the roof. His ears had just started to buzz and he had shifted into transparency when he heard the click of the lock on the sliding glass door. Surprised, he landed with a solid thump into one of the patio chairs, the wind knocked out of him. He watched as Sam stepped outside into the grey dawn morning, wrapped in a short fluffy light grey robe that stopped just above her knees. She carried a steaming cup, her hair was loose down her back and a surprisingly rich shade of brown with silvery strands peppered throughout. Her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes bright; she looked a different woman entirely from the violet-haired, soldierly woman that he had met.

"Oh," she started, her eyes landing on Loki to her right and widening in surprise, "I didn't know anyone else was up. Do you mind if I join you?"

Loki smiled a soft smile to her, hoping it came across as inviting, "Of course, it's your home." He gestured to the chair next to him. Sam took her hand from the door, and shuffled over, her bare feet soundless on the concrete. "How are you feeling?"

Sam eased into the chair gently, breathing in the morning air deeply before responding. She wrinkled her nose, stretching her left arm and her legs out, cradling her mug to her chest with her right arm, "Sore. It still hurts to breathe, but it's good to stretch my lung out." She sipped her coffee, curling her legs next to her. When Loki gave her a blank look in reply, she explained, "One of my ribs almost cracked completely. It's putting pressure on my lung. All of my drugged-up rest has really helped, but I can't lay in bed for weeks at a time. I'm going crazy."

"I've seen everyone keep busy," Loki remarked, watching Sam close her eyes and lean her head back, the sun on her. He looked at her legs, seeing the dark purple and blue bruising peeking out on her thigh from beneath her robe. He couldn't see the rest of her, but could only imagine the damage to her shoulders, her side. The fingertips on her hand that he saw beneath the large fluffy sleeve of her robe rested lightly on her ankle. His prior assessment of Harper not looking like her mother changed, she had her mother's hair, perhaps a shade or two darker, but the texture and fullness was the same.

"What about you?" Sam asked him, her eyes still closed. "What are you doing to keep yourself busy?"

"Your family is a well oiled machine, I'm afraid even my offers of assistance are declined to their productivity."

"Oh, that's about to change, mister," Sam laughed softly, opening her eyes and taking a long drink from her cup. "You have to pull your weight around here if you plan to stick around." She suddenly looked unsure, furrowing her brow. "You do plan to stick around, right? I mean, we never really put a timeline on this or…shit." She looked away, sitting up straighter and chewing her bottom lip as she thought. She placed her coffee cup between both hands in her lap. "Hey, remind me not to invite random strange men into my home when I'm half dead and completely unaware of the terms of said invitations, ok?"

"Sam?" Loki asked her, finding himself suddenly amused at her uncertainty, her rambling. "There's no place I'd rather be."

She raised her coffee and met his gaze over her the cup. "Really?"

"Truly. You have hot showers and beds with clean linens. Why would I ever leave?" Sam snorted into her cup, and Loki was surprised that the sound felt so warm. His years wandering must have isolated him more than he realized.

The glass door slid open, and Bradley stood in the doorway, watching them warily for a moment before Sam cleared her throat. "Sam, we need to talk," and he went back inside, leaving the door wide open as a clear invitation that the conversation needed to happen now.

"Does he never smile?" Loki asked, as Sam stood.

"He has his reasons," she defended him weakly, "We all cope in different ways."

"Yes, you all with your secrets," Loki looked at the ring on her left hand pointedly.

Sam squared her shoulders, a small bounce in her step, a sparkle in her eye. "Hey, I'd apologize, but you're full of just as much, if not more shit than all of us combined. Mr. 'Oh, I'm so helpless in the big city and I'm totally faking a twisted ankle for pity points,'" she mocked him in a high-pitched voice, waving her hands in the air for dramatics. She tilted her head to the side, suddenly serious. "Look, I don't know if I buy the story about you and your friends in a camper, but I do know when someone is keeping a major secret to survive, just like you did with me. How we survive is what makes us who we are, okay? You don't owe me anything, I owe you my life. I'd like to know your real story some day, and I'll tell you mine, but I'm not in a hurry. I'm not ready to talk, and clearly you aren't either." She turned to walk inside, leaving Loki open-mouthed that she had seen through him. "Oh yeah," she suddenly turned in the doorway, "Small favor? This is where I come every morning to wake up and drink my coffee. My space. Me time. Is that cool?"

Loki recovered his facial features. "Perfect," he managed, nodding to her in acknowledgement when she smiled a small smile in response before sliding the glass closed behind her.

Loki sat back in the chair with a huff, genuinely flabbergasted. He blinked, and found himself in the middle of the garden on the roof.


"Did you fuck him?"

Sam dropped her head into her hands, which was needed, because she was fairly certain that her eyes would have popped out of their sockets in sheer surprise at Brad's words had she not thrown her face into her hands. "Please tell me this is a nightmare," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Bradley was waiting for her in her bedroom, the door open, and Sam had barely closed the door behind her when the words flew from his mouth. He was seated on the bench at the foot of her bed, arms crossed across his chest, leaning back against the foot of her bed. She crossed the space and sprawled out on her stomach on the bed, letting out a small, "ow," when she laid wrong and her shoulder protested. Her head was at the foot of the bed, her feet in the pillows. She stared into Brad's eyes.

"Oh my God, you are serious-"

"Hey, I just want to know-"

"Okay," Sam sat up on her left elbow, "First of all, it is not your business who, or what, or…ugh-"

"He wants something from you," Brad uncrossed his arms, turning to face her fully.

"So that's the first thing you think of?!" Sam screeched, burying her face in her blanket.

Brad kept on, "I can see it when he looks at you, he wants something from you, Sam-"

"Is that any different from you?" She jerked herself up to a sitting position at the head of the bed angrily. Her face flushed, she was angry.

When he didn't answer, she pressed on, "It's no different than any of you. You all rely on me, you all need something from me. Every single one of you. I can't believe you would even…" Sam trailed off, she was so upset she couldn't form words. She glanced at the photo on her nightstand of she and Samuel.

"You were laughing, Sam. Really laughing. I haven't heard you laugh like that since-"

"Stop," Sam choked out, closing her eyes.

"Sam, you're a widow, not a nun. It's okay-" he started gently.

"It's not, Brad. Okay? Can we please not do this? I didn't bring Luke here to…for…You know I'm still really mad at you, right?" Horrified to feel tears prickling her eyes, she took a deep breath and reigned herself in, her side screamed at her. "You son of a-"

"Oh, come on, Sam!" He stood. Sam stood as well, channeling her emotions into pure anger.

"He's MY son," she declared, "When I say-"

"He's not a little kid, he can do these things," Brad cut her off. "He can help you. I wouldn't have made the call if he couldn't have handled himself-"

Sam threw her hands up, "Oh, because you clearly have a track record for making wise choices with family safety, right?!" Sam suddenly shrunk back, her hands over her mouth, realizing what she had said. "Brad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"You did," Sam had never seen or heard him so wounded, "and a lot of things make sense, now." Brad turned to leave the room.

"Bradley, wait! Please," she rushed forward and held his arm with both hands.

He shrugged her off, "I can't do this, Sam."

"Fine," Sam's moment of feeling sorry for him suddenly gone, "Retreat when I don't pull any punches, right?"

Brad paused, his back to her still, and then stalked out the door.


Harper was so very screwed.

It had been four days since the stranger had caught her sneaking back into her room, and he hadn't said anything to anyone about it. She was on edge, worried, and suspicious. He was sleeping in the office right next to her room, they shared a balcony. She didn't like it. She liked her space. She was annoyed.

She was in the garden on the roof, sorting through the shed and scrubbing down the tools. Harper had spent the morning, and well into the afternoon pulling squash, tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, okra, green beans, cucumbers, and corn from the vegetable side of the garden. She walked to the fruit side, to the Lychee tree her dad had planted. Reaching up on her tip toes, she grabbed a handful of them and sat, making them her lunch. She wiped her hands on her jeans absent mindedly, her green T-shirt already grimy.

"Hey Little Girl! These are my favourite, and I can't wait for you to try them." Her daddy reached down and plucked a few of the red berries from the small tree, piercing the flesh and peeling it back, he handed Harper the white fleshy fruit.

"What does it taste like?" She watched him bite into his, juice running down his chin.

"Heaven," he smiled down at her.

Harper smiled at the memory, she was five years old at the time. She bit into the lychee's soft flesh, and looked up to see Loki near the garden shed.

'I didn't hear the access door open,' she thought. 'Maybe if I sit very still, he won't see me, and he'll go away.'

As if on cue, Loki turned and looked directly at her. "You are so small, Harper, surely you don't scale up and down the length of the building? What's your secret?" He asked her in a conspiratorial tone.

Harper ignored him; his accent reminded her of her dad's accent, and it made her want to get her gardening tools dirty again, just not with dirt.

Loki began to walk across the garden to her. "Oh, come, now, I can be trusted with your secret."

Harper glared at him.

"You're an angry little thing, aren't you?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I know a lot about secrets, Harper, and I know a lot about anger. If you'd ever like to talk to someone that isn't your family, aside from being the only option in your home, that is, I could help you."

"What makes you think I need any help?" She finally exploded, standing and stalking towards him. "I don't need anyone, I can make it fine."

Loki clasped his hands behind his back, his hair loose behind him. "I resented my family for a long time for the wrong reasons, too. I isolated myself. I hurt them, and I hurt myself, too. Then it was too late, I'm afraid I dug myself so far into a hole that I needed help to get out of it."

Harper stood frozen at Loki's words. She screamed out, "You don't know me!"

"I know that you're hurting," he spoke calmly, "and I know you're burying your pain. What you can't see is that it's burying you. My offer to help with your burden will always stand."

Loki bowed his head slightly, turned and walked to the steel door. Harper watched him go, shaking with rage. She counted to ten before she raced down the stairs and stormed her mother's bedroom.

Raging into the room, Harper stopped short when she saw her mom at the foot of her bed, holding a picture of her parents together. It was a black and white photo, except for the blue of their favourite sport's teams' jerseys that they both wore. They were looking at each other, her dad sticking his tongue out, her mom laughing with her nose crinkled. Harper saw her mom quickly swipe at her cheeks, erasing the tear marks.

"Hey honey, what's up?" she asked her, smiling through her glistening eyes.

Harper backed slowly towards the door, a big fake smile on her face. She watched her mom's face fall slightly, knowing she saw through Harper.

"It's nothing, Mom, never mind," she rushed out the door, closing it behind her. She quickly walked to her bedroom, closing the door and throwing herself across her purple satin comforter. She cried herself into a fitful sleep.


AN: Not quite the happy little family, eh?