It had been exactly eight days, fifteen hours, forty-seven minutes, and six seconds since Grace had said she wanted space and left.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

So pointless, I decided, abandoning the counting as the clock flicked its molten red numbers, flashing the time for all to see. It wasn't like I cared, anyways. I mean... she was just a girl. There're a million of them out there. Why should this one matter so much?

Oh yeah? my brain retorted. Then why do you feel like someone's punched you in the gut? It even had that stupidly condescending tone I hated from anyone over the age of eighteen. I ignored the protesting squawk it made and rolled off the couch, pacing.

I was beginning to wear a rut in the new wooden floors. Did I care? Not so much.

Pretty soon everyone would be waking up and we'd all help pitch in on the repairing of the mansion. Hip... hip... hoorah. My enthusiasm was putting the parents of athletes to shame. I rolled my eyes at the comparison and moodily flopped back down, scratching my stomach absentmindedly.

It sucked, this whole... space thing. I mean, never being one for social relationships, I'll be the first to admit I've never had a girlfriend. In Michigan, all the chicks were looking for tall, tan, and muscular. When they spotted me - tall, pale, and so thin I looked underfed - they stuck their fake noses in the air and strutted off, too-short skirts flapping in the breeze.

Granted, of course, they usually only got two out of three, because the whole damn state was under one big cloud all the time, but I digress.

The point being, naturally, that now that I'd tasted how great it was to have a girlfriend I loved, it sucked being away from her. Like, big time. And I feel like such a wuss saying it, but I really need her. She's my anchor in this hellish storm I call my life, and now I'm two steps away from spinning out of control.

Heavy thoughts, yeah, but hey. Ever since we were outed, heavy thoughts are all I can manage.

I spent the next several hours continuing in that same vein, and it was only at around nine o'clock in the morning (when everyone was awake and making too much noise for me to concentrate on brooding properly) that I pulled myself up and was put straight on roof duty.

Lucky, lucky me. Good thing I'm not afraid of heights, or else today would suck more than it normally would.

The sun was shining. Birds were chirping annoyingly loud. Bees were buzzing, and it wasn't long before a yelp from the ground told me someone had been stung. Overall, it was the stereotypical spring day that sitcoms are so damn fond of.

And I was stuck on a roof. Typical, that.

I lifted the hammer up, focused completely on the nail that would soon be receiving my metal wrath. Ten feet away, Scott and Logan were wrestling the satellite antennae into place, occasionally breaking out into manly puffs of exertion. I flicked my eyes skyward. This was promising to be a long damn day. Wonderful.

With no further ado, I brought the hammer down and somehow managed to miss the nail completely, instead near-instantly turning three of my knuckles a strange deep blue-ish color. I was too busy swearing my head off to decide if that was just my strange blood again or I hit it so hard it skipped the better portion of the rainbow. With my right hand now throbbing in pain when I tried to bend my fingers and my left in a cast, I gave it up as a bad job and threw the tools away angrily.

Unfolding my long legs from where I'd been kneeling, I sat back on the roof, tilting my face up to the sun. It had been warm, lately, I noted, and I was briefly glad for the weekly shopping trips of my female companions. They'd bought me tank tops, and I was loving the breeze on my slightly sun-burnt shoulders.

Sitting in silence with my eyes closed, I didn't notice at first when Scott had sat down on my right, but I heard someone breathing lightly and I jumped. Like, literally, a good six inches into the air.

Gosh, that paranoia, while useful in some situations, just isn't all that helpful in a familial setting. Who'd've thunk?

"So," Scott said awkwardly. "Um. Heard about you and Grace."

Who hasn't? "Yeah." I shrugged. "Probably for the best," I said airily, waving the lesser of my injured hands. "We've been spending a lot of time together, so she figured it was a good idea just to give each other some breathing room for a bit." Lies. She wants the truth: the nasty, gritty, Loki-is-an-asshole truth. Which, forgive me for saying, isn't what I want.

So there.

"If you don't mind," Scott said hesitantly (which put me on edge; when is the guy anything but pigheaded?), "could... I ask for some advice?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Relatively speaking, we're about the same age (I didn't know about his birthday, and mine was going to be secret as far as anyone but Xavier knew) and to see him lowering himself to talk to a peon like me is just... out of character, I guess. He always has the answers. He's... Scott. There's not much more I can say about it, honestly.

And I was just kidding about the high-and-mighty thing. Jeez.

"Is it about Jean?"

He looked abashed, and rightly so. It's not like it was a secret: we've known for ages that they would get together soon enough. It was only a matter of time, really.

"My best advice? Do it before we do it for you." Scott cocked his head. Confusion was plain on his face. "You two are about as see-through as plastic wrap," I said bluntly. "And we're getting sick of you beating around the bush for months and months, so we decided if you didn't tell her soon, we were gonna do it for you."

He seemed to be attempting a rousing imitation of a fish starving for water, but it could have just been me.

"Go get 'em, tiger," I said dryly, and nudged him with a knee.

Scott would have replied - by the color slowly amassing in his cheeks, I'm sure it would have been retaliatory in nature - but at that moment an enormous bird flew straight at us and began flailing wildly.

We both shrieked like little girls and flailed right back. After beating us with its wings - dry, feathery, ugh - and clawing maniacally at our faces with its talons, the bird took off, cawing at us madly. Panting, covered in scratches, we stared at each other and simultaneously vowed never to speak of it again.

As we were lowering ourselves onto the ground, safe from batshit insane birds on suicide runs, Xavier puttered out and took a look at my handywork.

"Not much accomplished, I see," he said with a faint trace of humor in his tone. I stuck my tongue out at him and brandished my swollen and bruised knuckles. "Ah. Nevermind, then."

"Any particular reason you've deigned to speak with us, Oh Fearless Leader?" I quipped, trying to itch underneath my cast. No dice, though. Stupid metal-covered bones with their stupid inability to heal fast. Not like I was going to have a useful power like that, no.

"Actually, Loki, you have a phone call. From Grace." My heart leaped into my throat and I snatched the little cell phone away, ignoring the blast of pain from the probably-broken bones. Whatever.

"Hello?" I said timidly.

"Loki? Oh, thank God you picked up!" She was sobbing, and I stiffened, ramrod straight and now at 100% listening capacity. "Oh, Loki..." She trailed off, crying.

Grace doesn't cry. It's just not her way. She'll cuss, and scream, but crying is rare. Only when in extreme physical or emotional pain will the tears begin to flow.

"What's wrong?" I snapped, clenching the device tightly, ignoring the curious look from Xavier. Oh, and the throbbing of my knuckles. That wasn't as important.

"I - I just wanted to take a road trip - I was gonna come straight back - I'm in Detroit, Loki, I'm so lost, and the truck's broken down and I don't have any money and there were these people - oh god-" She broke off sobbing again and I shot an alarmed look at Xavier, who just nodded. I could have kissed him as I reassured her I'd be there soon and bolted towards the only remaining vehicle.

I jammed the key into the ignition, all thoughts blown straight out of my head, and I muttered, "Don't worry, Grace. I'm coming."

Of course, nine hours of screaming down the highways (and outrunning a police car once) didn't a happy Loki make. So, when I pulled into the closest parking lot I could find, desperately clawing for the cell phone I had been given and stabbing in the numbers for Grace's mobile, imagine my surprise when she answered accordingly:

"What the hell, Loki? I'm in New York. Bayville. You live there too, as I recall."

I bit out a terse apology and slapped it shut, tossing it as far away as I could muster. I then proceeded to screech every swear-word known to man whilst punching the nearest wall. By the way, if you're looking for a way to get all that anger out, hitting inanimate objects isn't the method I advise. Especially not with broken fingers.

Naturally I was so busy being pissed off I skipped the entire rational thinking part of the mystery, which is why I found myself whirling about to a masked stranger, who lifted a canister and blasted me in the face.

The gas stung my eyes horrendously and I choked, lurching forward, making a hasty shot before blackness swallowed my vision.

I woke to one sensation: pain.

No, I lied. Two. Pain, and the smell of burning hair.

"Get up!" Pain. "Get up!" Pain.

And so on.

Finally I lifted my eyelids - which felt about ten times heavier than they should have - and took in my surroundings.

Pink walls. Stuffed toys. A bed, decked out in full princess mode. And then, obscuring my vision, a face full of big, blue eyes and perfectly coifed blonde ringlets. Said big blue eyes blinked at me and I felt a curious finger poking at my ear.

I groaned and shifted; Big Blues stiffened and darted away, hiding behind a rabbit easily as big as her. For, upon closer inspection, I saw the lacy edges of a dress poking out behind all that synthesized fur.

"Where am I?" I said to myself. "What the hell?"

Pain again. It was sharp, around my neck, like a thousand bee stings. I trembled violently, jaw locked, and the little girl stepped out again, defiant to the last. She poked me again, hard, and I swatted her hand away. "That hurts!"

"Don't say any more bad words," she scolded, brandishing a remote. "Or I'm gonna zap you again."

The situation - once I realized what she'd said, connected it to the proper parts of my brain, and made the decision - forced a laugh out of me. Here I was, all of sixteen-ish years, probably twice as heavy and easily three times as tall, and she was threatening to electrocute me. How sick is this world?

"So, Mr. Elf," she said in a bright voice, "we're gonna play Tea Party now, 'kay?"

I drew my brows up, rolling out my shoulders and eying my smoking cast with distaste. Figures. I'm gonna have to get that fixed.

"Um, no." I stood fully, towering over her, and she shrank back. "I have to leave. Sorry." I took a single step towards the door-

-and fell, my muscles seizing and jerking. Stabbing pain blasted through my already aching body and I lay there, panting, eyes closed. Something occurred to my foggy brain: she'd called me elf. Which, following that line of thought, meant she either had an over-active imagination or my ears were showing, and in addition, my face.

Joy.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. At least she apologized, though. Nice touch. I'll barbecue you and then feel bad. Humans. "Can you get up? Bones never stayed down for too long, but he was littler than you, Mr. Elf." Her tone, her shining eyes - it was painfully obvious she didn't quite know what she was dealing with, but she liked it a lot.

I grabbed limply at my neck, the origin of all the burning, and found my fingers blocked by something metal.

A collar. She'd put a collar on me. An honest-to-goodness shock collar. Stupid monstrous little -

"Kid," I grunted. "Take this thing off me. Or else."

She shook her head; her curly hair went everywhere. She couldn't have been more than eight, honestly. Cute and innocent. A great way to start out, because then when you turn into a sociopath no one suspects a thing.

"Tea Party first," she insisted. "And I'm not a kid. My name's Annabelle. But you can call me Anna, Mr. Elf."

"Fine," I said gruffly, forcing my trembling body into a sitting position. "I'm not an elf. My name is Loki."

Anna smiled brightly and skipped - actually skipped - over to a full-length table, where she primly folded her napkin upon her lap after sitting down. After a moment, Anna just stared openly at me, and I took the hint. Groaning - it hurt like a bitch to move - I limped over to the dining area and flopped unceremoniously into a chair.

"First we say grace." She folded her hands together and bowed her head. I didn't; like I told Xavier, I couldn't believe in a God that let such shitty stuff happen to people everywhere, not just mutants. Anna didn't notice, though, and she proceeded on without making a peep towards my un-religiousness.

"Where did you find me?" I said after a second.

"Outside." She scooted forward slightly, tugging absently at the hem of her dress, and said instead, "Do you have magic powers, Mr. - Loki?"

"Yeah." I held out my left hand and dragged my right pointer finger down the cast, slicing it neatly in half. The bones were still screwed to hell, but the plastic was beginning to melt, so better get it off before it fuses to my skin. Seeing her round eyes, I held up both hands and spun a web of flashing silver wind in between my fingers, ignoring the pleasant feeling in my gut that came from her delighted laughter.

"Wow!"

Well. Trust a child to make me feel like a person again. But that was just how it went, right?

"Where outside? What did I look like? Was I conscious, or-" Anna tilted her head. I sighed. "Was I alive, or dead?"

"Oh, definitely dead," she said cheerfully, taking a tea pot and pulling two cups towards her. She poured for us both - real tea and everything - and pushed mine back to its place. I ignored it. "You had this piece of paper on your shirt." She pulled a crumpled sheet of lined paper out and offered it.

I snatched it away, scanning the penned script with growing fury.

Dear Whoever,

This Elf has lost his way, and is terribly hurt. If you can fix him, he might just grant your wish.

Signed,

The Shifter

"Mystique," I growled under my breath. "Bitch." At Anna's reproachful look - and the reaching for the remote which I assumed was responsible for all of my pain, currently - I winced and mumbled an apology.

"Listen, Anna," I started, but she interrupted.

"Please, Mr. Loki," she begged. "Grant my wish, please?"

"No!" I snapped. I stood, knocking the chair over, and she flinched back. Well. Way to make me feel like crap. I knelt down next to her and smiled gently. By this time, I'd figured my watch had either been stolen or shorted out. "First of all," I said in a much gentler tone, "I don't think My- The Shifter meant to put a doggy collar on me." She looked quite ashamed at that. Good. It means she might be saved after all. "And second, hun, I don't grant wishes. I'm not an elf."

The truth hurt, but it needed to be said. Anna ducked her head, hair hiding the fact that her eyes were beginning to fill up with tears.

"Please," she whispered, and it was so heartbroken, so painful, that for a single moment, I prayed to God that whatever was making a child so young as her hurt so bad be damned to Hell forever. The moment passed, though, and I was once again as atheistic as always. "My brother... he's so sick... can't you make him better? Please?"

"No," I said softly. "No, I can't. I'm sorry."

I looked away.

Innocence is a precious thing. It should be preserved - to see a child world-weary before ten was a tragedy upon itself. And it was killing me that this girl - this Anna, who turned to an 'Elf' to heal something so close to her heart - was already exposed to the horror of this world.

Like you and Grace. You've seen how people act; you know yourself better than anyone. You know that you don't always make the best decisions, and it kills you that you might have to tell Grace you aren't perfect, when all you want is to protect her.

And here I don't even like kids. Bloody brat.

I folded the paper in half and eased a pen out of a cup on the nearest dresser. "I'll tell you what," I said quietly. "If you need something, just call this number. The man is named Charles Xavier, and if you tell him Loki said to call, he'll help you any way he can." I pressed the note into her hands and patted her head, finishing with a pointed tug at the collar still around my neck.

Little witch. I stepped out of the room after she'd taken it off, watching it clatter to the floor and waving good-bye. She sniffled a bit; I almost found a tear in my eye as well. Almost.

I hate kids. Manipulative little bastards, the bunch of them.

The house was huge; I felt a bit better knowing at least the kid was going to get some good medical aid. Granted, of course, they weren't jerks and kept the house nice while letting their kid suffocate on his own vomit or something equally as horrible.

I danced around the housekeeper, finding my shorted-out watch in my pocket after a moment of searching. That meant either Mystique had fried it - and been close enough to put it in there, ew - or Anna had done it herself, which wasn't that much more of an attractive option.

Attractive in the sense of how much, exactly, my personal space was violated, not the person. Sickos.

One quick telephone call later and I was waiting out as far away from the place as I could get. The jet touched down with a puff of air, releasing the ramp and allowing me access. I glanced at Scott; he was cuddling with Jean and looked positively horrible.

"What kicked your ass?" I said, surprised.

"Mystique, a pack of coyotes, and no glasses." He gave me a once-over and asked the same question. My answer? Mystique, a shock collar, and an eight-year old girl. He snorted, a grim smile flashing on his face, and we all settled in for a long ride home.

Jean wanted us to trade stories; we obliged as best we could, filling in each other's blank spots. From what I figured, I'd been out almost the entire night, and the prolonged electricity exposure had kept me unconscious until afternoon. Scott had spent the night wandering about the desert sans goggles or glasses and, by proxy, had been almost completely blind.

Thinking about it, I'd say he got the short end of the stick, but I couldn't help but feel a bit resentful that he got his girl in the end and not me.

Realization burst over me like a thunderstorm.

I'd realized that innocence was a good thing... for children. Grace already knew what humans were like. She had defended me from their cruelty the first day we went back to school after everyone knew what we were. So... if she knew I wasn't all puppies and sunshine, it shouldn't be that bad, right?

Or maybe I'm just being melodramatic again?

It didn't take too long for us to touch down, and when I escaped from Xavier (he wanted to talk about Mystique and her apparent escape from Area 51, which was old news compared to the fact she tried to kill Scott and sell me off as a pet elf) I meandered down to the front lawn.

Imagine my surprise when I saw a familiar red truck parked in the drive, with a familiar face leaning on the hood. Grace noticed me and smiled, but it slowly disappeared as she took in my battered body and the ring of burns along my neck.

"Long day," I said by way of explanation. I bit my lip, suddenly nervous.

Logically, since she knows people suck, telling her I'm no better should help us get back together. But... what if she decided she could't be with a person willing to sacrifice humans to get his friends out of trouble? Assuaged with doubt, I said nothing.

"I've been thinking," Grace started, just as I blurted out, "I want to tell you everything."

We smiled at the little mishap and linked hands.

It might not be a happy ending, but it was damn close. And that was good enough for me.

A/N: I tried to make it a little lighter, hence the little girl making Loki her bitch. Like? Not like? Telling me to quit writing because I suck? Leave a review, please, and shout your feelings there. Remember, I don't own, no suing please. Any ideas, anything you might like to see, drop me a line and I'll see what I can do. Not much longer until we're done... darn. Well, peace until next time!