"You can just put her down in the wheelchair… You don't have to carry her."

Max's grip tightened on his collar, and his gaze darted between the unkempt nurse standing in the doorway and the other behind the chair on wheels. Loki would have preferred to carry her. In fact, he would have preferred to take her away from this horrid place, but no one seemed to give a damn about his preferences.

"How are you doing, honey?" the one behind the chair asked as Loki set his lady down in the contraption, which looked uncomfortable at best. She looked up at him, and Loki glared at the nurse who asked the ridiculous question.

"Better today, I guess," Max croaked, but he knew it was a lie. The nurse smiled.

"Well, that's a good sign." He helped her tuck her blue robes around her, her socked feet set on the small metal footrest. She touched her hair, wincing, and he could practically feel her self-consciousness as the rest of the room's occupants watched her getting ready to leave. Loki stayed in front of her for as long as he could, blocking their stares.

The other woman grabbed Max's hospital magazines and spare dressing gowns, and then fell in line behind them as they started down the hall. Loki, meanwhile, took over the steerage of the chair, callously nudging the nurse out of the way so that he could monitor where they went.

Two days. They had been stuck in that awful room for two whole days, and the chaos that came with the other patients' visitors was enough to send Loki over the edge. Unfortunately, Max needed his strength. She needed someone with her to keep a level head, as she was prone to outbursts in the night and bouts of downward spiraling moods during the day. Her healers had taken her off the IV drip, instead administering her oral pain medications. The change was one that Loki strongly disagreed with, as she seemed to be in more pain now than she was when she initially arrived.

True to his word, Thor returned the following evening after his departure. He came with clothes and fast food, insisting that his women assumed Max would want something beyond hospital grub. He watched their interaction carefully, Max and Thor, and felt the biting sting of jealousy when he saw how easily they communicated. Still, when Thor left, Max was clearly drained, and he liked to think she put on a positive show for Thor because she thought she had to for Loki's sake, or something to that nature. She didn't. Loki could have cared less about how she treated Thor, though it would have been easier to ignore his envious tendencies if she had been cruel.

Aside from the offerings for Max, Thor also brought news of the world outside the hospital. The fighting continued, and Thor planned to stay behind with a contingency force to guard the coastline while the rest of his little team traveled out west. Thus far, Stark's serum proved effective beyond the city's borders, and with each passing hour, more and more people were liberated from Pagurolid enslavement. Loki listened for Max's sake, storing the information on the off-chance that her medication skewed her memory, but he didn't particularly care anymore. He didn't care about the battles elsewhere, and he made no outward display to suggest otherwise.

However, the rest of the people in Max's small room were hungry for information, and Thor soon became the favourite amongst the group—of course. When he departed, the eyes turned to Loki. He heard whispers in the night about his actions in the city, but not once did he receive the same adoration that they bestowed upon Thor.

Of the seven other patients in the room, two left for intensive care the morning after Loki arrived. The rest stayed, noisy as ever, and shared Max's night terrors. Their family and friends, of the few who came, were demanding, intrusive, and trying. It was clear that the hospital staff were at the ends of their ropes, and yet the same workers appeared every few hours to check on their patients. Visiting hours came and went, and when one nurse tried to remove Loki, he took her voice.

Temporarily, anyway. It was a type of magic that required exceptional energy on his part, and Max's scolding look over her bowl of jello was all he needed to return the woman's ability to speak. Still, the gesture was effective, and no one had asked him to leave since.

Of all the magic he could muster, he wished he had bothered to learn the healing arts when he had the chance. What he would have given to fix Max himself in a matter of moments. If she had been on Asgard, her injuries would have disappeared in the blink of an eye—they could have been celebrating by now in some deserted paradise. Still, she had such faith in the nurses who came to administer her medications, and Loki looked to them to provide her with the utmost care in her hour of need.

She looked wretched. They both knew it. The mirror in the floor's shared bathroom was missing, and he was glad for it. Even with the plaster casing over her nose, the bruises beneath painted her cheeks in an array of blues, browns, and purples. Her eyes had been red since he arrived, bloodshot and heavy, and no one seemed to care. He spied countless marks across her body when a nurse came for an inspection that morning. She couldn't sleep on either side comfortably, and laying on her back for long periods made her upset—and yet she struggled to shift around without Loki's help.

If he hadn't known he loved her when he lost her, he certainly knew he loved her now. If he hadn't, he would have excused himself from all this, from the work and frustration and heartache of being with her when she was like this. The realization of love, pure love, came easily, but his acceptance of it might take some more time. His wall broke, bit by bit, every time she looked at him with earnest gratitude in her eyes.

For once, he didn't feel like he was giving more than he got. Had the tables turned, he knew Max would have sat by his side until all was well again—and that was precisely what he intended to do.

"Where are we going?" She had her head in her hand, elbow propped up on the armrest. Her fingernails still needed to be wrapped, but only for a few more days. He told her to be proud of those wounds: they showed she fought for her life.

"You have a new suite all to yourself," the nurse at his side told them. "It's going to be much quieter for the rest of your stay."

They stopped at an elevator down the corridor, and Max continued to hide her face as clusters of people they passed pointed at her between whispered conversations.

"Why do I have a suite?" The elevator doors slid open at her question, and Loki wheeled her inside, careful to maneuver the chair over the little bumps here and there without jostling her. Two weary male healers sidled to the far side the compartment to give the group some space. "I don't think I can afford a suite."

"I'm sure someone will discuss the arrangement with you."

Loki watched one of the nurses place a hand on Max's shoulder, making her flinch, and his eyes narrowed.

"There's a private bathroom and a kitchenette." The woman smiled as she continued to touch Max, patting her shoulder. "It's amazing."

"But… why?" Loki's hands tightened on the wheelchair's handles when the elevator stopped and the two male healers shuffled out, forcing the group to squish around Max to make room. She turned back to look at him slowly while the doors closed, eyebrows furrowed. "Did you know about this?"

He shook his head. "No."

Neither nurse met his eye when he looked to them, and Loki sighed, watching the numbers light up as they passed each floor. When the pair arrived some twenty minutes ago with the vague instructions to pack Max up, he had assumed they were taking her for more testing. After all, she was ill enough to warrant it—in his humble opinion, anyway. It pleased him to know that he no longer needed to share a room with five other wounded humans and their loved ones, but Max's unease with the situation put him on edge too.

A soft bell announced their arrival, and Loki wheeled Max out of the confined space with as much care as he did wheeling her in. Silence. It was beautiful to be surrounded by nothingness. All the inane chatter and drones of machinery were gone on this floor, and he swore he saw Max relax a little.

"It's usually a maternity suite, but you'll have it all to yourself until you're ready to leave."

Max looked over her shoulder at him again, nibbling her lower lip, and then turned away. "Oh. That's… nice."

They passed a number of doors in the hall, but they were far fewer than those in her previous ward. Both healers started telling Max about the fine details of her new suite: the colours of the couches, the hardwood paneling in the kitchenette, the view from the windows beside her bed. She seemed to warm to the idea, and he smiled softly when she let out a small giggle. However, the smile disappeared as soon as they rounded the corner, and Loki stopped so sharply that Max almost tumbled out of the chair.

The woman standing in front of Max's supposed suite was familiar. Severe cheekbones. Dark brown hair, pulled back in a bun. A S.H.I. . uniform.

"No," he said as the woman strolled toward them. "We have no need to—"

"Nannette Wright?"

"Whoa, whoa…" Max held up her hands, shoulders tense again. "Can we not use that name in public?"

"My name is Agent Maria Hill, and I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.," she started. Loki pulled the chair back when the woman extended her hand to Max, and their glares met shortly after. "I assume you remember me?"

"Yes."

"I certainly remember you." She spoke in clipped tones with him, though when she returned her attention to Max, there was as subtle shift in demeanor. "As a thanks for your service for the city, we will be covering the costs of your suite. It's yours until the doctor clears you to leave."

"I don't… I didn't really do anything for the city though—"

"You can be as modest as you'd like…" Hill gestured to the door at the end of the hall, which was slightly ajar now. "The fees will still be settled by my agency to show our appreciation for all your recent efforts."

"But I…"

One of the nurses cleared her throat, stepping forward and crouching to meet Max's eyelevel. "Why don't you take a tour first? That might help you make your mind up about it."

"And you and I can have a talk." Hill stepped around the chair and met Loki's gaze once more, and he quickly realized there was no getting around it. So, he released the handles and stepped around to address his lady.

"I'll only be a moment," he told her, adjusting the excess of material in her lap so that it covered her knees. "Shout if you need anything."

She nodded, though he could see the pain even that simple movement brought across her features. This wouldn't take long—he'd see to it that he was back by her side soon.

The nurses wheeled her down the hall, continuing their previous conversation about the suite's features, and Loki stalked around the corner to find Hill. She stood beneath one of the clusters of little circular lights in the ceiling, ones that might emulate stars once the sun had set. The sun had yet to descend even though the hour was late, and its orange glow cast long shadows across the woman's thin face. She faced him with her hands on her hips, the small smile gone.

Good. Loki had no smiles for her either.

Her soft intake of breath was all he needed—a moment of weakness. His hand wrapped around her throat before she could get her first word out. Loki forced himself to move faster than a human, faster than she could anticipate, but he slammed her against the window with some restraint. Her cheeks first flushed, then lost their colour, and her gaping mouth struggled for air. Her hands darted between the weapon on her hip and the hand on her throat, but Loki pushed against her hard enough to make her think twice about the gun.

"Speak plainly," he warned, "or I'll kill you."

Hill gave the slightest of nods, one that would have been missed on a less observant man, and Loki eased up on his grip.

"Why are you doing this for her?"

"She's been in the public eye…" Loki released her entirely when she struggled under the slightest bit of pressure. A hand went to her throat, massaging the places where his fingertips left marks, and she took a few deep breaths before continuing, "Her video with Johnny Storm is national news now, and we want to keep her out of the media while she recovers."

"Come now, Agent Hill," he sneered, teeth gritted. "You're hardly the caring organization you profess to be…"

"She has no reason to be of interest to us." The woman paused, head cocked to the side, and then added, "Aside from her connection with you, that is."

"That's hardly worth the effort you're putting in."

"We're not looking for her to be our next recruit." Hill stepped around him and adjusted her fitted uniform. "She has no discernable skills the Director considers an asset. She is a public figure now, however, and she's going to get looped in with the team of heroes who saved the city. We just want to make sure she has adequate care for her recovery."

"I don't think you're speaking very plainly."

"This is as plain as I'm permitted to be." She was steely, this Agent Hill, but Loki could see through the tough exterior: he frightened her. She saw her friend's death in Loki, and that threw her—it was almost too obvious. "Make sure they take good care of her. We'll be in touch."

Loki watched her as she marched away from him, down the hall with twinkling lights and paisley-coloured walls. He smirked, fiddling with his fingers, eyes on them as he called to her. "Am I to be one of your venerated heroes, Agent Hill?"

Her footfalls stopped, and Loki looked up at her slowly. She kept her back to him, and when he saw her glance back, he noticed the tense jaw, the trembling fists.

"I so look forward to the parade," he purred, eyes flicking to the gun on her hip. She lingered for only a moment after before disappearing around another corner. He heard the sound of the elevator doors opening, and then chuckled as they hissed shut. Shaking his head, he strolled back to Max's room, mind alight with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s potential motives for involving themselves with Max.

None of the possibilities, he decided, had anything remotely to do with Max. No, they were using her to get to him, and he would speak with Thor about it the next time their paths crossed.

He stood in the doorway to marvel at the new suite. This was the type of place she deserved to be cared for in, and if Loki had it his way from the start, she would have ended up in something very similar. Large and sparsely furnished, the suite overlooked the smaller buildings nearby, all of which were still shrouded in a cloudy mixture of Stark's green-white serum and the smoke of Sue and Reed's tower. Still, the sun poked through the layer more and more it seemed, and soon Max would have a spectacular view of the city as it tried to rebuild itself. Each window stretched from floor to ceiling, and her bed was much larger than the one she had previously occupied. Two sitting chairs and a pale blue couch faced a flat-screen television box mounted on the wall. He eyed the rug in the center of it all with a frown—the taste level was questionable at best.

Still, when he heard Max's voice coming from his far right, she sounded in better spirits.

"The fridge has food in it!" she announced as she was wheeled out of what he assumed was the dining area. "Real food!"

"Splendid." He smiled at her. Even if he didn't trust S.H.I.E.L.D.'s motives, he couldn't take her away from all this now.

"Her meals are actually going to be prepared by her dietitian." Loki turned his attention to the nurse setting Max's magazines on the bedside table. "The food in the fridge should be used as a last resort."

Max's face fell a little at the thought, and his expression hardened.

"Thank you both so much for showing us the way up here," he started, stalking over to the wheelchair and forcing the other nurse away, "but I think we can settle in on our own."

"Thank you," Max said weakly as the duo set out the rest of her things and shuffled toward the entryway. "Thanks a lot."

Once he heard the door click into place, he wheeled Max over to the fairly spacious bed with every intention of getting her in there. However, as he bent down to scoop her up, she placed a hand on his chest weakly.

"I kind of really need a shower," she murmured. She paused, lips trembling, and then took a deep breath. "Like… I really need one."

He hated watching her cry. He'd seen it far too often these last two days, and he wanted to stop her before she started.

"Of course." He cupped her chin gently, and she ran her fingers under her eyes, wincing at the contact. "Shall I roll you there?"

"No, I can walk."

He didn't doubt it. Instead, Loki doubted her ability to do it on her own—successfully, that is. Still, he said nothing as he helped her out of the chair, and then let her lean on him as they inched bit by bit toward what he assumed was the bathroom. Her legs had heavy bruising from what he had seen, but she moved with steady determination despite the pain.

Loki wasn't sure what he had expected, but the bathroom facilities almost felt subpar. It was all quite small and sterile, with a tub big enough for one, a toilet without a cover, and a sink lacking in counter space.

And a mirror. A large, clean mirror that drew Max's eyes the moment she was in front of it. She stared at her reflection, unflinching and stoic, until something seemed to break. Her shoulders shook, her eyes watered, her face contorted. She gripped the edge of the sink for support with one hand, the other clinging to him. Loki retracted himself from her, then wrapped his arms around her midsection—carefully—with his face pressed to her hair.

"Your body will heal," he whispered, pushing the straggly mass of hair away from her ear. She shuddered, her hands now hovering over her nose, forehead wrinkled and lips upturned. "Your bones will mend, your skin will regain its colour… This is only temporary."

A nod. Her breathing was unstable—gasping for air. "Yup."

"I promise you that this will be over soon. As soon as it started, it will be over."

"Okay."

He held her like that for some time, murmuring soothing sentiments into her ear while she shook in his arms. When the trembling eased up and her breathing slowed, he released her to see to the water. His fingers sat in the strong stream pouring from the spout, waiting until the temperature was acceptable.

"Do you wish for my help?"

"No, I should be fine." She had already removed the dark outer robe, and had now moved on to the ties on the back of her gown. "Thanks though."

"I'll be outside if you need me."

He watched her nod in the mirror, gaze unfocused as she undid the knots. When he saw the bruises peeking out from behind the fabric, littered across her back and shoulders, Loki slipped out of the bathroom and closed the door gently behind him. He didn't shut it completely—just enough to give her privacy. The suite had a number of places where he could settle down, but Loki chose to sit next to the door, arms at his sides and legs stretched out.

By now, he was actually starting to feel tired. It wasn't an overwhelming feeling—he could easily ignore it, in fact. But it was still there. A heaviness sat on his chest, his shoulders, his palms. He longed for a large, soft bed with a plethora of pillows and silken sheets. He yearned for crisp Asgardian mornings, where he could gaze across the entire city and the Space Sea. He wanted home.

His home. Not just any home at random. A home for Loki that welcomed him as its master.

"Loki?"

He rose at the sound of her voice, and then found her in the tub.

"I… I don't know if I can get these wet…" The bandages around her fingertips were splattered with water, but it seemed she hadn't let them under the trickling stream of water coming from the showerhead above.

Nodding, he delved under the sink for something to wash her with. Upon finding a few small bottles of hair product, he returned to the tub and kneeled beside her.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess." Loki squirted some of the white cream into his hands, then set the bottle beside him on the floor.

"You are not a mess," he insisted, gently urging her forward so he could work the cream into her matted hair.

"I am."

"Well, perhaps a little…" He noticed her lips quirk as he started with the ends of her hair. She kept her arms folded across her chest, as though her nudity made her shy. "No one leaves a war unscathed."

"You did."

He worked the cream into a lather, moving up to the base of her skull. "Perhaps on the outside."

Max looked over her shoulder at him, her expression inquisitive, and he shook his head.

"I've experienced worse." And with that, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, careful to avoid her nose, and held them there. Bandaged fingers danced along his jawline. He could have gone for more, deepened the kiss, but he pulled back when he felt her losing her balance. Her grip was weak as it wrapped itself around his wrist, holding him as he continued to work on her hair—bandages be damned, it seemed.

"I'm really glad you're here with me."

Loki kissed the top of her hand, and they said nothing more until she was dressed and tucked in bed for the night.

Max's eyes flicked toward the TV when she heard her voice, but Loki changed the channel before they could listen to her and Johnny's video again. Since they had wheeled her bed to the TV that morning and tuned in, they had seen her video no less than twelve times on a variety of stations. The only ones that were fully functional were the news networks, and she supposed that was for the best of the country—but she would have done anything for some trashy reality TV right about now.

Since they had taken her off the IV drip, her pain was much worse. However, since it was all well within the "normal" range for someone with her injuries, no one batted an eye. She had four doses of painkillers to take every six hours, and thus far they had always been delivered by the same nurse.

At this point, she wasn't sure what to think about the suite. Sure, it was better to be here, with a private bathroom and silence, than it was down in the room with five other people and their families. But there was more to focus on in the first room. She saw loved one reuniting. She listened to stories. She saw that she wasn't the only one who walked away from the battles of the last month feeling royally fucked and incredibly bruised.

In here, she felt weak again. Last night, Loki admitted to feeling shaken on the inside about everything that had happened on Saturday. It was Tuesday now, and while he might have been a little tired from it all, he seemed perfectly normal. Max, on the other hand, needed to lean on him to move anywhere. The bandages around her fingers were replaced with regular water-proof Band-Aids, which meant she could shower on her own now. Most of her fingernails were intact, but three had to be cut down so much that it'd be about a month before they looked semi-normal again.

Fucking aliens and their uniforms.

Loki told her that her wounds signified that she was a fighter, and she wanted to believe him. After all, she was alive, wasn't she?

Unfortunately, the wounds reminded her that someone beat her senseless, and when she jolted awake from the depths of an uneasy sleep, she saw his face, the bloody baton. She heard Valeria screaming in her dreams. So, not only was she ridiculously stiff and sore, but she was sleep-deprived.

And today she was nauseous. Her breakfast went down fine a few hours ago, but there was something off in her stomach afterward. After attempting to doze in the morning and failing miserably, Max tried to watch TV with Loki. Just as he was before, he showed a keen interest in news programs, and Max knew she should have too. The sets were minimal and the reporters weren't wearing make-up, but they were humans reporting on humans, and that was all that mattered.

But she couldn't focus. The awful feeling carried on through lunch, and she pushed her bowl of chicken noodle soup away after a few spoonfuls. The nurse told her that there was nothing to be concerned about: her body was healing itself, and odd aches and pains were expected. Nausea was shrugged off, as was the ache in her lower back. All of that combined with her tender bruised skin made it downright impossible to find a comfortable position to nap in.

Plus a broken nose. Did she mention that already? Her face was puffy and multi-coloured, and she felt like she wanted to cry every time someone—Loki or otherwise—touched her.

Sighing heavily, she propped herself up on her elbows to shuffle over, facing away from the television. There was nothing more frustrating than being exhausted, yet unable to sleep. Her hip hurt when she put weight on it. Her legs protested the movements. Her face was unimpressed with the change. Then, as soon as she settled, she felt Loki's hand on her ankle, stroking it on top of the fabric. She closed her eyes, swallowing down the influx of saliva.

He was her rock. She wasn't sure if she would have been functional if Loki hadn't found her, and she made sure she told him in a variety of different ways exactly how grateful she was to have him here.

She didn't want to lean on him this much. Every time he looked at her, she was sure he was reminded that she was just a human—a human who could break if he handled her wrong. Max wanted to be strong for him, like him, but this was just one giant setback in the dynamic of their relationship that she wasn't sure they'd recover from. He didn't seem to mind helping her. He even turned her gelato into jello last night because she wanted him to. He was patient and considerate with her weakened body, and aside from a kiss here and there, he hadn't touched her unnecessarily.

There was also absolutely nothing for Loki to do to entertain himself here. Aside from the news networks, there were no books, no magazines, no computers—nothing. Neither suggested he go back with Thor, who had been kind enough to visit her when she was stuck in the other room. If he had gone, there definitely would have been more for him to do, but he seemed content to sit in the robin's egg blue armchair by her side. It was a lot to hope for, but she hoped the networks would slowly throw some other shows on—even a commercial here and there would have been better than the black lull of dead air between news segments.

Besides, she wasn't really in the mood to talk, not when she was miserable. There was too much to think about, too many things that made her upset, and all she really wanted to do was sleep.

And that didn't seem like it was going to happen anytime soon. Another wave of saliva filled her mouth, and she sat up a little, a hand on her chest.

"Loki?"

"Yes?" His thumb continued to stroke her ankle, his voice distant.

She responded by puking over the side of her bed. All the food she had eaten in the last eight hours seemed to claw its way out of her stomach, scale her throat, and rush through her parted lips. Pain. It radiated from her nose and out as she continued to upchuck bile and partially digested food. When the storm eased, she wiped her mouth, gagging when she saw the smear of blood across her wrist. Loki hovered in front of her, a hand on her shoulder while the other hung uselessly in front of her face.

He shouldn't have to watch her puke on top of everything.

"Get someone!"

The pain coming out of the center of her face was excruciating, and she sobbed through the next wave of sickness. Loki was gone and back in a heartbeat, and she heard the nurse he dragged along behind him protesting.

"I'm not her nurse!" The objections died down moments later when the nurse rubbed Max's back and held a bucket under her to catch the rest of her vomit. It went on for a good five minutes, until Max swore she had nothing left in her. Her head was so heavy, and she needed the nurse to push her back up, his hands on her shoulders.

Loki, as always, spoke calmly, but Max could hear the underlying hint of panic in his voice. "Why is she bleeding?"

"It looks like it's all coming from her nose," the nurse muttered. "I'm going to fix up the bandage, okay?"

Max nodded, hands covered in blood and vomit, and then watched the man in turquoise scrubs dart out of the room. Loki watched him too, hands clasped behind his back. He shook his head, eyes narrowed, and then used the napkins that came with her lunch to start cleaning her up.

"You should have told me you were feeling so ill." He crumpled one of the soiled tissues and threw it back on the tray, using the other to clean her chin. She flinched back when he went too close to her nose. "I would have found someone sooner."

"I didn't know it was that bad," she said. "I didn't know."

"Okay, here we go…" The male nurse flew back in, pushing his shaggy brown hair out of his face. "Can you call the janitorial line and let them know we need a cleanup? It's line three…"

He gestured to the phone on the small table at the other end of the couch, and Loki's eyes narrowed again.

"Or… I guess I can do it." He seemed annoyed at the task, and Max wiped the small stream of blood away from her lips. She then noticed Loki gripping the footrest of her bed so tightly that he had warped the metal.

"We also really don't like it when people move the beds," the nurse added, his arms crossed as he used his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear.

Max leaned over the bed again, this time dry-heaving over the established pile of puke and blood droplets.

"Why is she sick?"

"I can't really answer that." The nurse was back at her side, easing her up and removing the ruined bandage. "The bleeding is from the force of the throwing up… It's not a big problem, and it's an easy fix."

"Answer my question."

She looked between the two men, and the nurse was way too blasé about dealing with a guy like Loki.

"Look, I'd love to, but I don't know or have her chart, and I can't just take a guess." Max winced when he nudged her nose. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she mumbled, her hands fisted in her blankets.

"I'll let the doctor assigned to her know what happened, and she'll be in as soon as possible."

Unfortunately, "as soon as possible" didn't seem to mean the same in hospital language as it did to everyday people. It wasn't until the following morning that someone other than her dietitian and nurse walked through the door, and by then Loki seemed ready to murder someone.

"We have been waiting over twelve hours to see someone about this," he snapped as the woman examined Max's chart—one of a handful she had in her arms. "This is ridiculous—"

"I'm afraid I was just switched on to… Max's case," the doctor insisted. She looked fairly well put together compared to all the nurses they had seen thus far—even her pants had little folds in them, as if someone had just ironed them. "Things have been a little chaotic. Are you the husband?"

"I… No—"

Max spoke over him as she watched the rage contort his features. "No, we're not married, but he's… my… significant other."

"That's nice," the doctor mused, still scanning her chart. When she finally looked up, she wore an aloof smile. "I usually like to discuss my initial findings with patients and their family. Would you mind waiting outside?"

"What did you just ask—"

"It's fine, it's fine." Max met Loki's gaze quickly, trying to appear both pleading and assertive. "Maybe you can see if they have some jello cups anywhere?"

"Max…"

"It's fine," she said again. "This is totally normal."

He looked between her and the new arrival, and then sighed.

"See if they have any red ones!" she called as he stalked out the door. It shut behind him, cutting off his response.

"Okay, so…" The doctor set the armful of charts at the end of her bed, and then grabbed the top one. "My name's Doctor Fisher, but you can call me Donna."

"Hi."

"Like I said, I was just assigned to your case this morning…" She lifted up the top two pages, and then finally set the chart aside. "Let me have a look at everything."

"O-Okay…" She shifted into an uncomfortable seated position, letting the woman work her over. Her gaze was razor sharp, darting up to Max's face whenever she made the slightest sound of discomfort.

"Does this hurt?" Max was on her back now, enduring a particularly painful abdominal exam.

"Yes," she hissed, her voice trailing off as she cringed. "Yes, that hurts."

"That's normal, but we'll keep an eye on it anyway." Donna disappeared to the end of the bed, scribbling something on her chart with the pen hanging around her neck. "I'm sure you've been told already, but your injuries aren't severe. A couple of weeks of regimented pain relief administered orally is all you need, and then you'll be back on your feet."

"Yeah, they told me that—"

"From what I can tell, there's no signs of internal bleeding, and one of your ribs is worse than the others, but we're not keen on giving you an x-ray."

She frowned. "Oh."

"Now, has the dietitian talked to you about prenatal vitamins?"

Her frown deepened. "No. Why would I need… prenatal vitamins?"

"I encourage all my patients to start on them as soon as possible."

Her frown was gone—nothing replaced it. Her blank stare met Donna's critical gaze, and there was a lump in her throat suddenly that made it difficult to swallow. She could feel the colour first jumping to her cheeks, and then draining as she processed the words "prenatal vitamins" several times.

"Why would I need…?" She fell back against her pillows, her bandaged fingers in her hair.

"You… do know you're pregnant, right?" Donna held up her chart. "Your blood-work says you're about five and a half, maybe six weeks along."

Her voice was very quiet the first time she replied. Max cleared her throat, putting a little effort into the second try. "No, I didn't know."

"Oh." Donna set the chart back down. "Well, congratulations, you're pregnant."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks."

"Was he the father?"

The word made her shut her eyes, lips trembling. "But I had my period."

"Implantation bleeding is commonly mistaken for menstruation." She could hear Donna's pen scribbling again. "I see here that you had some nausea and some vomiting yesterday… Morning sickness—"

"But it wasn't the morning!" She hadn't meant to shout. Donna stared at her for a long moment, and Max wiped away the few tears that had trickled down her cheeks. "Sorry."

"Morning sickness doesn't always occur in the morning." Even though her expression hadn't changed much, there was a softness to her tone now. "Most women start to experience it at around eight weeks, but it's not uncommon to start feeling it earlier."

"I… I can't be…" She shook her head, licking her lips. "He's not even… I can't be."

She didn't want to say it. She didn't even want to think it. Donna had half a dozen other charts there—maybe she mixed it up. Maybe she was reading someone else's information?

"Blood tests are pretty definitive." Her nose was starting throb again. "I'd like to schedule you for an ultrasound sometime this week to give us the hundred percent proof, but right now we're sitting at ninety-nine."

Max shook her head. "Can you just… Can you just go? I need to… process this."

"I'm sorry to have sprung it on you." She didn't sound sorry. "Let a nurse know when you'd like to schedule the appointment. I'm working every day this week, twelve to twelve."

Her teeth dug into the inside of her cheek, keeping her from saying anything as her doctor gathered up all those charts and walked out the door, completely unaware that she just dropped life-altering news on a stranger.

Or totally aware. Aware and uncaring, maybe. Once she was alone, she started to shake, her breaths coming out in uneven gasps. Pregnancy explained so many of her aches and pains. Loki said it wasn't possible. He said he couldn't get her pregnant.

And like an idiot she believed him. He was no different than any frat-boy she met during her college years who professed to hating condoms because "pulling out was basically birth control". Pregnant. The word sounded cold and foreign in her mind, and she hated it. Her hand went to her stomach, and while it was a little bulgier than normal, she could have easily chalked the swelling up to breakfast.

"Fuck." It came out as a sob. "Fuck…"

She'd thought about this moment before—hadn't everyone? At some point or another, she saw herself settled down with her man, and she'd run out of the bathroom with the pregnancy test, and everyone would be happy and crying, and Nolan would terrorize her with all the things he planned to do as the cool uncle, and her parents would be thrilled.

And she would actually want to have a baby. She'd be ready for one. Now that moment was ruined, and she would never get it back. She would never get Nolan back. She'd never be able to say she hadn't ever broken her nose. She would probably never sleep normally again. And now, she would never experience the excitement of being pregnant—it was always going to be tainted.

She wanted to talk to Nolan. She wanted to hear him calm her down. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted him sitting next to her in that hospital bed, pushing jello up his nose because it made her laugh when they were kids. She wanted Nolan.

Her blurry vision wandered the room—the silent, empty room—until it landed on the telephone. A wave of guilt struck her as she struggled to get out of bed: she'd been in this suite for almost two days, and not once had she thought to pick up the phone and call her family. She was a horrible person.

Getting to the other end of the couch was a struggle. Lifting one foot and setting it in front of the other took effort. Her body protested every movement, and she sat down halfway, exhausted.

Loki wasn't human. Pregnant. Pregnant with… something.

She wanted to throw up again.

It took her a few tries to get the line working on the phone, but once she heard the dial tone, she punched in her home number. There were no rings on the other end; it went straight to a recorded message.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please contact your local provider for more information. The number you have dialed is no longer—

Max let the phone fall out of her hand, and she doubled over on the couch and sobbed into her arms. Blood pounded to her nose, through her face, and she had to sit back when the pain became too much again. She didn't want to cry anymore. She was sick of feeling wet blobs roll down her cheeks. She hated the sticky feeling after, her already swollen eyes flaring up more.

The door opened so suddenly that it made her jump, and Loki paused in the doorway, two red jello cups in hand.

"Wait outside," he said over his shoulder, and Max spied a blond head lurking behind him. "What happened? What caused this?"

As she watched him rush to her side, falling to his knees in front of her and assessing her for some sign of another injury, she knew she still loved him. She hated that he took this moment from her, that this had happened when he promised it wouldn't. But she loved him and all his flaws.

That was why she couldn't tell him. She couldn't stand to see his reaction right now, positive or negative. She'd wait. She'd wait to tell him this wasn't what she wanted.

"I'm just… I need some time to be miserable," she said, her voice thick and low. "Can you maybe come back later?"

He pushed her hair away from her face, tucking both sides behind her shoulders. "What happened with the doctor? What did she say?"

Pregnant. The word was on the type of her tongue, and she swallowed it back. "Nothing new."

"I don't understand."

"Me neither." She touched one palm to his cheek—cool as always. "I think I need to be by myself for a little while… Maybe try to sleep."

"Have I been keeping you awake?" He sounded genuinely concerned. Her lower lip wobbled, and she shook her head.

"Not intentionally, I'm sure."

Loki was quiet for a moment, and then finally took a deep breath. "Why don't I give you the afternoon to yourself? I'll fetch us some things to make the room feel less… cold."

"Okay." She hiccupped, and then caught his sleeve as he went to stand. "Check on Sue and the kids for me?"

He nodded, then leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. Their eyes closed. He was gone moments later, shutting the door softly behind him, and she finally stopped crying—she couldn't do it anymore. The couch became her home for the next hour, until a nurse came by with her pain medications and a whole batch of new capsules that she assumed were prenatal vitamins.

When the man left, she drifted over to a window, watching the busy street below with forced interest. The sky was starting to clear—Stark's serum had painted it for days now—and she hadn't heard a single jet since she got up to her suite.

And the city must be… rebuilding…

She couldn't tell if she was selfish for being unable to think about anything except her most pressing personal issues. Where were her parents? Where was anyone she loved? Were they all dead too? All dead except for Loki and… this.

After crawling back into bed, she took a few minutes to find a comfortable position. When she was done, she pulled the covers over her head, and finally fell asleep.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

What did I say? Messy.

I think, of both this story and its prequel, this storyline was the one I was most nervous to write. People get a little apprehensive about baby-plots, and I won't lie: sometimes I just sit back, throw my hands up, and am like, "Noooooo pregnancies ruin everythinnggggggg!"

I'm not going to decide for you whether this makes or breaks the story. It's happening. Deal with it? I'm excited, anyway, because I'm hoping to handle things in a way that's slightly different from what I've read in the past. I did so much pregnancy research... Fairly sure my man would think I was pregnant based on my search history. I tried to drop little hints here and there over the updates: sore boobs, sore back, mood swings, etc. I plotted Max's cycle, jfc. Anyway. I'm taking it seriously. I handle this bizness with care.

Having done a lot of medical things over the last month, all of this feels super real to me. I got the inspiration for the doctor's pregnancy drop from a super unprofessional experience I had with a nurse at my uni clinic. She called with test results from a procedure, and was like "Oh, and you know you have a cyst, right?" Real casual. No lead up into it, no nothing. I was like… No? Thanks for that and then talking to me like I'm an idiot afterward. I can't speak to anyone else's medical treatments, but mine have been real hit and miss lately, so a lot of that probably comes through with the way I write the hospital scenes.

I also got super emotional editing when Max was musing about missing Nolan. Clearly he still affects me, some thirty-plus chapters later. Fml.

Anyway. This update totally wrecked my wrists, and I need to stop typing. I'll see you next week for the update. LOVE YOU ALLLLL, REVIEWERS AND SILENT LURKERS ALIKE!