Rachel woke the next morning in total agony.

It would be three days before Loki regained consciousness.

As he lay in total, unresponsive, heavy sleep, Rachel worked to recover enough to get off the bed. She couldn't walk. It took her long minutes, crawling, to make it into the Aesir equivalent of a bathroom, attached to one side of Loki's bedchamber. There, she found a full-length mirror, though she didn't need it to know the terrible extent of the damage.

Her whole body was covered in bruises. Deep, wrenching, debilitating bruises, worked well into the muscle. There were clear finger-marks on her thighs, her bottom, her sides, her upper arms. Black oval-shaped spots scattered across the blue and purple field of her skin.

And her face, Christ. Her lips were swollen and spread, as if she'd been stung by a bee. There was blood on her teeth; Loki, in his aggressive kissing, had scraped his teeth against her gums and opened them up.

One of her eyes was blackened. There was a handprint around her throat.

And though she was able, with some effort, to climb into the round bathtub, she could neither walk nor sit. The pain between her legs was terrible. She was bleeding there, too.

Rachel found a lever that released lukewarm water from a beautifully carved pipe. She stayed in the tub for hours, cleaning the blood and crying the pain out.

The days that followed gave her the time and solitude she needed to recover. No one came to check on them, though every few hours, fresh food appeared on a small table just beside the door. Rachel never heard the door open or close.

The food was delicious. Fruit, berries, cheese, bread, thinly sliced meat she didn't recognize. It was always accompanied by a large pitcher of sweet pink liquid that tasted like fruit punch, but turned out, based on its effects on Rachel's brain, to be wine.

This must mean Loki had been forgiven again.

She knew how they had gotten here, though the memory was only a series of flashes.

Thor had found them. Rachel had woken, though it was a sloppy, drugged wakefulness, to find him gently extracting Loki from her arms. She assumed Thor had carried Loki; Rachel had been carried by a woman, tall and striking, with long black hair and armor that banged uncomfortably against Rachel's body.

Rachel didn't know how long the journey had been. It had felt like only minutes to her, but she realized that couldn't really be the case. As far as she remembered, neither Thor nor any of his entourage – and there had been several more people, large, kind-faced men in armor – had said a word as they walked.

She knew she had been cleaned by gentle strangers, women in white. They had dressed her in a cream-colored robe, which now lay ripped in pieces on the bed. And there had been some kind of discussion over where to put her.

It had been Thor, again, who made the decision: "She cries out for him. Cares for him. Lay them together. She'll do him no harm."

Well, he'd been right about that.

Anger flowed in and out of Rachel every few hours, like tides. Anger for her city, her brother, herself. How could he have…?

But she knew better than anyone what a ravaged, pain-scarred landscape Loki's mind was.

Knew it better than ever now. She'd seen inside his mind, his heart, just a little bit, while he was frantically driving her into the sheets. A side effect of the magic water, she suspected.

And poor Loki had had no idea what he was doing. How he was hurting her. No ability to grasp empathy, sanity, anything but his own pain and fear and need.

Hopefully he'd wake up in better shape, if he ever did wake up.

There was a window that opened out, four feet wide and thirty feet high. When Rachel had recovered the ability to sit, she sat on a pillow in the sill, arms wrapped around her knees, and looked out at the magical world with its floating art and backdrop of purple galaxies.

Her bruises faded somewhat. The food seemed to help, especially the sweet, fresh fruit, which perked her up better than coffee. It didn't cure the deep ache in her muscles, but it made it bearable. She felt she would recover, given time.

At night, it got extremely cold. Rachel slept on the icy, polished floor, wrapped in a large blanket. She would have preferred the bed, but she couldn't risk waking up helpless in his arms again.

Loki was affected by neither the cold nor the heat. His skin was always cool to the touch.

The scars around his lips were still there, pinched and hard. His hair was growing back.

In the middle of the night, after the third day, Rachel woke shivering on the ground, and Loki was crouched in front of her, his face all cruel shadows in the moonlight.

She shrieked involuntarily, then stilled, as Loki only stared at her. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, though she sensed he wasn't happy. His mouth was slightly open and he didn't blink; she felt as if she were a virus under the microscope of a shocked biologist.

His hand shot out and stopped at her cheek. Gently, unbelievably gently, he brushed the backs of his knuckles across her skin. She remembered what her face looked like now, all bruises and swelling, and she shrank back, half in fear and half in shame.

At last, he spoke: "What have you done?"

"Done?" she whispered.

"What have you done to me?"

Of course, Rachel didn't have the faintest idea how to answer, and she didn't bother trying. She shook her head – I don't know – and reached out to touch his cold cheek, mirroring his gesture.

"You should go back to bed," she said at last. "You're-"

Loki shook his head. "I won't have it. I won't. But how have you done it, Rachel?"

He must be hallucinating. Hearing a different conversation than the one they were actually having. Rachel wondered if he were going to kill her. She shivered, and stupidly thought, I want to die warm.

Instantly, he was all around her. His hands at her sides, right in the bruises, right where it hurt most, trying to lift her, and she moaned, "Please, no, please don't hurt me."

He froze. Let her go. His hand went back to her face, though, and the pad of his thumb stroked her lips.

At last, his stare cracked; he smiled, smirked even, and she thought she saw sanity returning to him as he chuckled, apparently to himself.

"Hurt you?" he said. "No, I suppose not." And he pressed his lips to her forehead, one of the few places she wasn't injured. He closed his eyes, knitted his brows, and made a small motion with his hands…

Rachel wasn't even surprised when she began to hover off the ground, then levitated right to the center of the giant bed.

Loki's magic lowered her gently; even so, the shifting of positions made her wince, and she saw worry flash across his face. With another wave of Loki's hand, Rachel was surrounded by pillows, and covered in two thick, furry blankets. Warm at last, she found herself drifting to sleep immediately.

He didn't join her, and she was grateful. It would have been too much even to be held by him, so soon after he'd hurt her so badly.

In the morning, Rachel woke to find Loki standing at the door with his back to her, drinking deep from a goblet of the sweet wine. He wore only black trousers, and appeared taller than ever.

He must have been up all night. He'd cut his hair down to chin-length, and a few massive books lay open on the floor.

Rachel said nothing. Just watched that long, sharp, dangerous body move. He was tense. Muscles worked beneath his skin as he set down the goblet heavily, and his Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed, eyes closed.

He stiffened, as if he heard something Rachel couldn't, then sighed and turned to face the door. It opened with a boom, and a now-familiar form barreled in.

"Brother!" Thor was smiling.

Loki was cooler, and took his time turning before saying, "By all means, enter, Odinson."

"Father is awake."

Loki eyed Thor up and down. "Father has been awake before. That isn't what you came to tell me."

"You are forgiven! His anger is gone; he said it didn't matter how you'd escaped, so long as you had, and he was happy to have you back."

"Interesting," said Loki. "Forgiven. That's all, then? All you came to tell me?"

"All that matters!"

"But there is more news. You are in full battle armor, brother, and you carry the knife of Laufey. Is it for me?"

Thor blinked. Loki went on, tone frosty.

"Is it possible Father is again under attack? That he found forgiveness in his heart after realizing I might be useful in the coming battle?" Loki paused and frowned, thinking. "What would he need me for that his sorcerers haven't mastered? Access to the underworld paths? Helheim, is it, then? The Náir?"

Poor Thor said nothing.

Loki sighed, then smiled weakly and clapped his larger brother on the shoulder. "Well, then. No matter. Helheim's lovely this time of year. And perhaps I'll fit in among the corpses."

His long fingers drifted to his lips. The scars.

"I am sorry, brother," said Thor in a low, sad rumble.

"You should be," said Loki. "But, like Father, at this point I find the thought of vengeance tedious and impractical. So."

He let Thor hug him. After a moment, he lifted his arms to hug the bigger man back, and Rachel saw part of Loki's rigid façade drop as he enjoyed the show of affection from his brother.

"I am glad to see you free," said Thor. "Your pain was mine."

Thor handed over a wicked-looking, ice-blue blade, which Loki vanished between his hands.

"Now," cried Thor, clearly trying to get a smile out of Loki, "you've not yet introduced me to your friend! Mother talks of nothing else – where have you hidden her?"

Though he had looked all around the room, and right across the bed where Rachel sat huddled in a mound of covers, clearly visible, Thor didn't seem to see her.

She opened her mouth; Loki met her eyes, pinched his scarred mouth, and gave a quick, tiny shake of his head. So she stayed quiet and watched Thor look for her.

"Long gone, brother – sorry to disappoint. The girl was a sorceress, and I shall never tell you how I summoned her. She's been paid for her services, and has returned to her own realm."

Thor grinned. "You cannot fool me, brother. She may be gone, but she was no sorceress. I've never seen a girl so human! You're not ashamed of her, surely? Come, tell me who she is! We'll introduce her to my Jane – make a set of them!"

Loki's grin was strained. "Your tastes were never refined as mine, Thor. Nor as exotic. You should know a human could not tempt me."

"Well," said Thor, with a twinkling smile, "She may not have tempted you, but you tempted her. The way she looked at you! You'd do well to win more allies like her – she hit me, do you remember, on your behalf! But come. Keep your secrets. Bring them to the battlefield. I'll talk them out of you on the march."

"An hour," said Loki. "I wouldn't miss it."

Thor was out the door, exiting even more loudly than he'd entered, calling out merrily to his friends.

There was a long pause.

"You could have introduced me," said Rachel, raising an eyebrow. "Not like he'd mistake me for a threat. Why the – " she waved her hand to indicate magic.

Loki looked at his feet, then up to her. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully when he said, "He can never know who you are. None of them can. They shouldn't know you are human – shouldn't know you exist. If I could, I would wipe you from their memories entirely, but father and mother would remember, and it would all unravel in the end."

"But why can't they know about me?"

"Come out from there," said Loki, "And let me see you."

Rachel took a good, long look at him. All the madness was gone from his face. His eyes were clear and focused; now that Thor had gone, tension was leaking out of him, and in the sunlight, he looked fresh and warm.

She crawled out from under the covers and made her way to the edge of the bed. She wore only a green tunic she'd stolen from one of Loki's drawers. It sat on her like a loose night dress, exposing most of her still-healing skin.

He sat beside her without comment, and began examining her. Scientifically. He took her by the chin and turned her head side to side; looked at her eyes, stared his way down her chest, her belly, lightly touched her arms. There was nothing sensual in the movement.

"I'm not mistaken," he said at last, as if delivering a diagnosis. "It's there."

"What is? No more riddles, please just tell me."

He pursed his lips, then said quietly, "A piece of myself."

Rachel went cold. "If you're trying to say I'm pregnant," she said, "you're wrong. I can't. I mean, not after…what happened last year."

Did something flicker behind his eyelids?

"That isn't what I was referring to."

"Oh." The air hung heavy between them. Embarrassed and just wanting a break, Rachel said, "Hang on. This conversation could use a little something." She rose, got the pitcher of wine and two goblets, and brought them back to the bed.

Loki allowed himself to chuckle, and as they drank the wine, he explained the trouble he had inadvertently caused for both of them.