She sprung upright with a strangled cry, hands flying to her chest as her eyes looked desperately for the red—on her hands, on her clothes, everywhere. However, she could barely see two feet in front of her. The shades were still down, the window closed, and every light in her apartment off. It was the dead of night.

The second her voice touched his ears, Loki was awake. He jolted up, quick to reach for the bedside lamp, pulling the string to illuminate whatever danger lurked in the darkness. Except, there wasn't any. None he could see. The danger was only in her head, but the realization of this did nothing to calm her. Her chest heaved as her lungs worked to keep up with the rapid pace of her heart, beating a wild drum from the confines of her rib cage.

That feeling of realness lingered and she swallowed hard, screwing her eyelids shut. It had been almost a year since her last nightmare. At least, a nightmare she'd lived through. "Cassandra," Loki inched closer beneath the comforter, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. "Are you alright, dear?"

"It's...it's nothing. I'm fine. Sorry- I didn't mean to wake you."

She pushed back the blanket and slid off the bed, the nerves in her bare feet soaking in the shock of the cold wood as she pattered quickly into the bathroom. As the door shut behind her, Loki exhaled. He'd only seen this happen to her once before and it was just as aching to see it then as it was now. It was a feeling of helplessness that nearly drove him mad.

He got out of bed, then, and traveled the hallway to the kitchen. A wave of his hand turned on the light as he used the other to rub his tired eyes. There wasn't much to be done for her, but he knew she needed comfort—and that usually came from familiarity. So, he filled the teapot with water and set it on the stove top, turning it on as she'd shown him in visits past.

Cassandra ran the warm water in the bathroom, scooping some up to scrub her face with trembling hands. There were a handful of moments in her life that decided to stay long past their welcome. They laid dormant in the back of her mind, waiting for the right conditions, and then turned her world on its head when the time came.

When she came out of the bathroom after a few minutes alone, her mind had not quite settled just yet. But, she found her bed empty. From the hall, a light shone on the floor, and she followed it to the kitchen. Her feet felt heavy, shuffling along the flooring without much strength in her legs to lift them up.

Loki had just poured the boiling water from the teapot into her favorite mug, positioned on the island countertop for her to take when she arrived, hair disheveled and under eyes puffy. "How long has it been since the last one?" he asked the question gently, setting the teapot back onto the stove.

Cassandra scrubbed her face once more, the lingering feeling of dried liquid nagging at her a little too hard. "Almost a year," she answered, voice hoarse from a dry throat. "I'm really sorry. You don't have to stay up-"

"And leave you out here to wallow alone? But wallowing's my favorite activity."

He kept his sarcasm lighthearted, voice soft, and it was an effort she appreciated. Sighing heavily, she forced herself to move forward, taking steps toward him—and he opened his arms to engulf her in a warm embrace as she approached. It wasn't as though she'd never been cared for this way. There had been times before in her youth when she'd woken up terrified and was calmed by a reassuring touch and a familiar face.

It felt like those days weren't so far behind her now, finding herself in that same situation not many years later. The only difference being—back then—she shared a room with a girl of similar age, and she was often the first to comfort her. Cassandra allowed her eyes to close, remembering her face as she briefly wondered what she looked like now, if she was still in that same room, wondering about her, too. But if she were forced to choose between past comfort and present, she would choose present with virtually no hesitation.

There was simply something about being terrorized by your own mind and escaping it within the arms of your beloved. Something special. Here, all that filled her mind was the beat of his heart through his chest—a sound that flooded her veins with peace. Then, a knock at the door burst through it like a cannonball. It wasn't so much the suddenness of the sound that startled her upright—it was the fact that it was happening at all. Cassandra and Loki both stared quizzically at the apartment door.

"Who could that be?" he asked, glancing down at her.

She shook her head, blinking her tired eyes, and took steps toward the door. Whoever was on the other side knocked again—harder, louder this time. In a bout of mild frustration, Cassandra quickened her pace. She unlocked the door and pulled it open in a fluid motion, finding herself being forced to look upward to meet the eyes of the face it revealed.

Her head tilted, forehead creasing. "Logan?"

"Hey, kid," he looked begrudged, clearly reluctant to even be there, let alone at that hour. His eyes moved away from her, to the man standing in her kitchen. "Sorry to barge in on you like this. I need a favor"

In that moment, it was as if a certain switch had flipped in her mind and, despite prior reservations, she stepped back to usher him inside. "Come in."

He was hesitant—taking slow steps in. His eyes only drifted away, back to Cassandra's, once from where Loki stood. The Asgardian was well aware of who this man was. After all, Cassandra had slowly but surely told him details of all those people—the people like her. Mutants, she'd called them. Logan, he knew, was the man with metal claws and insatiable rage. And, as much as Loki inwardly desired to see them in use, he was not in the habit of putting his lovers in danger.

No, it was smarter to stay still. Stay quiet. Quickly, Cassandra shut up the door behind Logan before coming to stand in front of him, peering up at his perpetually disgruntled face. "Did something happen?" she questioned, worry plucking at the strings of her chest. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine. Listen—I need a ride home," he grumbled, finally meeting her eyes.

"Logan, you know I don't drive."

He tilted his head, "You know I'm not talkin' about a car."

A heavy sigh escaped her as she shifted her weight onto her heels, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. It was then her eyes caught sight of the dark stains on his shirt, hiding beneath the open folds of his thick jacket, and she knew. The Wolverine had just won a fight. With whom, she didn't care to ask. All the knowledge did was bring back a memory of the traumatic moment she'd so violently woken from less than an hour before that caused the muscles of her stomach to clench.

"It's an hour away—get a cab," she all but snapped at him.

"I get it, you're out. But our world doesn't stop spinning just because you decided you had enough," he leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "I've got information that needs to get to the professor, now."

She straightened her shoulders at the mention of Charles Xavier. He'd been beloved by her and every other mutant child he harbored within the walls of his school, but now she was apprehensive. Still, she tried to reason with herself. She would not go inside, only place Logan at the door and be back in the safety of her apartment—how hard could that be?

Physically, not difficult at all. Logan said whatever information he now had was time sensitive and, nightmares aside, she did truly trust that beast of a man. An airy growl of frustration, annoyance directed at herself escaped her throat as she turned on her heel, and she marched down the hall to the bedroom. She couldn't exactly go outside in a t-shirt and underwear—not with the possibility of being spotted.

There were always children awake at this hour, little hell-raisers who refused to adhere to rules, or just simply felt too much terror to sleep through the night. She did not want a single one of them gazing out their window happening to see her when she arrived out front in so little clothing. It would be as jarring for her as it would for them.

So, she pulled on the first pair of jeans her hand touched and brought a jacket back to the front of the apartment. Logan remained in the same place, his eyes locked with Loki's from where he stood still in the kitchen. There was something off about him. Logan couldn't deny the man was conventionally attractive, and he didn't look like a dead-beat otherwise—but his scent was different.

It wasn't like anything he'd encountered before, and it planted a small seed of concern in his chest that kept him alert. Loki retained his calm demeanor as Cassandra returned, only declining Logan's heated stare to bid her goodbye. "I'm sorry- I'll just be a few minutes," she promised, pulling on her coat and zipping it up.

"It's perfectly alright, dear, take as long as you need," he spoke reassuringly, hands smoothing down her arms, and Logan cocked his head. Even his voice sounded different to those highly attuned ears. "I'll be right here when you return."

She gave a small, apologetic smile and pushed up on her toes to place a quick peck on his lips. Then, she shuffled quickly to the door and shoved her feet into some shoes. "Okay, let's go," she told Logan, as she walked toward him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, but by that time she had already wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and the pair disappeared within her signature burst of purple, swallowed up by the energy. They were spit out not two yards from the front door of the School For Gifted Youngsters, and Logan blinked.

"Who was that guy back there?" he questioned her. The purple of their arrival hadn't fully dissipated yet before he asked the question. Cassandra sighed heavily, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

"Doesn't matter," she shook her head. "This is what you wanted. Have a nice night."

It was then the door swung open, as though the sound of her nearing departure spoke it into action. The familiar sound of soft whirring filled her ears and every muscle in her back tightened to its fullest extent. Professor Xavier rolled through the front door in his silver chair. Immediately, her eyes filled with shame and they fell to the ground.

Logan sighed, walking forward to meet the professor halfway. "She's not staying," he said, stopping Xavier. Though, Xavier's eyes didn't leave from Cassandra's crestfallen features. He simply nodded and continued toward her. Rolling his eyes, the Wolverine proceeded to enter the building, closing the door behind him.

"It's been quite a while since you were last here, hasn't it, Cassandra?" Xavier spoke rhetorically, lighthearted as he came to a sudden stop two feet from her. Despite his friendly approach, she did not lift her eyes—a tactic he knew all too well to expect from her. Still, he smiled warmly up at her. "I like what you've done with your hair."

"Was this the plan to get me back? Was Logan in on it?"

She shifted her weight between feet, moving her eyes up and to the left, toward the road. The professor exhaled, relaxing back into his seat. "No. There is no master plan, no deception. I wanted to ask you how you're doing before I never see you again...again," he answered, honestly.

"Aren't you keeping tabs anyway?" her tone was flippant, still not looking him in the eyes. She could not bring herself to do it. If she did, she would want to stay for all the wrong reasons, she knew. And that was far worse than simply appearing to be a brat.

Xavier gave a small shake of his bald head, "I only ever look if I sense you're in danger. I promised you that a long time ago."

"Yeah, well, a lot of people have made a lot of promises, Charles."

It was a statement, a reply that by nature felt hostile, accusatory—but her voice was calm and dripping with regret, and her features were saddened. She'd been let down by many people in her life, mostly men, and he knew this very well about her. It had been a goal of his to change the way she looked at these failed relationships since she first stepped through the mahogany doors.

No, he did not spy on her. However, he did keep a listening ear, letting his mind find hers undetected when absolutely necessary. Given the nature of her departure from him, and even regardless of it, he felt that it was his responsibility to make sure of her safety. There were many children, young and old, that had passed through his mind—his heart—but there were a select few that stayed with him.

A select few that touched his very spirit in a way he couldn't ever explain, and he cared for them as though they were his own. In a way, this comforted Cassandra. Although, when she first arrived, it was downright offensive. A father figure was the very thing she'd been running from—falling right into a situation with another was incredibly frightening. Eventually, she came around. And she became one of those special few.

"Yes," he exhaled, the sincerely empathetic sound of his naturally soothing voice finally pulling her eyes directly to his. "I know."

It was then she stared into them for a silent moment, and he let her, prepared to allow her to find whatever she was searching for. But then, she cleared her throat, "Is there something going on? Something I need to know about?"

Again, he shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. Besides—I would not want to burden you with such information. I will ask that Logan doesn't request your services again."

She stared at him still as skepticism ebbed in her chest. Of course he wouldn't tell the truth. As he said himself, he wouldn't want her to know if they were in trouble. Or, really, even if they needed her. Her eyes narrowed a second, but she relaxed, huffing a dull chuckle. "Thanks," she said. "I need to get back."

"Ah, yes. Still entertaining company?"

The corners of Charles's mouth pulled up into a knowing smile as he backed his chair, turning halfway to prepare for his reentry into the building, but he stopped as her head bobbed in a small nod. "Yeah. Goodnight. Or—good morning, I guess."

She didn't wait for his response. Her form disappeared before his eyes in a cloud of smoke, wisps of purple electricity swirling as they faded out in her place. His lips pressed together in a thin line and drove forward, turning fully toward the front door. It was sometimes difficult to bite his tongue. Keeping most urged sentiments to himself was typically best, when it came to Cassandra—he knew this and, still, it felt wrong not to say them.

Simple things such as be safe, take care, I miss you, I hope you're happy. Phrases that portrayed his fondness were an overstep now and had been for quite some time. She'd made that clear, marching into his office that dreaded evening, filled with a deep rage yet somehow brimming with tears of genuine despair. He genuinely hoped she'd found what she was looking for in New York City. Though only an hour's drive apart, he prayed the distance would some day bring her back to him once more.

When Cassandra's smoke brought her body back into the apartment in the city, a deep exhalation of relief racked Loki's shoulders. He'd sat on the couch, aimed toward the front door, the muted television's light washing over him every so often. And he waited. Five minutes felt like five hours and as the minutes ticked by, his gut became twisted in a mess of anxiety and concern.

He sprung up at the sight of her apologetic face, taking steps toward her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be that long," she apologized, unzipping her coat. She turned to hang it by the door as she continued with an explanation, "Xavier needed to talk to me."

"The professor in the wheelchair?" his question was rhetorical as she faced him again.

"Yeah."

She simply nodded, averting her eyes from his face in favor of her feet, pulling them from her shoes before she could get too far from the door. Though, she'd never admit it was truly to avoid his gaze. There was too much emotion in them—worry, relief, love, and care. After the night she'd had, the contents of her stomach sloshed in a violent sway, causing her to pause at a familiar lump in her throat.

A calm but panicked expression smoothed over her face and Loki rushed forward, at her side in an instant, his hand gracing her shoulder carefully. "What is it?" he questioned, features etched with concern but also alertness. Cassandra couldn't speak, she knew, or whatever she'd eaten in the last several hours would come up. Though, she felt the hints that it was about to regardless.

Shaking her head, she broke into a brisk walk along the hallway and into the bedroom, across the space and through the bathroom door. The sloshing of her stomach contents only worsened as she walked, spreading anxiety through her chest like the branches of lightning—which, in turn, only worsened the nausea. Her hands ripped open the toilet lid and seat as she sunk to her knees, and it came up. The muscles in her stomach convulsed, all others clenching wildly as she coughed and sputtered on the bile.

Loki rushed to kneel beside her, hands sweeping back her brown tresses before running his palm along her spine. Admittedly, this was not something he would volunteer to do for just anyone. He wasn't too incredibly squeamish—how could he be, raised on Asgard?—but parts of life like this felt incredibly too personal. It was a vulnerable, open position to be in. However, even when her sputters became simply heavy breathing, he stayed where sat.

She lifted a hand, reaching for the lever, and his eyes caught sight of its tremble. As the contents of her stomach swirled away into the pipes, replaced with clean water, she sat back on her ankles with a shaky exhale. "I'm so sorry," she screwed her eyes shut, speaking numbly. "This visit is such a fucking disaster."

He shushed her, running a thumb gently along the side of her face, "It's alright, my dear, don't worry about that now. Let me care for you, in your time of need. Please, Cassandra."

It was then her heavy eyelids snapped open, blue irises darkened by the abhorrent bathroom lighting and lack of sleep moving quickly to find his. She knew there was a reason he worded it that way, and a pang of guilt sunk into her chest like a knife. Accepting help in this way had never been easy for her. She wasn't scared of someone helping her with the dishes or reaching something on a high shelf—but the help of emotional support, and care when she was weak, was no high shelf. It was no simple chore.

She knew deep within her mind that allowing herself to rely on someone for that was more than dangerous. It was reckless. But she was so tired, the desire to dissolve into a warm bed was growing in the space between her eyes, and she found herself melting into the soothing sensation of his hand on her back. Mentally, she promised herself this was the only exception. Only tonight.

"Okay," she nodded weakly, sighing. Then, she cracked a wry smile, "Don't let it go to your head."

Loki smiled back at her—a soft, sweet smile—and wrapped an arm around her back, the other under her leg, before hefting her body completely off the floor. Her arms scrambled to cling to his shoulders, a small yelp of surprise escaping her lips. "Other places, darling," he cooed, as they left the bathroom. "Other places."


With only a few short hours until she needed to awaken for her daily routine, Cassandra slept restlessly. Daylight bled through the curtains and poured across the room not long before her alarm was set to blare. Then it did, shrieking its metallic beeping sounds right into her ears. Eyes still tightly shut in defiance of the morning, she felt the mattress dip beneath her, skin brushing her upper arm, and the obnoxious sound stopped—followed by another dip, and a soft groan.

"I almost had it," Loki's voice was thick with grogginess, rolling onto his back against the pillows with a quiet huff.

Cassandra sighed. "It's okay," she pushed herself up by her elbows before reaching a hand up to rub at her eyes. "I have to shower and get to work."

Loki made a disgruntled sound, "Must you?"

"Well, if I knew you were coming, I would've asked for time off—but someone has to be a dramatic bastard and show up at random. Better luck next time."

Despite the exhaustion threatening to mask the lighthearted nature of her jab, she flashed a teasing smile over her shoulder that clashed with her eyes. Loki propped himself up on an elbow, shifting onto his side to lean closer to her, reaching his free hand up to rest against her cheek. "There won't be a next time for quite a while, I think," he spoke quietly. "As long as an extended stay is alright with you."

"Of course it's alright. But, don't you have to go home?" she questioned, bubbles of hope and confusion conflicting in her chest.

Loki's eyes followed his thumb as it danced over her lower lip, brushing along her jaw, and he exhaled tiredly. "Quite honestly, I'm not sure that's what I would call Asgard anymore."

His words felt heavy in the space between them as her head tilted on her shoulder, features simultaneously softening and scrunching together in a mixture of sympathy and curiosity—but Cassandra bit her tongue. It was tied to the revelation of his lineage, she knew. Her heart had carried the same sentiment about her own birthplace—that little house in Iowa—after she finally escaped.

Nothing quite prepares you for such a sudden uprooting. It took place deep within her chest, threatening to collapse the structure in an instant. And no matter how much you claimed to want it prior, it never fails to leave the host with a foreign yet somehow painfully familiar ache. The displacement was jarring for years and, even now, Cassandra wasn't sure just where she fit.

It was as if someone's knee bumped the table and all the pieces fell scattered. She tried to reconnect them, account for them all—but there were some pieces missing she'd been forced to accept were gone forever. "You're certainly quiet for someone that so unabashedly loves picking the heart apart," Loki mused upon her sudden silence, a loose smirk hanging on his lips.

Cassandra exhaled a deep breath and smiled softly. "I have to get to work," she reminded him as she leaned close enough to brush noses. "If you want to talk when I get back, you know I'm happy to listen."

Now she'd thrown the ball back at him so the burden of conversation was not hers. It was the easy way out, but also the most gentle. He hummed, moving his hand to the back of her neck before tipping his head, closing the remaining inch between them to place a kiss to her lips. There was adoration in the action—at a volume which he could never display through words, despite their sincerity—and she could feel it absorbing into her skin, bleeding into her veins until her pulse was forced to speed up under its control.

Cassandra sat upright and he followed her, their mouths opening to deepen the kiss as her hands slid into his hair, gently massaging the scalp with the pads of her fingers. A small, soft moan escaped from his throat and she forced herself to pull away, resting her forehead against his. "Loki," she breathed a whine. "That's not fair."

He huffed a chuckle, grinning from ear to ear, "What is that Midgardian saying about desperate times?"

Her eyes playfully rolled at his sarcasm, and she slid out of bed, still a bit groggy on her feet as she made her way toward the bathroom. This kind of inner conflict was never a problem in visits past. After all, he never stayed quite so long. He couldn't before. It wasn't easy slipping away for long periods of time during the day, much less spending a night—no matter how much he longed for the privilege. But what happened on Asgard, the destruction of the bifrost and the illusion of death, bought him practically infinite time.

Now he could breathe, he could relax. Most importantly, he was free to enjoy her company to the fullest extent, to give her the attention and care he wished to have done already. However, her life did not stop upon his arrival. And although he wished the parts that took her away from him did, he would never ask that of her—he would only blend into her life where he could, and wait in the places he couldn't. It was enough, he knew, to simply exist in her realm.

Loki watched her with a loving gaze as she entered the bathroom, tossing a sweet smile over her shoulder before disappearing completely, and lay back against the pillows. Already, there was a plan formulating in his mind, a plan for how to spend his day. And most of it involved preparing for her return in the evening.