Thank you all for not mobbing me for this incredibly late update! I realized too late that I would have to completely rewrite this section due to small changes I made earlier on in the story (butterfly effect, anyone?). And then Thanksgiving happened. And finals. And Christmas. I just finished writing this today, so I apologize if it's not a glowing piece of prose. But hey-it's posted. And it's even a little longer than usual. :-) It's my way of saying sorry for the wait!

By the time the evening came round, everybody in the tower felt good enough to leave their rooms. Except for Loki, who had been inspected by Bruce not long after regaining his faculties. Though he was slowly leveling out in terms of his vital signs, he was far from well enough to do anything exciting.

Instead, he had resigned himself to a quiet afternoon of lying in bed, intermittently sleeping and listening to Thor and Sif tell stories. Occasionally, he would smile – even laugh quietly, wincing a bit as a result. His laugh was Elizabeth's to a tee.

When Thor had asked, Loki had told him that reading would probably help pass the time; not five minutes later, Thor had returned to the room, arms heaping with books, which he laid as gently as possible at the foot of Loki's bed. Now, as the shadows of evening stretched across the room, the flare of the sunset coming to a close, Loki reached over and turned on the lamp on the end table, propping up on his elbow so that the pages he was reading were illuminated more fully.

He could hear the sounds of Survivor night from down the hall, and, in all truth, he wanted to go join the others. But he knew that Bruce would be unhappy if he did. That was what he told himself, in any case. Loki tried not to think of how exhausted he felt—the way he could only keep his eyes open for an hour at a time (two, if he was lucky), the terrible aching that stretched throughout his entire body, the fact that he, for once, felt as slight and skinny as everybody made a point of telling him. His vision had been heavily blurred following his use of the Jotunn magic, and, though the dizziness had thankfully subsided, his eyes hadn't quite figured out how to focus again. He was convinced, however, that reading would help this, so he stared at the page, working much harder than usual to understand the text. It didn't help that it was one of Tony's self-help books on building rockets, the margins scrawled through with his ungainly handwriting to point out all the inconsistencies and note better ways to achieve the same result.

He had only gotten about halfway down the page when the faint smell of pizza reached him, and he realized for the first time that day that he was hungry. In fact, the more he thought about it, he couldn't recall the last time he had eaten. For a very long moment, he considered getting out of bed and making the short walk down the hall for a slice of pizza and a can of soda. In his suddenly-famished state, it seemed like it would be no problem at all; thankfully, the parts of his mind that remembered just how badly the vertigo had hit him when he had last stood kept him from trying it.

He glanced over at the corner around which he had hidden from Sif, gaging the distance. It was maybe five paces away. Yet, when he had walked it, it had felt like half a mile. His head had been spinning so badly after that he hadn't been able to conjure his illusion right away. And, even after taking a minute to gather his strength, that small feat of magic had made his weakened condition all the more apparent to him. It was a wonder Sif hadn't mentioned it.

Sif.

The Shieldmaiden had always been his closest friend, but he had never suspected that she had ever viewed him as anything beyond that. Now, he was filled with a curious mixture of hope and dread; it would be unimaginable to lose her friendship, but, to gain her heart…

Loki shook his head a bit—and was duly rewarded with a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He and Sif were nothing more than they had ever been. She had simply been overwhelmed by her frequently tumultuous emotions, and she had kissed him only because it had been a suitable vent for the pressure. She had kissed him for the same reasons she had tried to punch him. That was all.

If he was brutally honest with himself, he didn't even know what he was worrying about. The two of them had shared a kiss or two in the past, and they had all been promptly forgotten. Or, at least, ignored. But then, Sif had never kissed him quite like this before.

He gave up on reading for the time being and let himself sink back into the pillows surrounding him—brought courtesy of Tony, who had blamed it on Pepper's maternal instinct. Exhaling a deep breath, he let his eyes close, and he tried desperately to remember every nuance of that kiss. It had been different from anything he had ever experienced, a fact which should not have surprised him as much as it did; Sif had always been something of a wild card in his life, and it only stood to reason that she would kiss in a way that reflected her unpredictable nature. The more he considered it all, the more he realized that he wasn't surprised by the way she had kissed; he was surprised at how much he had liked it.

After no more than a moment of dwelling on this, he picked up his book again, very intentionally consuming every word in an effort to drown out all the Sif that he had allowed into his mind. The sentences on the page were not very interesting, but he had never struggled to lose himself in even the dullest of texts. So he delved into the intricacies of rocket igniters and inverted thrusters, musing to himself that the mortals had compensated for their lack of Seidr in some fascinating ways.

The door creaked a little, and he glanced up to see Natasha coming in. "Hey," she said, holding out a plate with a slice of pizza on it. "You hungry?"

He smirked a little, taking the plate. "Should I feel like a prisoner?"

"I'm pretty sure prisoners don't get pizza," Natasha said. She sat down on the edge of the bed, popping open a soda can and setting it on the end table for him. "How are you doing?" she asked, face as unreadable as always, voice not offering anything either.

"I've had worse," he said, though he wasn't sure how accurate a statement that was.

She smirked a little at him. "Why am I not surprised?" Then, after a moment, she added, "Thank you, by the way."

"What for?" Loki took a bite of pizza, which, for all its grease and cheap-street-food taste, was exactly what he had wanted. He felt instantly better, though he reminded himself to take it easy; he hadn't eaten in a long time, after all.

Natasha let out a breath that she had been holding for a while. "If the tables had been turned—if it had been the other way around…" She paused, not looking at him. Then, eyes on the floor, she continued, "If don't know if I would have done what you did. Especially for a group of people I shouldn't even care about. I mean, you had no reason to care. We were enemies, for God's sake. But—"

"I had plenty of reasons to care," Loki interrupted, gesturing to the door. "Survivor night, for one. You all had no reason to trust me, let alone to like me at all. I got myself into the tower using a disguise, a perception filter, and a few relatively smooth words. I was sloppy—clumsy. Out of my depth, and very, very nervous. And yet, you all welcomed me like an old friend. You allowed me to take part in a closely-held tradition among your group, and I could never find words enough to explain how remarkable that was to me. Being here at the tower reintroduced the concept of humility; I knew the entire time that, in spite of my disguise and my lies, you all cared at least enough to invite me to join you for Survivor."

For a long moment, Natasha stared at him, and he watched her face. It didn't change expressions, but nuances of various emotions flitted across it, showing themselves for only a blink at a time (and even then, shrouded in shadows) before disappearing again. This, he mused, was why she was so difficult to read.

Eventually Natasha opened her mouth, saying, "That was…very honest. Especially for you."

Loki scoffed. "I have so much more to explain. That only scratched the surface. While I greatly appreciate that nobody has approached me, bombarding me with questions, I find it difficult to believe that unanswered thoughts are not eating away at every last one of you."

"You're probably right," Natasha allowed, smiling just a little. "And, speaking of the others—"

She looked over at the door, and Loki followed her gaze. For a moment, there was nothing, but then, the door opened. "Hope you don't mind if we crash the party," Tony said as all the other denizens of the tower filtered around him, each of them carrying pizza and soda cans. Clint had an entire box to share, and he set it out on the foot of the bed, flipping open the lid and holding out a hand for Loki's empty plate. With his usual charismatic showmanship, Tony tossed a small sphere into the air, catching it neatly. "Dear God, man. You look like you just got hit by a truck."

Loki watched all of them as they gathered around his bed, each of them finding a place to sit, perch, or recline. Steve clapped Loki gently on the shoulder, smiling as he sat on the edge of the bed beside Loki's knees. "I—" Loki tried, but no words came. He was completely speechless. After a second, he managed, "What about Survivor?"

Grinning, Tony set the sphere on the ground, pushing a few buttons. A holographic screen shot up into the air, projected by the little ball and showing the opening titles of Survivor. "It just wasn't right without you," Pepper said warmly.

"Yeah," Tony put in. "For some reason, we didn't like the look of the empty spot on the couch."

Natasha's stoic face had cracked into a grin, and Loki had never seen anything like it before. "It's funny you mentioned Survivor night," she told Loki. "We all were apparently on the same page with that one."

"We take reality TV very seriously," Clint added.

"It's pretty much a family affair," Steve said, reaching over Loki's legs for a napkin.

Bruce snapped open a soda, taking a sip as he sat down on the floor. "We're a pretty dysfunctional family," he noted, glancing up at Loki, "but once we make room for someone on Survivor night, they're pretty much part of everything else too."

"But," Loki began, looking around at everybody, "you didn't know it was me. I lied to you from the very beginning."

"We know, brother," Thor said as he took a slice of pizza from the box. "But all the good that we saw in you then is still in you now—no matter what you say." With a smile, he sat on the edge of the bed beside Loki, and Sif quietly perched on Loki's other side. The plane of her thigh touched his lightly as she settled back against the headboard; the subtle contact sent a shiver up his spine though neither of them acknowledged it and nobody else noticed.

"This sentimental mush is all fine and good, but let's save it for later," Tony said. "It's about to start." With a few swipes on the touch-screened remote, Tony turned up the sound and made sure everybody could see the screen. Everyone quieted, abruptly focused on nothing but the episode.

Slowly, any uncertainties were forgotten while an aura of ease and amity settled over them all like the warm glow of firelight. By the halfway mark, they were chatting and joking like the strange family that they were, nobody taking a second to recall that one of their clan had been their enemy before. Sif occasionally interrupted with whispered questions to those nearest her, and, not long into the episode, she had chosen her favorite contender.

Sometime toward the end, Loki drifted into the kind of heavy, dense sleep that had been overtaking him so frequently throughout the day. When he opened his eyes again, everyone had gone but Thor and Sif. He stretched as much as his weary body would allow him, asking, "Who got voted off tonight?"

With a grin, Thor replied, "The woman you repeatedly called an annoying twig. Barton wasn't very happy about that."

"No, I can't imagine he was," Loki agreed, yawning a bit as he shifted further under the blankets. "I'm surprised Natasha wasn't jealous of how much he adored that girl."

Thor's eyes widened. "Are he and Natasha—"

Loki waved the question away sleepily, muttering, "Not if you ask them. But you'd have to be daft to say there wasn't something electric between them that might very well be described as love."

"Loki's right," Sif put it. "There's so much tension between them that it's a wonder they've not begun acting on it."

For a moment, Thor stared at the two of them as though they had just given him the most earth-shattering news imaginable. Then, he got up, saying, "If there's any truth to what you say, then I think the same ideas could be seen in you."

"Us?" Sif asked, and Loki looked up blearily, shooting his brother a glance of utter disdain for such a thought.

Thor shrugged. "What you just described in Natasha and Clint—I see much of the same things in the two of you at times."

With a slight groan, Loki rolled onto his side, putting his back to his brother. "Thor, Sif and I have known each other since childhood. We're closer to siblings than lovers. Everybody knows that."

Thor considered this briefly, saying, "I suppose you're right. Besides, Sigyn would be devastated if she thought she didn't have a chance with you, brother."

"She doesn't," Loki asserted, eyes closed, already half asleep again. He didn't open his eyes until he heard the door click closed behind Thor. Then, in the quiet that followed, he murmured, "Sif?"

"Yes?" she replied.

"Could you look out the window and tell me what the moon looks like?"

She didn't move at first, but then, after a second or two, Loki felt her weight slide off of the bed and heard her footsteps tap their way over toward the window. "It looks like a moon, Loki," she said blandly.

"Describe it."

After another moment or two, she responded, "It's a crescent, only slightly less than a quarter."

"Which side?"

"It's bending to the right."

Loki pursed his lips. "Damn," he said. "I had hoped to sleep tonight."

He heard her pad her way across the room again, sinking back into the spot she had occupied throughout the Survivor episode. "What exactly were you planning?" she asked, a sarcastic bite in her words that made the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smirk.

"How would you feel about going on a little road trip?"

Early the next morning, Natasha wandered around to Loki's room; she, like many of the others, had some questions for him, and she knew he would be awake.

Softly, she tapped on the door. "Loki?" she murmured. "It's Natasha. Can I come in?"

The vents hummed passively overhead; she wouldn't have noticed them but for the resounding silence that met her otherwise. She knocked again. "Loki?"

No answer greeted her, so she pushed the door open, peeking furtively inside. "Loki, are you there?" she asked. But there was nothing. Not a sound, and not a glimpse of him. "I guess not," she said to herself, answering her own question.

She was about to leave and go through the rest of the tower in search of him when a sheet of paper lying on the crisply-made bed caught her eye.

Picking it up, she recognized the long, elegant handwriting as Elizabeth's – Loki's rather.

If you've discovered this, then you should know that you will not find me around the tower, it read. Sif and I have gone back to Asgard, and, by the time you read this, we will have already landed on her golden shores halfway across the span of Yggdrasil's branches.

It is not intentionally that I leave you without a farewell; I had to capitalize on the height of your moon's path last night, for its energy coincided with Asgard's, giving me clear guidance home. I would have gladly stayed with you another day, but this sort of cosmic event is rare. To miss it would be, as you say, 'shooting myself in the foot.'

Before I leave, however, I want to thank you all. You are a group of extraordinary people, and I am honored to have served at your side during the season of my sentence. You have all taught me many things, and I hope that, in turn, I have not left an entirely fleeting impression. I am grateful of your friendship and even more grateful of the fact that you gave it willingly. You reminded me of what it feels like to belong somewhere; there is not a worthy price in all Yggdrasil for that. Despite this, there is something that I can offer you as an expression of my gratitude.

There was a time long ago in Midgard's history when mortals would pray to the Aesir, hailing us as gods and goddesses. Occasionally, were the prayer passionate enough and honest in nature, we would come all the way across the stars to see to it that it was honored. We defended the mortals in battles, blessed them at weddings, and wished their souls well on their journey from this world to Valhalla. I would like to extend that same gesture to you.

Should you ever have need of me, simply call on my name. Be earnest, and I shall hear you. Because I can travel independently of the Bifrost, I shall do my utmost to come when you request it.

Please understand that I do not give my loyalties lightly and would hardly grant this invitation to anyone less than exceptional. I would not give it had you not earned it.

May you all be richly blessed in all things.

- L

For a moment, Natasha just stared at the paper in her hand before a small smile inched its way onto her face. She was still smiling when Bruce walked into the room.

"Hey, the door was open, so I –" She could almost hear him looking around. "Where's Loki?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the doctor, smile somewhat lopsided now. "Gone," she replied, holding up the paper. "Sif too."

Bruce's brow furrowed. "Together?" he asked, taking the paper from her and reading it quickly. Once he had finished, he laughed to himself quietly. "The little liar. He told me he'd tell us the whole story."

Natasha shrugged. "I guess we'll have to be content with what little we got last night."

"Or…" Bruce re-read the last half of the letter. "We could just call him back here."

Now Natasha laughed too – a short, rueful thing that, for all its ill qualities, was not devoid of ironic humor. "Let's be real here," she said. "He's probably dealing with enough hell back on Asgard right now. Even if we call, he probably won't come. He probably won't even hear us with all the other noise that'll suffocate him the second he sets foot back on Asgardian soil." She took the letter back, scanning it over again. "Let's leave him alone for now. Hey," she said, turning the page over, "look at this."

P.S. Once I am back on Asgard, I will have much that requires my attention, the vast majority of it being of a rather delicate nature (as one could imagine). Please do not let Thor attempt to leave Midgard for at least one of your days. As with most things diplomatic in essence, Thor would be unknowingly quick to tip the balance. Thank you in advance for giving me a chance to make my case without my oaf of a brother interfering.

Bruce read it from over her shoulder, and, once he had finished, he nodded. "Oh yeah, that's Loki."

Natasha just chuckled at Loki's phrasing itself, his voice speaking the words in her head.

Bruce read the rest of the note aloud: "P.P.S. Check the drawer."

They both reached immediately for the end table, but Natasha got there first, pulling open the drawer. Inside was an envelope addressed: To the Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Beneath that, it simply read: Answers. Bruce grinned.

"Still a liar, though," Bruce asserted.

With a shrug, Natasha returned, "Once a liar, always a liar."