A/N: I know every author says this, but thank you for the reviews/faves/follows! Since this is my first multi-chapter endeavor, the support is very much appreciated.

Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Closed your eyes, and trusted – just trusted?

Once inside her flat, Molly eases the man onto her sofa. Exhausted from his weight, she winces along with him as he flops rather ungracefully over the soft, plaid arm. Throwing off her raincoat, she hurriedly flicks on the lights as she makes her way down the hall to the linen closet. Grabbing several towels, first aid materials, and an extra pair of Sherlock's pajamas (left here should he need to make use of her flat during his time "away"), she practically sprints back to him. She deposits the pile of cloth on his lap, but he makes no move to dry himself. Kneeling down beside the couch, she opens the first aid kit and prepares to clean both blood and rain from his pale face.

He keeps his eyes on hers the entire time, hissing in pain only when she dabs at the long cut stretching down from his eyebrow. Molly bites her lip, mumbling apologies as she cleans and bandages the wound. Satisfied with her work, she reaches out to pat his knee reassuringly…only to be stopped dead in her tracks when he physically flinches away from her touch.

Sighing, she makes it halfway to the kitchen before she is stopped again.

"Thank you, Molly."

It's barely above a whisper, but she hears it all the same.

"You're welcome," she replies, the corner of her mouth tilting up in a half-smile. "What's your name?"

He stays silent for a beat, making Molly wonder if he'll answer at all. Finally, the reply comes: "Loki."

"Well, Loki," she calls out as she continues into the kitchen, "are you hungry? I'll make some toast, and tea." Pausing at the counter, she leans over so she can see his face. "Is…is that alright?"

Another beat, and he nods, making her wonder if he will return to silence. It wouldn't surprise me, she muses as she turns back to the kettle. Extreme trauma can easily cause someone to stop speaking altogether. She's heard of and seen similar cases in the past. If this man's mental and emotional trauma is as extensive as the physical beating he took, then there's little wonder he refuses to speak.

Molly hurries back to his side as soon as both tea and toast are ready, not daring to leave him unattended for long. She sets both cup and plate before him on the coffee table with the hopes that the smell will entice him to sit forward and eat. If his strength returns, she reasons, perhaps his desire to speak will as well.

Apparently not.

Sitting in her favorite blue armchair, she watches as Loki stares blankly at the toast for several minutes, never once reaching for it himself.

"It's going to go cold," Molly says quietly. Still, he doesn't move.

Sighing, she gets up from the chair and sits beside him on the sofa. He gives her a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the coffee table.

Molly balances the plate on her knees, breaking a half a piece of toast into even smaller pieces. Praying that what she is about to do won't close him off even more, she turns toward him, a tiny piece of toast in her hand.

"Alright, open up," she says teasingly, smiling.

Loki's expression is priceless. Molly has to remind herself, very sternly, not to laugh at the absolutely dumbfounded look he's currently giving her.

But if he won't eat it himself…she's going to make him. Funny expression or not, she's not willing to let this battered man starve.

"Clearly you weren't going to eat any of this on your own." She waves it before him as she would for a child. "And you have to eat. So…open up."

His confusion turns to anger as he glares at her defiantly, his jaw set. Reluctantly, he stretches out his hand, taking the bit of toast and eating it himself.

Molly smiles. "There you go."

Loki finishes the toast and drinks the tea, all under Molly's watchful eye. Satisfied, she now urges him to wash up, promising that he'll feel better. She helps him to the bathroom, giving him Sherlock's pajamas and a spare toothbrush.

Waiting for him, Molly turns on the late-night news. Working all day and then tending to a mysterious stranger takes up quite a bit of a girl's time, she thinks wryly. The world could be coming to end and I'd have no clue!

The irony of that thought is not lost on her as her eyes widen at the devastation shown by an aerial view of New York City. Once sweeping skyscrapers now lie in pieces on the ground, charred rubble the only thing left.

"New York City was saved from total annihilation today by The Avengers, a team of superheroes called upon by the U.S. government. A hostile extraterrestrial force was the apparent cause of the destruction. The leader of this force, a 'god' named Loki Laufeyson…"

Molly's jaw drops.

"…was in custody, but escaped earlier this afternoon, and is currently hiding somewhere here on Earth. If you have any information regarding…."

There on her television screen, smirking and staring mischievously into the camera, is her strange houseguest. The footage captures that dangerous glint she had seen in his eyes earlier. He strolls languidly down a corridor, green cape billowing behind him and a golden spear in his hand. The whole image is absolutely terrifying.

There's no trace of the "helpless" man she brought into her home. The man she bandaged and fed. The quiet, reserved man who spoke very little, yet thanked her for her kindness.

The man now brushing his teeth in my bathroom.

To be continued...