I cannot tell you how much restraint it took not to post on the 14th- - -well, not the 14th in my time zone, it may be different for you.

My life is about to get kinda busy over these next two weeks, so updates might be spaced out a little. Luckily, I've hit 25 chapters. The outline is done. This will be 30 chapters.

And here I was originally thinking fifteen or twenty. Silly, silly me.

Thank you so much for the out-pouring of reviews. I felt a little guilty after posting the Author's Note. Sorry for the guilt trip...

But keep 'em coming. What do you think so far?

-XXX-

He returns late in the night. When he left in the evening, Tati had departed only an hour before. Now, she was returned. He senses so the moment his foot crossed the threshold. She was back, in bed, weary and quiet, though no quite asleep.

Closing the door soundlessly, the god glids up the stairs, and into his room. Raising his hand, he called forth energy to scry the young woman. Tatiana lay in bed, curled around her cat. She hasn't removed any of her dress clothes, jewelry, or makeup. Her shoes sit mere inches from the mattress, tossed off without thought. Even with her eyes closed, he knows she does not sleep. The reader is thinking. Hard.

Had there been a call? Something to alert her to the break-in? Or is she simply musing over her dinner?

Smiling lightly, the god tosses the image upwards, where it dissolves with a faint "pop." He removes his boots, jacket, shirt and scarf, then stretches out on the bed, staring up at the stark white ceiling. The cold metal of the pendant weighs against his chest. For a time, he watches it rise and fall with his breath. Loki can practically feel the pure power seeping from the thing.

The ring feels much the same. Turning it in the faint light, the green stone twinkles merrily. He likes it well enough, but this isn't bound for him. They were never meant to stay together, he notes, turning the thing in his palm. Not a set, so much as a…complimentary pair. Siblings, meant to part.

He knows just where it ought to go.

Sighing, the god replaces the ring and slides from the bed to find proper sleeping clothes. He is tired tonight, with all of the bustled of reclaimed power. He'll need to rest for a day or two before exercising his ability. A plan of action is already forming in his mind, but for now he will take some sleep.

Content in his work, Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, drifted into unconsciousness with great peace.

-XXX-

Unfortunately for the once-prince, he didn't wake under such tranquil circumstances. A near-splitting shriek breaks through the god's stream of consciousness, jolting him awake. Serenity shattered, Loki rose swiftly to cross to the door, flinging it open. "Tati."

The noise came from her bedroom. He pays the lock no mind, gesturing for it to slide across, granting him access. Entering, Winchester rears up on the mattress, hissing and spitting, back arched, eyes slits. Tatiana whirls, cell clutched to her ear, eyes wide and red. The god stops. She is uninjured.

-XXX-

The call wakes me around six. It's actually my day off, so when I see Charlene's name glaring up from the screen, I consider ignoring the call. Then I note the time. She wouldn't call me at six in the morning if it wasn't important. Before I answer, I murmur a quick prayer that it's not a request to fly out to Boston for another auction, as she made Anita do last week.

It is worse.

At first all I hear is hysterical gibberish; moaning and weeping. I wince, trying to discern some form of recognizable speech. With none forthcoming, I ask, "Charlene? I seriously can't understand you.

"Tati," my boss gasps. "Oh, you need to get over here! We've had a robbery."

"What?" I sit up (still, I notice with disgust, in my clothes from the night before). The word comes out as a scream more than a question. I instantly quite myself, letting her continue. Rising to pace, I listen as Charlene outlines the course of events.

"Frank-" Our custodian of twenty years. "-came in early to start waxing the floors. He found glass all over the floor of the Neo-Impressionist and Baroque rooms. Someone broke one of the side windows and disabled the system," she is clearly crying. Charlene loves the gallery as much as I do, loves her work and her position. This offense clearly devastates her. "They stole one Kupka, and the two newest things in the ancients section."

The funny dragon-snake ring, and the axe charm, I realize. The Kupka was a nice piece, too. Popular. We frequently sold out of his prints and those little postcard prints.

"Have you called the police?" I demand. "Has anyone been caught, or questioned?"

I am in business mode, my focus solely on the gallery. But before my boss can answer, the door to my room burst open, and there stands Luke in the threshold, his icicle eyes on fire. Winchester, who has been peering at me curiously since I picked up the call, and is still on the bed, hisses. Luke ignores him.

"Are you alright?" he asks forcefully, taking in my tears. "I heard a scream."

"That was me," I tell him.

"What?" Charlene sniffs, still on the line.

I press the phone back to my ear, holding up one finger to Luke. "Uh, my roommate heard me scream, and kinda freaked."

Luke rolls his eye. I mouth an "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Charlene says. "Okay. Can you make it over here? We still need to check if anything else is missing, and the police want to interview everyone…."

I frown. "What? Why? I was out with Stark and Pepper last night, you know that."

"I know," she sighs, defeated already. I pity her. Being the boss is no easy task. "But they just want to clear everyone's names before they continue. Right now they're pulling the video feed. Once we have that it should be easier, but for the moment, they are asking everyone come in. And," she says, voice quavering. "I need you."

I understand. "Of course, sweetie. I'll be there as soon as I can. Alright. Bye."

Once I hang up, Luke descends on me. His eyes still blaze, cool flames of green-grey as he asks what happened.

"The gallery was robbed last night," I say wearily. "Charlene and the police want me to come in. I've got to hurry."

I pull myself from his grasp-well, I mean to. But his hands are iron shackles on my arms and I am forced to stay in place. For once so slight, he hides his strength well. "Are you sure? That sounds dangerous." Luke frowns. "I don't like the thought of them questioning you, Tatiana."

"Well, I thank you for the concern, but I'm sure it will be fine," I assure him, pointing out that I have been questioned before-in regards to his case as the mysterious coma patient. His lips quirk, but Luke doesn't release me quite yet.

"What was taken?"

"One canvas and two of our things from the ancients exhibit." I consider. "You remember them, the necklace thing and the band? They were Norse."

"Of course. I didn't realize they were so valuable," he replies, brows furrowing.

Actually, now that I thought about it, in comparison to some things we have in the gallery, they are really not so valuable. If I were an art thief, there are at least twenty things I'd take before those particular items.

"I've got to go," I tell him, tugging away as best I can. "Charlene needs me."

"She can wait." His voice is surprisingly husky, what I assume to be the effects of morning. "Tatiana-"

I look up into his liquid eyes. There is less fire now, but something else reigns in them. I blink as Luke's gaze consumes me. He struggles to find words, mouth a tight line as he looks plainly at me.

Then the moment passes.

I find that his hands have left my arm (though, somehow I am closer to him before, chest-to-chest, in fact). Without a sound, I step away, eyes still stuck on his.

"I've got to go," I repeat, croaking. He nods. We part, Luke back to his room, me to my closet. Briefly, I am thankful he found me in clothes, rather than the short-shorts and tee or tank I normally sleep in.

But all too soon, my mind brushes the man away, searching for something suitable to wear. What does one wear to a questioning? How do you dress for such a thing? Is orange suitable? Or should it be a serious black? Mechanically, I dress in khakis and a floral print blouse, tossing my unwashed hair into a bun and sweeping foundation on my face. Fresh shadow, liner, and new mascara brighten my eyes more than coffee ever could, and I throw back my head for some eyedrops before going out the door. I'll pick up coffee at McDonalds or something. But I feel far too ill to eat.

-XXX-

I receive a call less than ten minutes into my drive. It's Joseph.

"I was driving by this morning and saw the yellow tape," he says, concerned. "Everything okay? I heard about the robbery. It's all over the radio."

Assuring him all is well- - - or, at least, under control-I thank Joseph for his call. He's sweet, even after rejection. My heart twinges at his thoughtfulness. I don't deserve him- - -which is why I cut him loose. Someone much nicer than I will make him a very happy man. But not me.

"I'm actually on my way over there right now," I explain. "My boss needs me, you know, and then she said the police had a few questions."

"They surely don't think it's you," Joseph sounds serious. "I mean, c'mon, Tati, you'd be the last person to rob an art museum."

"They're just trying to clear names first. I'd rather get it over with, anyways."

"Well, be careful," he warns. "I don't want to have to bail you out."

I laugh easily, feeling weight lift from my shoulders. "You're a doctor," I say playfully. "Aren't you supposed to be rich, or something?"

"Eh, that's what they say to lure you into med school." I can practically hear him grin, and my heart gives another twinge. Why couldn't I be with this guy, nice, safe, sweet, funny Joseph? Oh, that's right. Because. I'm weird art history girl, who lives alone with her cat, and is destined to do so until the day I drop dead.

And no matter how nice or sweet or lovely Joseph is, he will always be…boring. Safe.

"Not like Luke," a little voice whispers from the back of my mind.

"Not like Luke," I agree internally. "But that isn't a bad thing."

We continue talking for several more minutes before I have to go. I tell him, in much better spirits than I'd started the morning with, that he's brightened my day already. "Thank you, Joseph."

Cheerily, he tells me to have a good day, and that he might call me tomorrow to check up, and to not let the strain get to my health. Stress, according to him, can wear on the immune system. I assure him I'll try not to let that happen. Then, it's off to work.

-XXX-

Charlene's hysterics have died considerably since our call. She hugs me, waves for someone to refill her coffee, then guides me to an officer she introduces as Detective Morrison. Morrison is a bulky fellow wearing a sports coat and khakis. He looks me up and down, then asks if he can use Charlene's office to conduct our questioning.

I tell him the facts: I had dinner with two of our donors last night after giving them a personal tour, then took a taxi home. I set the alarm and locked up before I left. There was nothing funny that caught my eye. And nobody weird waiting outside when we left.

It is a brief affair, and when Morrison (who looked bored, but otherwise convinced that my little art-nerd self had nothing to do with the thievery), escorts me back to the lobby where others wait, we encounter a protesting Pepper and Tony. They immediately turn to us, telling the detective that under no circumstances was he to arrest me, as I was with them last night. Warm feeling rise in me - - -these people are mere acquaintances to me, yet here they are, going out of their way to protect my ass, my reputation, and my job.

"She's not under arrest," Morrison tells them mildly.

"That's what I was saying," Charlene says, barely hiding her exasperation in the billionaire inventor and his CEO girlfriend. "It's standard practice for these kinds of things."

Pepper has the dignity to look embarrassed. Tony, however, begins questioning Morrison. "Do you have anything yet?"

"Not yet."

"We're suing their ass to hell," he assures me fiercely, spinning to face me. "And paying for the repairs on this place."

"Oh, no-"I being, but Charlene shoots me a took.

"I'm so sorry," Pepper begins. "I know you loved those Norway pieces. You couldn't seem to stop talking about them."

Had I? I don't remember this. Either way, I thank the couple repeatedly. Pepper smiles, while Tony tosses his hands carelessly.

"Not a problem. I just don't like to see people's asses being dumped into jail for no logical reason. You're not the art-robbing type, anyways. Worshipping, maybe, but you're not sneaky enough to be a thief."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I say dryly. "But thank you, Tony, Pepper. It's nice to have people willing to stand up for you."

"If you need anyone to back you," Pepper says. "Just shoot us a call. Charlene has our number."

They leave, arm-in-arm. I watch them go, happy to see such a well-matched pair. Then, I return to Charlene, to hold her hand and fetch her coffee, and tell her that everything is going to be okay. Because, that is, for now, my lot in life.

-XXX-

With his reader out of work, he exercises his fresh power. It feels good to be himself again. Satisfaction sinks into his very bones. Loki loves the crackle of energy between his fingers.

Yet, soon he is has finished his exercises.

Out of boredom, he scrys his reader at work. To his frustration, he sees Stark - - -the Avenger he probably loathes the least. Ah, and there is Iron Man's woman. Ms. Potts, the enterprising CEO. They are suited for one another. A power, between the two of them.

The sight of the pair reminds him of Tatiana's suitors. He had seen photos of a few, stuffed in the bottom of her sock drawer. On one of their conversations, she had mentioned them, outlining their idiot tendencies and overviews of the relationships. The god felt irrational flash of pleasure to know she had not had any recent suitors.

"I'm busy," she explained. "Boyfriends take time. And I already have a finicky man in my life."

For a brief moment, he fears she means him, Luke the human, but then she scoops up her blasted feline to kiss him on his small, furry skull.

Watching her now, he thinks perhaps she could use someone - - -finicky or no- - -to defend her as Stark did. After all, the Iron Man wouldn't always be around.

-XXX-

Kupka is an actual artist. His canvas is one of the ones Loki didn't particularly like.