.14.

With Loki's departure, Jane had experienced an acute attack of sanity. One thought clamored louder than the many, many others currently crowding her mind: what THE FUCK am I doing?

She didn't know. She couldn't explain it. What she did know was that the prospect of living any other life filled her with so much panic and uncertainty that she was certain she would be smothered beneath the enormity of it all. Normality no longer had a place in her life. Every bridge to her previous lifestyle had been burned. The only way to go was forward, but she had no idea how to do that other than to do a hard reset, to alienate herself completely and start building up from there.

And she was so, so scared.

It no longer felt like she was Jane. She'd been more than one Jane in her life. There was the Jane who had existed in relative ignorance in regards to the true workings of the universe prior to meeting Thor. There was the Jane who had experienced the heady, flaring passion of loving him. There was the Jane who, after being tortured brutally and mercilessly by Surtr, had had to go into hiding and chiseled away at the weaker parts of herself in an effort to become harder, indestructible. There was the Jane who had done her best to accomplish the insurmountable task of protecting Loki from the world while at the same time protecting herself from him. She'd failed at the last part, but not because she hadn't been strong enough. She'd failed because the woman she'd become after everything she'd endured had been full of holes.

There was a hole where her sense of morality had been. She still knew the fundamentals of right and wrong, but her world view now had more shades of grey than it had previously. She knew why, of course; she'd experienced firsthand catastrophic reversals of right and wrong. What had happened to her at the hands of Surtr had been wrong, so very wrong. What would have been right, what should have been right, was Thor rescuing her from that awful situation. Wrong was when Thor sent his criminal brother to her for safeguarding. Right would have seen Thor doing everything he could to keep any kind of evil — including Loki — from ever doing Jane harm again.

There were holes in her concept of love too, gaping ones that pretty much ensured that anything she'd ever believed about it had been erased from existence. She'd never thought of herself as being particularly naive, even before she'd met Thor. She understood now that everyone was naive until they weren't. She'd loved Thor and at first it had been good, so very good. But like so many others, she'd harbored certain ideals about love: it would always be good, it mended hurts, it could transcend almost anything. By that logic, loving Thor should have saved her from Surtr, should have kept her safe from harm, should have at the very least kept her life free of Loki.

Love had done none of that.

Love as she'd previously understood it was a liability. It left you open to disappointment. It made you vulnerable — in Jane's case, catastrophically so. It seemed logical to assume that any mortal man Jane may love after Thor could be the balm to her soul that so many assumed love to be, but she knew better. Parts of Jane had become irreversibly twisted in the aftermath of what she'd endured. She understood better now that only a very lucky few could love without suffering, understood too that it was a fleeting, fickle emotion. Perhaps it was this new understanding that had propelled her to where she was now, on the precipice of saying yes to Loki and plummeting to whatever depths he would take her to. Perhaps it was why she wanted him. Her rebirth from old Jane to new Jane hadn't been a pure one. The woman that had risen from the ashes was a tremendously flawed one, one whose eyes saw the true grittiness of the world. She'd lost the inherently human ability to live life according the delusions she'd forced upon herself. And in doing so, in seeing the universe for its true capricious nature, she'd found herself drawing closer and closer to Loki to share in his similar world view.

All of this was why she felt as though she was not, as though she was still present in her body but watching herself from a distance. Every thought, every word she'd spoken to both Thor and Loki in the cave had seemed real yet surreal. She was experiencing a separation, a final divide between whatever ragged remnants of her old self still existed and the self that was just coming into its own. Jane was not Jane. Jane was Jane. The sensation of not belonging while belonging was an insidious one, one that was threatening a complete and total invasion of her mind. And as confused and frightened as she was, she knew that she had to reconcile this turmoil before she could do anything else. The consequences if she did not, she knew, could sunder her completely.

Despite all this, despite her absolute conviction that to survive with sanity intact she needed isolation, she couldn't hold back the panic. She was alone on Vanaheim. Both men who could have returned her to Earth she'd sent away. She knew that she wasn't truly alone; Loki may not be present, but he was watching over her. It wasn't her survival that terrified her so completely. It was the fact that she would now have to deal with the schism within herself that she'd neglected for far too long.

The minutes ticked past after Loki had left, becoming hours. Jane had not moved but to sit on the cavern floor. She was rendered immobile by indecision, by apprehension. Tomorrow, she told herself at one point. I can deal with it all tomorrow.

Somehow, she slept.

.x.

Her first thought of the morning was, I'll ask him to send me home.

Her decision the day before had been ludicrous. Laughable. She'd lived alone before, yes, but living alone in a world with modern luxuries like power and shelter and easily obtainable food was very, very different from surviving on an alien world she knew nothing about. Even though the thought of returning to Earth made her feel like she was suffocating, she couldn't see any other way.

She had no idea how to contact Loki, though she suspected it would be as simple as just saying his name. She got to her feet, stretching stiffly, and took a moment to drink a little water before she started to move. Upon exiting the cave she winced and closed her eyes; the morning sun was painfully bright. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she glanced around and wondered if it mattered where she stood when trying to summon Loki.

She paused when her eyes fell upon the spot where Loki had previously left her food and water. There was a literal pile of objects there now. Curious, Jane approached, crouching to get a better look. There was a large, lengthy bundle wrapped in leather, which Jane picked up, surprised at the weight. Undoing the ties, she unrolled the leather to find that it contained weapons. There was a knife and two daggers, as well as a small handheld weapon that looked like no gun Jane had either seen, on Earth or Asgard. The heaviest one was also the longest; it was clearly a rifle, but again of a design Jane was not familiar with. Finishing the parcel was a small, rectangular item that she instantly recognized: it was a cigarette lighter. Smiling a little, she examined all the items thoroughly once more before wrapping the bundle back up and placing it off to the side.

She turned her attention next to a pile of clothing, unfolding each piece. This, she knew, was Asgardian in design. It wasn't purely for leisure, but it wasn't battle armor either. Instead it was what she imagined Asgardian hunters would wear, a mix of supple leather and rough cloth. There were boots to accompany the clothes, unmarked and clean. And in the event of colder weather, she'd been provided with both a fur-lined cloak and vest. Even though it was apparent that all of this equipment was brand new, Jane knew with a certainty that it would fit her perfectly. She wondered for a moment where Loki had gotten it all from, but shook her head. She was grateful. Nothing else mattered.

The last offering was the most important, though she didn't realize it right away. Arranged in a painstakingly organized way on the flat surface of a rock was a selection of different vegetation. There were plant leaves, sprigs of bushes laden with berries, and large rooted plants among many more. Jane's confused frown abruptly eased as comprehension struck; it was a guide to what was safe for her to eat.

She rocked back on her heels, considering everything Loki had left for her. Could she fire a gun? No, not well. But she could learn, and from the looks of the two firearms, they were energy based. She wasn't certain, but she didn't think she'd have to rely on ammo and if she did, she knew Loki would provide more. He'd given her three sets of clothing, and if she was diligent about maintaining them, they'd last her a long time. And the plants … she'd still have to be careful, of course, but she could memorize their appearance and work from there. Even if she did eat something she shouldn't, Loki would be watching.

Wouldn't he?

Jane blew out a breath, considering. The playing field before had consisted of odds stacked firmly against her. Loki had done her a huge favor by leveling that field. She could try her plan of living here alone with all these supplies. If she failed, she failed. But if she could manage it …

She liked the idea. And suddenly she felt optimistic, for the first time in a very long time. "Thank you, Loki," she murmured before getting to her feet.

It was then that she saw his final gift. She stepped over the rock where the plants lay to get a better look. On the stony ground Loki had etched out a map. It looked as though the lines had been burned with laser precision into the rock. It was a permanent feature now. He'd outlined the areas nearby, pinpointing sources of fresh water and areas where she could hunt. Deer — rabbit — boar, he'd written in his thin, elegant scrawl, outlining to her what the animals she could hunt would look like. And within of the bodies of water he'd precisely outlined: fish. Jane studied the map intently, noting that he'd also marked where the plants he'd picked for her grew. However, there was another area he'd written, to the northeast of her cave, and the one word he'd written there chilled her: Danger. That, she knew, was where the hostile natives, the ones he'd shown her in the illusion, would dwell.

The map, so intricate and accurate and informative, made up her mind for her. She'd be here living her alone, but she wouldn't be surviving on merit of her own skills. Loki had given her a huge advantage in that area. She was grateful and relieved. Knowing she wouldn't have to thrust herself back into a world she no longer wanted made her feel calmer than she had in a long time.

It wasn't only that, though. It was also the fact that Loki had bothered to do any of this at all. A few months ago, he would have left her here with nothing, consigning her to death. He wouldn't have believed she had the resolve to actually attempt something like this. This was a sign that he'd changed. She wasn't stupid enough to think that Loki would ever change so much that he wouldn't be difficult — he was too willful, to prideful to allow that to happen. But in providing her with the tools she needed to live a life alone on Vanaheim, he'd let her know that his interest in her wasn't fleeting. Or at least, was still strong at present.

And so, after studying the map a little longer, Jane began to gather up all her new belongings, making two trips to deposit them in the cave that was now her home.

.x.

It was, in the end, more difficult than she'd ever believed it would be to live alone on Vanaheim. Even with the gear and instructions Loki had given her, she found herself tempted to contact Loki a million times over.

She'd started that first day by attempting to learn how to shoot. She'd chosen the rifle because she was hesitant about getting too close to something she was trying to kill. Guns were to her unfamiliar territory and without an instructor, she was pretty much clueless. After nearly an hour of excruciating frustration, she'd managed to locate what functioned as the safety on the rifle — a shallow, almost impossible to see indentation that pulsed once beneath her finger when she pressed it. After that, she'd taken the rifle, propped it on a rock, and aimed at the larger rocks that littered the slope leading to the cave mouth. She aimed, holding her breath and squinting through the scope imprinted with strange, alien symbols. She pulled the trigger.

And missed. And missed. And missed again.

It took the better part of another hour before she was even able to clip one of the rocks. It just takes time, she told herself, and resolutely went back to practicing.

By the end of the day she'd gotten slightly better, having learned the feel of the rifle and the tension of the trigger. She was still discouraged and on top of that, hungry. She still had some leftover food that Loki had gathered for her before Thor had arrived and finished it off. The next day, she knew, it was about to get truly difficult.

And it did. Every day after that was a struggle. She scheduled her time, assigning different tasks to different parts of the day. Mornings she hunted, or tried to. If not for the fact that Loki had, one night, delivered a supply of fish still alive in a clay container full of water, she would have succumbed to the demands of her hunger and admitted defeat. It took eleven days before Jane was finally able to kill something, and when she did, it was a small, pig-like creature. She was instantly exuberant — she'd done it! That exuberance, however, faded when she realized she'd have to haul the dead animal all the way back to her cave, a twenty minute walk away.

Carrying it was a study in frustration. She tried slinging it over her shoulder, but it kept sliding either forward or back. She dragged it briefly before realizing that method would tire her out faster than anything else. Eventually she settled on cradling it in her arms, which led to her discovery that the small woodland creature she'd just slaughtered smelled bad, dripped blood all over her clothes, and had fur that was as about as gentle on her skin as a wire brush.

Once at the cave, she faced another massive dilemma. She had no clue how to field dress an animal. She was reluctant to waste any food, but having no knowledge of how to butcher it meant that she inevitably would. It was also going to be messy and disgusting work, but she'd mentally prepared for that part. And so she set to it, using the knives Loki had provided, attempting to skin the animal. Instead, she mangled it but did manage to carve off hunks of meat that had her mouth watering when she thought of them cooked.

She didn't know how to cure or preserve meat, which meant that what she couldn't eat right away would go to waste. She resolved to pursue smaller game from that point forward. As for the pig, well — without any kind of seasoning it was bland when cooked, but it was meat. Combined with the root vegetables and fruit she'd gathered, it gave her a meal that she'd started to think she wasn't capable of.

That day became the turning point. She stopped questioning whether she could and focused on making it happen.

.x.

She marked days with lines etched on the cave wall.

The sixty-third day was the first day she didn't wake up thinking about her house on Earth.

The eighty-first day was the day she realized she'd transitioned from struggling to survive to enjoying the patterns of her new life.

The one hundred and sixteenth day she reflected on Surtr and what he'd done and found that while the terror of those memories was still present, it had faded substantially to the point where it didn't lurk always in the forefront of her mind.

The one hundred and thirty fourth day, she found that whatever resentment she'd harbored toward Thor had faded.

And on the one hundred and seventy second day, when she realized that she felt human again, functional again, Jane knew she needed to see to Loki.

.x.

It was fire that brought him to her.

For a week, in the free hours of her day before she retired to the cave for the nights, she gathered up dried grass, bark, branches, and small dead trees that had fallen over in the forest. She brought them all back to the cave and started a stockpile. And then on the one hundred and seventy fifth day of her existence on Vanaheim, Jane lit a fire next to stone where Loki had etched his map. She tended it for a few hours, seated on the ground with nothing but the open expanse of this world that had become hers before her. When she grew tired she left for the cave, letting the fire die on its own. The next day she got up and went about the routines that had become normal to her, but at night she lit the fire again.

It was the same the next night, and the night after that.

The fourth night she began to wonder if perhaps he hadn't lost all patience.

The fifth night he shaped himself out of the dark.

She'd been staring at the fire, lost in a trance of remembrance. They were happy memories and that fact in and of itself was a testament to just how much she'd managed to mend. How long he'd been standing there she wasn't sure, but when she saw him she made a soft, startled sound, rising immediately to her feet.

Her mouth had gone dry. She could feel the pounding of her heart, rapid, steady. She'd rehearsed this moment over and over in recent days past, memorized to a word what she would — wanted — to say. All of that left her now.

"Loki," was all she managed.

He inclined his head slightly to one side. He was clad as he ever as, the gold of his armor catching the light of the flames.

"Thank you," she said a little awkwardly, thrown by his silence, his very presence, "for coming."

He said only, "I was summoned."

Jane swallowed. "Yeah."

A long silence followed. This was not going the way she'd wanted or expected it to. There was no trace of emotion on his face, which was half bathed in firelight, half lost to shadows. His voice was level and without emotion. It was as though they'd both been transported back in time, to the early days after his arrival on earth, when they had still been adversaries.

"I admit to being impressed," he said then, surprising her, "that you were able to adapt enough to live here."

"It was hard. I couldn't have done it without you."

"No?" She heard the speculation in his tone. "I think perhaps you could have."

"Maybe," she said. She was unable to stop staring at him. She'd missed him. Missed the way he carried himself. Missed his gaze. Missed his voice.

"Loki …" she said again. "Are you still — ?"

On the side of his face illuminated by the fire's light, she saw the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. "You are uncharacteristically inarticulate tonight, Jane."

"You have the tendency to bring that out in me," she replied with a tentative answering smile.

"And what else do I bring out in you, I wonder?"

Fear. Anger. Sadness. She didn't answer immediately as the answers to his question rolled through her mind.

"Curiosity," she finally said, moving toward him. He remained motionless as she approached.

"And?"

She was close enough now to touch him, and she wanted to. She lifted one hand and pressed it against his cheek. It was warm from the fire, solid beneath her touch. She splayed her fingers, her eyes tracing their paths. "And … wonder," she replied, because it was wonder that filled her then as she shaped the lines of his cheek and jaw beneath her palm, as she felt his skin slide against hers and the eldritch, inexplicable way it made her feel.

He took a deep breath. She saw his shoulders rise with the force of it. He asked again, "And?"

Her other hand had lifted, was cupping the other side of his face. His eyes were glued to hers, their brightness subdued by the night, reflecting the flickers of the flames. I am so close, she thought. This can be mine. This could remake me.

This could destroy me.

"Possession," she breathed, and she was so close that the exhale flowed across his lips, warm, moist. And with her hands she directed his head down, and she surged upward, and then her lips met his and she knew that it would be a possession because it could be nothing else.

His reserve had been sundered by her touch, by her words. His hands were firm at her waist, iron in their hold, hauling her against him. His mouth was demanding, his tongue delving and she could feel the urgency in him for this, only this.

Somewhere in between his kisses and the bites he trailed along her jaw and the way his breath trembled over the skin where her neck joined her shoulder she realized one of his hands had fallen away. Dazed, she tried to focus on what he was doing but her attention drifted away immediately by the sensation of his teeth gently tugging at the lobe of her ear. She lifted her hands with the intent of tangling her fingers in the dark lengths of his hair only to find her hands skimming over the skin of his chest — bared, exposed, free from any kind of covering.

Beautiful, she wanted to tell him, because he was. Beautiful and terrible, desirable and terrifying and she wanted him, wanted him because of and despite of it all.

This could destroy me.

She pulled away just enough to gain some space to stand free. Her movements were uncoordinated, tainted by the lust and anxiety thundering through her. She stripped it away, all her clothing, all her defenses, layer by layer until she was finally laid bare, exposed to the night and the fire and Loki's eyes —

— and they were wide, focused on her, and devoid of anything but for only one singular need —

He closed the distance and his hands were on her, ghosting over her shoulders, trailing over her collarbone and then down, his fingertips a shocking murmur over the swell of her breasts. Jane's hands were on the buckles fastening his pants, which she tugged on with increasing insistence and inability. "Off," she finally said, voice strangled because his one of his hands had smoothly slid between the juncture at her legs, because one of his fingers had inserted itself between the damp folds there and was pressing.

His laugh was soft, a mere exhale. He complied with one hand, because the other was oh-so-busy. Easily, gracefully, he undid the fastenings and let the pants fall, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. And then he was like her, made bare, and he was so close that she felt the hard line of his erection brushing against her belly.

"Down," she whispered, a word with so many meanings. And it happened: there was earth under her knees, warmed by the fire. And he was kneeling with her, fingers in her hair, fingers on her clit. And her fingers, well, they were just as active and as they trailed down his chest, his navel, to brush lightly against his cock and then when he inhaled sharply to fasten around the rigid length of him and stroke, once, twice —

"Jane."

He'd said her name in so many ways. With the intent to mock. With rage. With condescension. But never like this, with this brand of need, with this trembling, shuddering demand. And Jane savored it, let it wash over her, closed her eyes with all the shameless abandon it brought to her because this was the only way he would ever need her like this.

This was the only way they could be equals.

She shoved him away suddenly, something he didn't expect. His mouth opened to form a question, opened wider as she bent to take the head of his cock in her mouth. She needed his taste. Would never be able to taste him enough. His fingers found her head, gripped it tightly. And as she opened her mouth wider to take him in further, his fingers knotted in her hair and he groaned. It was the first time she'd heard him make that kind of noise and she wanted more, so much more.

But Loki was Loki. Loki needed to control. And Loki grabbed her shoulders and pushed her upward, Loki slid his hands under her ass, Loki lifted her off the ground and settled her on his thighs. She was kissing him again, cradling his face in her hands. "Jane," he whispered as she nibbled on his lower lip. "Jane," he said again as he slid an arm beneath her and lifted her easily, effortlessly. "Jane," he murmured as, with his free hand, he guided the head of his cock until she felt it brushing against her hot, wet entrance.

She wriggled in his grasp, attempting to force herself downward, onto him. But his grip wouldn't budge; he held her steady. "Jane," he said and with the hand not occupied he cupped her chin and tilted her face until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes were wide, dilated with the onslaught of everything he was feeling, but in them she could still see and recognize the inherent, ever-present shadow of his control. She stilled in his grasp.

"Only for you," he said, each word dropping from his lips weighted with emotion, with intent. "Only this, only ever for you."

And then he was pulling her down and she felt him sliding into her body and she gripped tight, wanting to prolong the sensation of being filled by Loki. And he groaned again, the sound a low, gravelly admiration of how sublime the tight walls of her sheath felt as they rhythmically expanded and contracted around his cock. He pushed up into her, his hips shoving upward in short little thrusts until he was buried in her body, until they were melded so completely that Jane's awareness trembled.

She couldn't breathe. Every breath was a pant. Her hands were on his shoulders and she tried to change the pace, to force him deeper faster. Loki wouldn't relinquish control as she knew he wouldn't, his fingers fanning over her hips as he guided her the way he wanted. His mouth was on hers and then on her neck as he leaned forward and tilted her downward, slowly, keeping her close enough that he was still buried inside her. She mewled softly as his lips trailed down from her neck and then moaned as they crested the rise of her breast to find her nipple.

Her eyes closed. Her eyes opened. Loki's mouth was laving her flesh, his teeth nipping gently at her nipple. He was inside her. She was around him. And above her lay the universe, the stars lights that flickered as they bore witness to this union with all the grand, cold ambivalence of the celestial. She reached up and gripped his shoulders and pulled herself upright, grinding down on his cock with the movement, surprising him.

"Jane."

Yes, she thought. I'm Jane. The only Jane.

Pleasure rolled throughout her, consumed her entirely as he surged upward to shove himself deeper once more. That pleasure crested as he breathed her name again and she rode it with focus, with purpose, as it began to peak. This man was claiming her. This man was fucking her. This man was making her his own in a way he'd never done before, with an intent he'd never had before. She loved it. Craved it. Had hunted it. And now, needed it more than anything she'd needed before. It would overtake her. It would overwhelm her. It would overwrite her.

This is destroying me.

He felt them before she did, the tears. They splashed, one and then two against his chest and he caught her chin and turned her face to his to see the trails they'd left behind, glistening in the light of the flames. She watched the thoughts chase each other in his eyes and she shook her head, no, no, don't stop, don't stop —

She cried out his name as she came, falling against him as around his cock her body clenched, shuddered. He followed her immediately with a sound that was between a gasp and a shout as he convulsively emptied himself inside her. Panting, her forehead resting against his shoulder, she shut her eyes again. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer than he ever had before.

She tried to slow her breathing and eventually gave up. The fire's warmth danced across her side; the other side was exposed to the creeping chill of the night air. She didn't want to move, didn't want to think, but her thoughts were as always inescapable. It was done. She could never go back and she knew that even if some part of her balked at the fact, she didn't want to go back. There were no delusions any longer about what Loki was or was capable of and she'd made the choice anyways. He was and always would be the villain.

And she loved him.

.x.

Hours later Jane was still awake, staring up at the sky that was gradually brightening in the east. She felt as though she would never sleep again, so charged was her mind. Her body was the perfect kind of sore, the kind she wanted to savor. Loki laid beside her on his side, one arm draped over her midsection. The fire had died to embers, but he'd used that wondrous, terrifying, inexplicable power to keep them both warm against the coolness of the night.

"I'm still mortal," she said, the first words she'd uttered in hours. "It makes me vulnerable. It'll make you vulnerable."

She thought he'd been dozing. Perhaps he had been and her voice had woken him. He replied huskily, "It does not have to be that way."

She turned her head to look at him, one brow arched in question. His eyes were open in the truest sense of the word, devoid of anything she didn't want to see. And then, slowly, she watched them fill with lust as he ran his hand up her thigh, as he leaned in closer so that her vision was filled only with him, with his eyes and his mouth and the black, black strands of his hair as they fell across his shoulder.

"It will be transcendent," he breathed as he parted her legs, as he slid between them and moved down until he could lower his head and slide his tongue over parts of her so delightfully swollen from fucking.

What will? She wanted to ask him, but all that escaped her mouth was a moan shaped as his name.

.x.

He drifted off eventually, which surprised her a little. She hadn't been certain that Loki in his true immortal form ever slept. Perhaps it was only because he was drained by the hours they'd just spent exploring each other. Perhaps it was because he was finally, truly comfortable around her. Whatever the reason, she managed to extricate herself from his grip and stand without rousing him.

The sun was rising and she turned to face it, taking a few steps forward so that she stood in the path of its light, so that she could feel its warmth on her bare feet. The sun rose and fell every day, determined and relentless in its purpose. Jane envied it that purpose. As much as she'd changed — as much as she'd had to change — she was still afraid on some levels, though not nearly as many as before. She was not secure in this latest choice she'd made, to give herself entirely to Loki, to take that last step over the cliff and fall with him in uncontrollable free fall wherever he wanted to go.

But she didn't regret this last, pivotal decision. No, she didn't regret it, but she did regret other significant things, and those regrets would haunt her for the rest of her life. They would become weights on her conscience, blotches on her soul, but she knew now that she could survive them. She'd survived far worse.

She'd survived Loki.

But had she, really? She was here, physically in one piece. But there had been a sundering, a line crossed so profound and spirit-deep that she was afraid to examine it head on. She loved him, or rather, she thought she did. Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it was only the purest desperation and need. Maybe it was resignation. Or maybe it was what it was: affection and attraction fucked up beyond any kind of normal recognition. There was only one thing out of all of this mess that she was absolutely certain about: it was hers now, and she had to live with it.

She hoped she could do so with grace.

She heard him before he touched her, heard the slight scuff of his foot over the bare earth beneath them both. His fingers trailed over her hip before flattening and pulling her back, gently, against him. His breath whispered against her hair and then she felt his lips on her cheek, so soft. His every movement lulled her into a belief she wasn't sure she should have: that he was genuine, that this was real, that it would survive.

I'll lose myself in you, Loki.

She turned her head in order to meet his lips with hers. She loved the taste of him, the feel of him, his scent. She wondered if she could be sustained by those things and only those things. And she knew, as he kissed her again, and again, and again with mounting insistence, that she was slowly being overwritten. Being overcome.

I've lost myself in you.

And for this Jane, in this reality, in this life, there was no hope of finding her way back.

.x.