The storm had finally come to an end. Loki watched the last sprinkles of water splatter against the window, as though shaken from someone's umbrella. Night would be upon them soon, and if the heavy, thick clouds were any indication of what was to come, it would be another uneasy slumber for those not fortunate enough to be indoors.

And there were surely thousands of them. He had watched Pagurolid foot soldiers march clusters of humans to and fro, showing just how strong they were—how they could control the realm through brute force alone. Did they know of the humans dwelling within the sewers? Did they sense them scurrying below like the vermin he had seen underfoot?

Loki suspected not. That morning, he had accompanied the stone creature to fortify the entrance at the base of the tower. There were more voices in the tunnels—more tugs at the security line—and Sue demanded that they ensure the door would withhold any attackers. Ben's request, at the time, had come across as forced and disgruntled, and Loki only agreed to it so that he would make Max happy. He knew that she watched him sit in the background and refuse to partake in dinner conversations. He had no desire to make friends here—not when he would be leaving them behind to be devoured.

But Max tried. She put in such an effort with these people, despite her frustration with their inaction, and he suspected she would want the same from him. The work wasn't difficult: he lifted some rubble to barricade the staircase on the other side, and then held some metal in place while Ben's fat, stiff fingers welded it along the door. Apparently, the substance would repel bullets, which the Pagurolids seemed quite fond of these days.

When they had finished with their work—not saying more than five words to one another the entire time—and made their way back up the elevator shaft, Loki desired Max's company. However, he found her shortly after sharing a blanket with that boy. There he was, wet and stinking from doing a task he thought would make her happy, and he returns to find her cuddled up to another man. In that moment, he was irate—and laughably jealous. He quickly distanced himself from the couple, locking himself in the shared bathroom to freshen up from his labour.

When he had time to think, he acknowledged that the boy was too young for her, that she was probably being friendly—Max was uncommonly accepting of what she saw in the tower, and perhaps the boy required her support. Still, she was smiling and laughing in ways that Loki seldom saw—and he thought they were reserved for him. After pacing their room dozens of times, going back and forth between hating himself for being jealous of human affairs and being genuinely frustrated that he needed to share her, he came to a conclusion of how to remedy the situation.

He would remind her that she belonged in his bed. They hadn't spoke of it, but Loki assumed they needn't discuss what had transpired between them earlier in the week—had they not returned to their previous relationship? Max let him touch her, kiss her, and her allegiance was first and foremost to Loki, but perhaps she simply needed her memory refreshed—so much had happened in her world, after all.

As he anticipated, she was receptive to his advances, and after the assurance of gentleness, he took her until he was satisfied—and she repeatedly so. In Loki's opinion, the quality of their intimacy had decreased somewhat since he resumed his natural form. He enjoyed her, as he always did, but the sensations were less now than before. Physically, he lacked the satisfaction he experienced as a human, but there was more to intimacy than the physical act itself. Max seemed happier than before, and it gave him a sense of pride knowing it stemmed from his normal self. Still, it was more difficult to fully lose himself when he needed to concentrate on not harming her—he already invested a great deal of energy in lightening himself up to ensure he didn't crush her, and it was a pity that needed to continue in the bedroom.

Perhaps one day, he might find a way for them to be together without his magic and Odin's lingering influence changing him, but until then, he did what he must.

She was curled up on her side, wrapped in blankets and bare beneath them, on the bed that she had so cleverly sought to double in his absence. Her eyes were closed and her breathing even, but he knew she wasn't asleep—she had slept too much this last week to partake in afternoon naps.

Was it the afternoon anymore? He had lost track of time when they were together, and he leaned across her to collect his trousers, which were in a pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. In one pocket sat a wristwatch, one that Reed had offered him after they unplugged the digital clocks. It read that the hour was late, verging on seven in the evening. Dinner tended to be in one hour from now, and he was sure Max would be upset if she missed it. However, she remained still as he moved around, and Loki saw no reason to disturb her.

Once out of the tangle of linens, Loki dressed. The clothing Reed gave him was slightly too short around his wrists and ankles, and his shrunken physical form—starved and weakened from his prison sentence—made the waist fit perfectly. In a few weeks, perhaps less, the clothing would be too small. But by then, he hoped to be gone from this place.

He hovered by the window for a moment, watching the streets below. There was some more activity now: the odd person walking along an empty sidewalk, masked beneath a wide-brimmed umbrella—then a car. He had never seen a Pagurolid invasion in person (he'd only heard the stories), and he wondered what their game was—when did the rest of the world realize that it was rigged, and no one but the Pagurolids would walk away as victors?

His eyes drifted up to the sky, as though he could see through the heavy clouds, and he glared. Why had Heimdall not recalled him to Asgard? Why leave him here to suffer? Loki had endured Odin's punishment—surely he was still a citizen of the city, a prince in the palace.

Perhaps not.

Shaking his head, he strode across the room to the dark bathroom, and then splashed his face down in the sink. He lingered for a moment, hands gripping the edges of the counter, before straightening up and wiping the moisture away with his shirt. He wasn't hungry or tired—restless. He was sick of being in this tower, sick of waiting for them to find him.

He wanted out.

With a heavy sigh, he drifted back into the bedroom. Max had rolled over, facing the edge of the bed now, and her eyes were open, their gaze blank. Frowning, he kneeled in front of her and saw the collection of tears building in the corner of one eye, spilling over the bridge of her nose and falling onto the white bedspread. To her credit, she wasn't trembling or whimpering, nor was her breathing ragged. If she hadn't been leaking, there would be no other outward signs of her state.

"Did I hurt you?" he inquired. She shook her head, blinking slowly, and Loki wiped away the tears that slipped loose in the process.

"Your fingers are cold," she murmured as he smoothed them down her cheeks. He saw her skin prickle under his touch, right down to the curve of her shoulder, and he retracted his hand. Resting it on the blanket instead, he watched her sniffle and stare through him, her mind quite obviously elsewhere.

Loki didn't understand her—and he truly wished to. He couldn't fathom how she had any tears left anymore, how she had them to spare. There was death around her, yes, but he would have never taken Max as someone who took on the pain of others—apparently, the bodies in the subway system affected her more than he anticipated. He wanted to find a way to make her stop, to make her forget, but he could never forgive himself if he used magic to influence her. So, he simply let her cry and hoped she would stop soon.

"I'm going to go see to some dinner," he told her, feeding his fingers through her hair now. "I'll fetch you when it's ready."

"Okay." It was barely a whisper, and he saw the ends of her lips quirk up—a valiant effort to smile. She didn't seem to like it when he was gone for long, and Loki enjoyed the permission to hover, to feel needed.

He shouldn't have kissed her, but he did anyway, pressing his lips over her slightly parted ones. Her response now was feeble, nothing like before despite his efforts, and he only pulled away when he felt her fingers on his chin. She trailed them along his jawline and cupped his face, stroking his skin with her thumb, and then offered another small smile. Then, without another word, she rolled over, dragging the linens up to cover herself. Loki lingered for a moment, watching and waiting, and then rose when she stilled again.

She remained unmoved when he marched to the doorway, and he shut the door softly behind him. The floor was theirs and theirs alone, but it felt prudent that their bedchambers give them both a sense of privacy.

The stairwell was painfully silent, as it always was, and Loki took the stairs two at a time. Each floor he passed was darkened—most of the lights had slowly been turned out, as if the bulbs were dying. He thought the actions were premature, but he had no desire to influence the way these people responded to an invasion. The Spider's floor had a few lights on it, though Loki saw no sign of the imp when he peered through the glass window on the door. There were a number of dark floors after that, until he stumbled upon one that did not usually have a light on—it caught his attention.

The eatery was only three floors down, but something drew him to the window—made him stop. Licking his lips, he squinted as he peered into a well-lit hallway. It looked nothing out of the ordinary in comparison to the rest of the building, but there were no doors on either side of the hall. Instead, it was simply one long corridor with a single door at the end. Curiosity peaked; Loki turned the knob and stepped inside, his frown deepening when he noticed the temperature change. It wasn't uncomfortably different here, but to any of the humans, it would have been remarkably cooler than the stairwell.

No artwork on the walls, no fur on the floor: the hall was bland and sterile, and Loki's borrowed shoes made almost no sound at all as they padded against the tile.

His fingers ghosted along the metal door—the coldest thing in the room. It felt solid, heavy even, and after glancing over his shoulder, he turned the rectangular handle and heaved the beast open. It was unlocked, and practically sprung ajar in his hand.

Before him was a room that looked nothing like anything he had seen in the week that he had been here. It was a circular room that must have encompassed three levels: open in the middle with different floors sectioned by railings trailing up the side. The white lights were practically piercing after spending so long in the dark, and as he stepped forward, he saw more technical equipment here than he had in his entire stay on this realm's surface.

There were walls lined with computers, scanners, trackers, and a plethora of blinking lights—every colour imaginable shone back at him. On this floor, there were massive rectangular cases with hoses connecting them, along with tables shrouded in paperwork and books and glass tubes. In the center, the Spider sat, surrounded by metal tools. He was hunched over, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and he appeared to be constructing something.

"Evening, Loki."

He didn't jump, nor did he flinch or gasp. Reed Richards was not human, and it did not surprise Loki that he had the capability of sneaking up on someone like him. However, his voice was a jarring addition to the scenery, and Loki pivoted to face him, his eyebrows up.

"There is more to this tower than I thought," he mused. Reed was dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater, his traditional grey streaks on either side of his head quite prominent beneath the lights. "Have I intruded where I am not welcome?"

"No, not really," Reed insisted, stepping around him and darting down the two steps that took him into the main hall. He gestured out at nothing in particular. "I had to dispense with my live specimens yesterday… The lab is perfectly safe."

At that moment, something sparked noisily from the Spider, and the boy looked up with a sheepish expression when Reed cleared his throat.

"Sorry."

"Live specimens?" Loki repeated, following the man down the stairs and studying the upper levels of the lab—as much as he could see anyway. His eyebrows shot up: it was an impressive space.

"Nothing to worry yourself with," Reed told him, leaning on one of the tables and folding his arms across his chest. "Nothing unethical either."

"Were you attempting to find a solution to Earth's… infestation problem?" Loki had no qualms about asking the question directly. Ever since Max's uncomfortable encounter with Sue, his woman had been so delicate about the way she phrased things—so very diplomatic.

Reed stared at him for a moment, and then let his head fall to his chest.

"I can't do anything if I don't know what I'm fighting," he said finally, straightening up and sighing. "I'd rather not guess at—"

"They are very killable, I can assure you," Loki mused, recalling the way he pummeled a Pagurolid in human skin to a pulp in Masonville. "The creatures inside are clever… They need to be to colonize, but they are not indestructible."

He wandered over to one of the metal casings, peering inside and wondering what might have resided in it. When he looked back at Reed, the man's eyebrows were furrowed deeply.

"What are they?"

No one had wanted to know when Loki first told them of the Pagurolids. No one cared to believe that aliens were back, that they had found a way in. Even with a group of superhumans, it seemed that aliens were too remote a thought. Loki decided it was one of the weaknesses of the human race—to deny until absolute proof was presented.

"Pagurolids, as I said," he reiterated, picking up a wrench and examining it in the light. There were flecks of something on the tool—blood, perhaps? "They are a colonial race that moves from planet to planet. They harvest host bodies, usually those who have some power, and slowly take the planet. In my experience, they use the realm's resources until there are none left."

"And how do they take a host?"

To his credit, the man did not sound frightened at the prospect. Instead, Reed appeared quite collected, and the Spider barely looked up from his work in the background.

"They empty the body cavity and meld their bodies within it," Loki explained, shrugging his shoulders when Reed's eyes narrowed. "I cannot be sure how they do it. Perhaps there is magic, and perhaps not."

"And you said they weren't indestructible?"

"They are only a fraction stronger than the bodies they live inside. I dispensed with one some years ago… It took some precise blows, but the creatures live inside the chest, and they are not large."

"They just live in large things," Reed mused, rubbing his chin and shaking his head. "How do they take over planets then?"

"They populate quickly," Loki guessed, knitting his fingers together behind his back. "I suspect they have a connection to their population outside of the realm… They bring more of their kind in. Humanity is a rich species. There will be many bodies to occupy before they are through."

Reed was silent for a long time after that, giving Loki another opportunity to examine the massive space. The Spider appeared to be building metal devices that he could clamp onto his wrists; he didn't object when Loki picked one up to inspect, but continued prodding at the other. They were small and thin, circular guards that could easily strap onto any limb. He tried not to look too interested, and eventually set the device down without a word.

"So, are you saying these… creatures," Reed started up again when Loki was close enough, "fuse their tissue to ours and become the body's new brain center?"

"I suppose."

Reed nodded a few times, pushing himself off the table and pacing in front of Loki.

"That brings up a lot of interesting issues," he mused, hands on his hips as he marched back and forth. "I mean, what is it about their tissue that merges with ours? Do some people have a genetic code that wouldn't accept alien tissue? Could we… Could we use that to do something about them?"

"I am unsure if it has been tried in the past—"

"Maybe a vaccine," Reed carried on, almost as though he forgot Loki was present. "What if we could save the human tissue by killing the alien tissue?"

He frowned. "The humans are dead."

That seemed to stop Reed's movements, and his arms fell to his sides.

"They are but empty husks," he continued, seeing no need to put the information delicately. "If you wanted to fight back in the manner which you suggested, there is no point to account for human life… It is already spent."

"So…" Reed trailed off, frowning again as he resumed pacing. "We'd just need to find a way to kill them… efficiently. I mean, they still look like people… It will be difficult to get others to kill things that look like their neighbour."

"Yes, that would be a problem, wouldn't it?"

"They've already done that, actually," he told Loki, pointing toward a very large monitor. "I've been able to get around the blocks they've put on the internet connections, and according to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database—" Loki scoffed noisily at the name. Reed cleared his throat. "According to them, Sri Lanka is completely under the control of one of their agents."

"Oh? And how were they able to manage that?" He was skeptical of such news, unwilling to believe that there wasn't an inch of this planet that the Pagurolids hadn't corrupted.

"Genocide, I guess," Reed muttered, licking his lower lip. "The photos coming out of that place suggest it was a blood bath. They've closed all their borders, apparently. So has Norway and Sweden."

"Where are you—"

"I once had the codes to Fury's databases, and it wasn't difficult to get back inside," Reed insisted. "A friend showed me how once… Their security systems should be upped, but it seems like we aren't the only ones in chaos."

"Norway…" The name felt familiar on his tongue—the old Norse, the worshippers. He immediately thought to Thor, who undoubtedly would have made the land his second home should he be removed from American soil. Had he fought?

"South America is a black hole," Reed continued. "I mean, Brazil, Chile, Peru, and Argentina are just… there's no information going in or out. I don't know what's happening down there. Chicago's the same, and I bet Manhattan is another one."

He shook his head. "The likelihood of that much survival is unrealistic—"

"That's what I thought at first," he said, "but there's footage of fighting. It's not much, but it's something. Maybe… Maybe there…"

Loki waited, watching the wheels in the man's head turn, until finally those wheels stopped altogether—he appeared to shut down.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered. "We're safe here. If other countries can do it, I don't see why Captain America can't—"

"You know why," the Spider said suddenly. "We both saw the broadcast."

Loki's eyebrow shot up. "Saw what?"

"There was a telecast early this morning," Reed told him weakly, "that said for every rescue fighter they catch over New York airspace, they'll kill a handful of people. I don't know if it's a serious threat… I mean, they need the bodies—"

"Not live ones," Loki mused, which silenced the man once more. "They merely need enough time to climb inside before the skin decomposes."

"That's why nobody's going to help us," the Spider lamented, slamming a tool down noisily. Loki watched him glare at nothing. "We're a giant city full of hostages, and that'll keep everyone out until they can get inside us."

"That is only a possibility, not a probability," Reed argued.

"And we're sitting on the inside of everything," the Spider continued, fiddling with his metallic wrist brace. His tone lost its lustre with every word, until he was barely speaking above a whisper. "We're just sitting here while they do it."

"How long have planets survived an attack like this?"

Reed looked to him for a definitive answer, his gaze steady and voice stern.

"I never claimed to be an expert on the Pagurolid race," Loki reasoned, equally firm in his response. "From what I have learned in the past, whispers and nothing more, is that they will stay until they devour the realm. Scouts will be sent out shortly before the end, and they will find a new realm to exploit." Reed seemed unsatisfied with his response, and he quickly added. "How long can this planet endure exploitation to that degree?"

Reed shook his head and turned away. The thought seemed to have taken the wind out of him, and Loki wandered back to the Spider's table, picking up one of the devices once more.

"What are you making?"

The Spider shrugged, resuming his tinkering on the other brace. "They're for Max."

Loki's grip tightened around the metal. "What?"

"I'm making them for her," he reiterated, not looking up. "I'm going to teach her to swing."

Jaw clenched tightly, Loki clamped down on the device—it easily snapped in two. The Spider looked up sharply, and Loki set the broken metal back down on the table.

"It seems they will need more work before you give them to her," he noted. He then turned on his heel and stalked out of the lab, leaving both men in a miserable silence.

Max couldn't sit by herself anymore. Before Loki left, all she wanted was the solitude, but as soon as that door shut behind him, she regretted his absence. Things had been wonderful with him: the sex was great—light and fun and good. Plus, from what she could tell, she wasn't quite as bruised this time around. However, once she had some downtime, she was almost immediately overwhelmed with guilt for feeling so happy. Not only were other people suffering around her, but Nolan was dead. Nolan was gone, and she wasn't mourning him—she didn't even want to talk about it with anyone. Naturally, she felt like she ought to, but she couldn't force the words out; they were strangled in her throat every time.

So, in the silence, it was easy to fall into sadness—and she wanted to be sad. People were sad when loved ones died, and she knew she needed to take more than a week and a half to be a miserable wreck. No one deserved to carry that burden for her. She didn't want to overwhelm Loki with her emotions, nor did she feel like sharing the situation with the rest of the tower. For now, it was easier to keep it inside and cry in places like the shower—or, unfortunately, in bed. To his credit, Loki had done what she assumed he thought was best for her in the moment, and she was happy he hadn't pressed for anything more.

Still, she felt hollow when he left. The bed was too big, the room too quiet. So, after taking a few deep, calming breaths, she ended up throwing some clothes on and hurrying after him. However, when she finally arrived at the main kitchen, slightly winded, she frowned when she realized he wasn't even there. Max seldom ran into people in the stairwell, and it had been empty now—where had he ended up?

She could smell Sue's cooking—pizza from a box—as soon as she wandered onto the floor. The woman was puttering around the kitchen area, seeing to both a salad and a pot of Kraft Dinner.

"Do you need any help?" Max asked as she approached, surveying the scene quickly. All the plates seemed to be set out and ready for whoever planned to eat, and Sue shook her head, offering her a quick smile.

"It'll be another ten minutes and then it's all finished," she insisted, waving her off. "Thanks though."

"No problem."

She had been trying to get back onto Sue's good side ever since she wound up on her aloof side earlier in the week, and nothing she did seemed to work. Max thought she was a fairly likeable person, but Sue seemed to keep her distance—rarely did they even talk to one another in a group setting unless Max was trying to help cook or clean.

So, she drifted toward the seating area, smiling when she spotted Johnny and Franklin engaged in a game of chess. Based on the number of fallen pieces on each side of the board, Franklin was already victorious.

"Hey," she greeted warmly, perking up when the boy grinned at her. "Are you winning?"

"Obviously," he replied, pointing to all the black chess pieces he had conquered. "Uncle Johnny doesn't know how to play chess."

The man shot her a look, which made her laugh, and then moved a pawn. "I'm trying my best, kiddo."

"He really is," Franklin told her as she placed a hand on the back of his chair. "He isn't doing that adult thing where they pretend to be bad to make us feel good… He's really just that terrible."

"Can't say I play much chess in my spare time," Johnny grumbled, leaning back in his chair and smirking up at her. "It wasn't really the cool thing to do when I was a kid."

Max blushed, though she tried to hide it. Johnny Storm was one of America's most eligible bachelors. He was usually on the cover of gossip magazines at least once a month, and she had read dozens of feature articles about him and his various careers—astronaut, fighter pilot, race car driver, model.

And Max, like a lot of the girls she knew growing up, had a teensy crush on bad boy Johnny Storm.

"Maybe you can teach me how to play sometime, Franklin?" she suggested, nudging his shoulder. "Peter didn't really do a good job."

"That's because Peter is terrible too," Franklin said, moving his queen straight across the board. "Check mate."

Johnny watched his nephew knock his king piece over, and then clutched at his heart. "Oh, the horror! Lost again!"

"Ten minutes to dinner, guys," Sue called. "I'm going to get your dad…"

"Tell him he owes me money," Johnny laughed, waggling his fingers at her when she glared over his shoulder.

"Not our dad, obviously."

"Yeah, Uncle Johnny," Franklin jeered. "Not your dad!"

"Oh, silly me…" Johnny sighed dramatically, shooting her a wink as Franklin cleared the board, and she swore her blush worsened. He hadn't ever paid her this much direct attention, and it was a little flustering. She even heard Valeria giggle from her spot on the couch, which made Max jump—she hadn't noticed the little girl lurking, but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Let me give you some pointers before dinner," Franklin insisted. "Move, Uncle Johnny."

"Hey, no kicking!"

Max cleared her throat and settled into Johnny's vacated chair, which he held out for her, smiling like an idiot. She tucked her hair behind her ears, shuffling forward when Johnny eased the chair in, and the let out a giddy sigh.

"It's really easy to play chess once you know what you're doing," Franklin told her. She could hear the excitement in his voice: he loved it when someone, anyone, paid extra close attention to him. Max had a few opportunities to interact with the kids over the week, and Franklin tended to talk a lot, while his sister rarely said a word. It was a strange dynamic—neither Nolan nor Max ever shut up when they were little.

"So where are you from, Max?"

Johnny had settled next to Valeria on the couch, his legs splayed open and an arm thrown back behind his head. He still grinned at her, and she hoped that the blush was starting to fade.

"Vermont."

"Anything interesting ever happen up there?"

She shrugged, trying to focus on the way Franklin set up the board. "Not really."

"That's what I thought."

"The pawns are more important than people give them credit for," Franklin told her pointedly, tapping each square that he set a piece down on. "Never underestimate them."

"Okay." Max chuckled—mostly out of discomfort by the way Johnny's eyes lingered on her. "That's good to know."

"Do you know why they call me the Human Torch?"

She arched an eyebrow, slowly turning her gaze back to him. "Because you're… a human torch?"

"I burn hot, baby." He snapped his fingers, igniting the tips of them, and she smiled without meaning to.

"Uncle Johnny, stop," Franklin complained. "Chess requires total focus."

"I'm paying attention, Franklin," Max assured him, though her eyes quickly wandered back to Johnny's hands, which had a perfectly round fireball hovering over each palm. He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"No, you're flirting with Uncle Johnny." Franklin sounded unimpressed with the assessment, and Max looked back at him sharply.

"I'm… I'm really not—"

"It's okay if you were," Johnny remarked. He winked again when she shot him a look. "I get it all the time."

"Oh my god," she muttered, covering her cheeks. There was no point in hiding her blush, since both Johnny and Franklin seemed to be acutely aware of it. "I just want to play chess."

"That's what I'm trying to show you," Franklin groaned, tapping the board. "Now, you want your first move to set the tone of your strategy, but not in an obvious way…"

"You got a boyfriend out there looking for you?" Johnny asked, and Max shot him a wide-eyed look. However, before she could respond, she spotted Loki standing in the doorframe behind the couch. She wasn't sure how long he had been there for, but as he stepped into the room, his movements appeared stiff. She tried to offer a warm smile regardless.

"Hey," she greeted, nodding down to the board. "Franklin's teaching me how to play chess so I don't suck at it."

"Ah."

Unimpressed, Max turned her gaze back to the board and saw that Franklin had moved the pawn on the far left of his side forward.

"I went looking for you," she insisted as Loki stalked to her side. "Where'd you go?"

"I found a distraction," he muttered. He then stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, which slid up to her neck.

"Max, you don't want to take too long to make your first move."

"I never do," Johnny chuckled, seeming to relish in her discomfort, "if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, thanks," she forced out, keeping a smile plastered on her face. When she felt Loki's grip tighten, she squirmed out of his grasp and glanced up at him over her shoulder. His expression remained stoic, his hand hovering, but before she could shoo him away—possessive loitering still wasn't a trait she appreciated in him—with the intention of dealing with it later, Franklin interjected.

"Do you know how to play chess, Loki?"

The boy sounded less excited and more polite now, but he still stared up at Loki with an expression of giddy anticipation. Loki cleared his throat.

"No, I cannot say I do."

"Pull up a chair," Franklin offered. "I'll teach you both."

"No, no more chess," Sue said noisily. Max spotted her hurrying to the stove as Peter and Reed followed shortly after. "Dinner's ready."

"But we can play and eat," Franklin argued, sliding off his chair and darting around the couch. "Mom!"

"I'm just messing with you," Johnny told her once she was on her feet. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, dragging her away from Loki. "It's nice to have you guys here… Keeps the mood light, you know?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, but she forced a smile again anyway as he stared at her, waiting for a response. "Yeah, definitely."

He gave her a bit of a squeeze, which made her stomach flutter nervously, and then flitted off to grab a plate. When she looked back at Loki, he quickly stepped around her and took a plate for himself—and then refused to meet her gaze for the rest of the meal.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Alrighty! Without outright saying it, I dropped some Avengers hints in there—you can tell who's doing well based on location, I suppose. I wanted to try not to alternate between too many different points of view in this story. I recall that, when I said at the end of TSiF I'd have fewer Avengers POVs, no one seemed to mind the focus on Loki and Max. I really wanted this story to focus on their relationship, even more so than before, which is why I haven't drifted off to other story elements as of yet. Things will pick up in the latter half of the plot, but for now, I wanted the audience to learn things as Max and Loki do.

Plus, I don't have the wrist capacity to write 6000+ words a week on top of everything else I'm doing, and that's what I'd need to have with a lot of multiple POVs and various storylines elsewhere.

I noticed a lot of people were happy with the jealous traits in Loki, and I think there was a positive side to it in the last chapter, but we can't forget how ugly jealousy can—and will—get. Loki's jealousy in this chapter is both obvious and subtle (to me, anyway), and his reasons vary.

Anyway! I'm off to edit a manuscript for a job I picked up… I have about 70,000 words to get through this week (guh). As always, I'm aiming for weekly updates, and my weeks run Sunday to Saturday—therefore, you can expect updates between those days.

I LOVE YOU ALLLL! Thanks for your continued support and interest and appreciation in this story and its characters, and I'll see you next week!