It was five in the morning, and Max hadn't felt this awake in quite some time. After slipping a pair of running shoes onto her feet, she tied the laces in painful slowness, trying to make as little noise as possible. Loki was still asleep, on his back with his fingers laced together neatly on his chest. His face looked peaceful—relaxed, even. He hadn't actually slept much in the last two days, and even before they sat and played round after round of chess with Franklin yesterday—both pointedly ignoring the fact that they needed to talk—she noticed he was restless. So, when he returned to their bedroom the night before and saw she had separated their beds, he crawled into his wordlessly and actually drifted off to sleep.

She hadn't moved the mattresses very far apart. At first, in her anger, Max had wanted to haul the thing back to the other room. Unfortunately, she couldn't drag both the mattress and the box spring by herself—and a part of her hadn't wanted to leave completely anyway. So, the heads of each mattress touched, making the beds form an L-shape formation, and that was the best she could do under the circumstances.

He hadn't apologized. He had played chess with Franklin almost all day yesterday, and even though she sat with him for most of it, he hadn't said a word about what he hinted at earlier in the day—that she was a whore who hopped from bed to bed with ease. It hurt. It stung, and she knew, for the most part, that he was only saying it because his pride was wounded, but that still didn't give him the right to say it. After a while, Max got up to stretch her legs—it was quite the strain to stay by him, touching and yet not touching, pretending to be chipper for a boy who was extremely excited about his new playing partner.

It was then that she talked to Peter, seated side-by-side in the stairwell, about her issues with Loki. He seemed genuinely interested in listening to her, and when she had blurted everything she had been feeling to him, he told her that he wasn't sure what she should do—but she couldn't leave it the way it was. She knew that. She knew that she and Loki couldn't continue to exist on some plane of silence for much longer before they broke completely.

Peter also asked if she was in love with him, and that was a question Max didn't know the answer to. The conversation changed rapidly after that realization, and he accidentally admitted that he planned to sneak out of the tower in the wee hours of the following morning; he wanted to see his apartment, but Max assumed he wanted to see if Gwen might be hiding inside.

Max pounced—getting out was exactly what she needed. She needed a breather from the tower's occupants, Loki included, and she also simply needed a breath of fresh air—genuine, real, smoggy New York air. With May crawling to an end, the weather was starting to get warmer, despite the few weeks of rain and misery. Soon, the tower—particularly the upper floors—was going to need the air conditioning turned on, or they'd all slowly cook over the course of the summer. She couldn't imagine being stuck in hiding for that long, but with the pace everyone was moving at here, that seemed like an unfortunate reality.

Tiptoeing across the room, Max crouched down by Loki's discarded pants and fished around in each pocket to retrieve the wristwatch Reed had lent him. Squinting at it in the darkness, she saw that it was only quarter after five, which meant she had another fifteen minutes before she needed to meet Peter at the entrance to the roof. She set the watch back where it was supposed to be, tensing when the metal belt buckle made some noise on the floor. Loki stirred, inhaling deeply, but made no other move to indicate he was awake.

Licking her lips, she shuffled toward the window and peered down to the street. There wasn't much traffic to speak of, but she had noticed that there were more people on the streets these last few days—and they weren't all in a uniform. No, it seemed that average men and women were walking around, and she wondered if that was supposed to mean anything.

Her breath caught in her throat when a massive cruiser rolled down the street, flashing red and blue lights on the top of the vehicle. It didn't stop by their building, thankfully, and Max wondered if anyone knew they were all hidden inside. She glanced back at Loki; if they knew he was here, they would have stormed the building to get their figurehead back—there was no doubt about that.

She eased herself to her feet carefully, eyes fixed on Loki's sleeping form, and then padded across the room. When she lingered in the door, she wasn't sure if she had actually successfully snuck out or he was just a really good actor.

Still, she didn't bother to find out. Instead, she zipped up her borrowed sweater—tastefully matched with a pair of yoga pants that were too short for her—and then hurried down the hall. Once she had shut the heavy metal door behind her, wincing when it clicked noisily into place, Max darted up the two flights of stairs that separated her floor from the roof exit. She arrived first, as she suspected she might, and she sat on the top stair with her arms resting on her knees, taking the moment to catch her breath.

The footsteps that echoed after her were faint at first, but as they grew louder, she started to worry that Loki had been a lighter sleeper than she anticipated. However, when Peter's light brown hair bobbed up the last stairwell, she relaxed a little, the tension easing out of her shoulders, and she returned his smile.

"Brought us something to eat," he told her as he bounded up the last few steps. He wasn't winded in the slightest, and Max shot him a jealous look as he settled next to her. "Nothing too heavy… I don't want you throwing up on me."

"Good thinking," she muttered, taking the apple and two slices of bread from him. "I'd rather not do that either."

The apple crunched when she bit into it, and Max absently wondered how long they would be able to steal fresh fruit from the nearby grocery—Sue mentioned their supplies were running low last time she was in there.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She looked up at Peter when he spoke, and then nodded. "I mean, we don't know what it's like out there."

"We'll just blend in," she insisted after a moment of thoughtful chewing. "We've been seeing more… normal people on the street over the last few days."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Look, this was your idea," she told him, arching an eyebrow. "I want to come with you, but don't try to make me justify your reasoning."

He pursed his lips, and then broke off a piece of bread to nibble on. "You're right."

"We won't be out there for more than a few hours at the most." Her stomach gave a nervous twinge at the thought of seeing familiar sights. She wouldn't deny her nerves—this was actually quite dangerous. However, she felt better knowing that she had a superhero at her side, and should things take a turn for the worse, he would probably know what to do.

"It's a bit of a hike to my apartment," he muttered after a moment. "You could always sit this one out and come with me some other time."

"I want to go now," she said, shaking her head and sighing. "I need to get out of this building for a bit."

He nodded and said nothing else about it. Max finished her apple quickly, and then wolfed down her two slices of bread. The only thing that was missing was a tall glass of milk, but that might have been asking for too much. So, once they had finished, they were on their feet, and Max watched Peter punch in the door code to gain access to the roof. It buzzed when the numbers were successful, and Peter gently pushed the door open. She followed him up some more stairs, inhaling deeply as a waft of morning air filtered down through small corridor. The entryway at the end was open, as though thrown ajar by a storm, and they passed through it undetected.

Out of habit, they crouched low as they scrambled across the expansive roof. The sun was only just starting to rise over the cityscape, and a tingle of adrenaline shot through her as they approached the edge. The cement wall around the roof was high enough for her to kneel comfortably behind, and she watched Peter peer over and down to the street, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Whatever you do," he told her as he rolled his sleeve up, "don't scream on the way down."

Max mimicked zipping her lips shut, and she watched him attach some of his webbing to the edge of the building. She would have liked to see him give an experimental tug, but he had more confidence in that thick rope than she did.

"Okay." He gestured for her to come to him. "Let's do this."

"If you drop me," she started, standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck, "I will haunt you."

"Fair enough."

Her palms were sweaty as she clasped them together, but she felt like she was preparing herself for a ride at an amusement park. They had chosen the side of the building that housed the stairwell, as there were no windows looking out there. She wasn't sure if anyone inside would stop them from what they were about to do, but neither of them wanted to chance it.

Her stomach was actually in pain when she felt him curl his arm around her waist, and they stepped up onto the edge in unison.

"Remember—"

"Don't scream, yeah," she murmured. "I got it."

"Here we go."

He gave her no countdown, no extra preparation. Instead, Peter simply stepped off the roof, taking her with him, and Max had to bite down on her tongue—hard—to keep from shrieking as they plummeted down the side of the building. The wind whipping past made her eyes water, and she shut them halfway through the freefall. Peter brought them to a gentle stop, and it was over before it began. Her feet were numb—cold. She could feel him unhooking the webbing from his wrist, and yet she couldn't let go of him.

"How are you doing?"

"Give me a second," she whispered heatedly. Her heart hammered away in her chest, and every single limb shook.

"We don't have a second," he muttered, untangling their bodies and stepping away, his hands on her shoulders. "We need to move."

Max nodded, fixing her hair with shaking hands, and then followed him as he started off down the street. The first people they ran into were uniformed guards, but neither stopped them—they carried on, fingers pressed to their ears, like they were listening to something. The farther from the building they walked, the more people they saw. For a brief moment, it almost felt like she was back in her city—people were getting up to face the day. Early-risers were jogging or rushing to work. They passed by her without looking at her, their dead expressions fixed on something unseen in the distance.

What she noticed most was that no one had a flicker of emotion on their faces, and that was more than enough for her to realize that she was surrounded by non-humans wearing human skins. No one would have been happy to be awake at six, but there was something extra deadened about the people they passed—these weren't typical humans at all.

Even though the streets were busier than she had seen them in weeks, they were by no means as busy as Manhattan could have been. She had had days in the past where she was absolutely barricaded in by a swarm of people, all moving in the same direction at the same pace. They'd be talking on their phones or to each other, or moving in silence with headphones in their ears. Sometimes they'd touch her, but always accidentally—and no one apologized.

That wasn't quite her experience on the street that morning. Even couples walking in pairs had some space around them, and Peter and Max quickly spread out when they realized it, giving themselves about a foot of distance. She kept him in her peripheral sightline; if he turned, she'd follow. She knew, in the vaguest sense, where they were going—he lived by NYU, which meant they'd be walking for an hour, minimum, before they reached his apartment.

Times Square was practically vacant. None of the advertisements were lit up, and the billboards were in the process of being replaced—one had Loki's face on it.

She wanted to hold Peter's hand. It was hard to keep a mask of indifference on as they powerwalked along sidewalks and roads alike—harder than she would have anticipated. To hide her emotions, to keep the grief and anger and horror at bay, was probably one of the hardest things she had ever done. Everyone around her was dead. Corpses strolled by with little green men inside, and a few tears sprung to her eyes when she wondered if she might see Nolan somewhere.

She swallowed it down, naturally, and licked her lips with a sniffle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter glance at her, but she made no other sound to indicate that she was faltering. She could do this. After Peter's apartment would be hers, and she could take a moment to cry in her closet—she knew she'd need to.

There were more people—things—in regular clothing than black uniforms, and Max tried not to look at them whenever one walked by. How many of them had worn black during the initial invasion? How many of them were new and unused to the human way?

Her eyes flickered toward Peter as they crossed an avenue, and she wondered if he was experiencing the same internal struggle that she was. He kept his face straight, better than she did, and moved with purpose.

The city around her wasn't in shambles, but it had definitely seen better days. Windows were shattered, though the glass had long since been cleaned up. Cars were still upturned, and they saw a few buildings with damaged walls and entrances. She tried not to look around too much, but it was hard to ignore a two-storey department store that was hollowed out and gaping at her as she strolled by.

When they eventually reached Peter's apartment, the sun was out in its full glory and the heat was starting to make her sweat—all the powerwalking wasn't helping either. Unfortunately, Peter's building seemed to be one of many on his street that didn't survive the invasion. Most of the windows were blown out. The door was off its hinges. A whole chunk of someone's apartment was hanging from the sixth floor.

Max touched his hand briefly as they paused in front of the ruin, and he shook his head.

"Gwen wouldn't come back to this," he muttered. "She'd stay in Brooklyn with Aunt May."

"Well, that's good then," she told him, trying to speak without moving her lips much. "Right?"

"I guess."

"Do you want to get anything from your place?" she asked, taking a step away from him when she spotted a man marching in their general direction. Peter shook his head, and they departed without another word.

This time, it was her turn to lead, and she took him two streets over before heading back in the direction of their safe house. Her apartment wasn't far from Peter's, but the more she walked in the morning heat, the more difficult she found it to appear physically comfortable when she so obviously wasn't. At one point, she unzipped her sweater in a fluid motion, and that managed to get some airflow in to stem the sweat around her armpits.

Just as it was before, no one stopped them. In fact, no one even looked at them, even if they were walking directly in front of her. Everyone appeared to look through one another, and Max tried her best to do the same—tried to ignore the fact that all the people she saw today were dead.

As they turned smoothly onto her street, stepping around a group of people in mismatched business suits, Max let out a shaky puff of air. From what she could tell, her apartment looked to be in better shape than Peter's was by far. The lobby's windows were gone, but when she glanced up, she saw that her apartment's dusty panes were still intact. She didn't look at Peter as they approached the door—she didn't want to see the hurt on his face when she got what she wanted and he didn't. They moved silently, passing into the building as though they owned it. She didn't look back to see if they were being watched, as that might have tipped the watcher off that something was amiss. Instead, she led him toward the stairwell at the far side of the lobby, with its floor covered in dust and bits of glass and wood and the odd shoe here and there.

Once they were shut away from the dead eyes of the rest of the city, Max doubled over with a noisy sob. She couldn't make it to her closet. Peter's hand was soon on her back, rubbing it, and when she looked up, she could see that his eyes were also watering. He ran his fingers under them quickly, brushing the tears away, and she did the same. And then they hugged, holding one another as though there were no other people in this world left, and she could feel him shaking.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "that it was… I'm sorry we couldn't go in."

He nodded, his arms tightening around her, and for once, she felt like she was the sturdy one. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, but she tried desperately to keep herself together for him. They stayed like that for some time, and it was Peter who finally let her go. His eyes were red and his face pale, but he gave her a watery smile and a sniffle.

"So, nice stairwell," he commented, nodding at the dark area. A few of the bulbs that lit up the levels between floors appeared to have blown out, and Max shrugged.

"She's ugly, but she's a home away from home," she said. When she realized her voice seemed to carry, she stopped talking, and they moved up the stairs in silence. Once they reached her floor, Max had the same feeling in her stomach that she did once she had reached the end of her sort-of freefall from the tower, and she grabbed Peter's wrist before he could push the door open.

"What?"

"There's a camera in the corner," she warned him, pointing up. "It's on the left."

"Oh."

Nodding, Peter opened the door slowly, and then reached up. She heard a crunch, and moments later he had the plastic orb in his hand, the wires dangling. He tossed it back into the stairwell, and then shrugged.

"Just in case, I guess."

"Oh, no, I approve," she told him, sidestepping him and hurrying down the hallway. Her door was unlocked when she tried it, and she hesitated before pushing it open. Feeling around on top of the doorframe, she found the spare key that she and Pat always left for one another—they each had a terrible habit of leaving their keychains at work. She'd lock up when she left and leave it where she found it.

"Careful," Peter muttered when she finally eased the door open, but she barely paid him any attention. Her breathing quickened as she stood in the doorway, and she felt violated to see her things in disarray. Someone had stolen their TV. The fridge door hung open with no food inside, and it seemed someone had raided her cupboards too.

Her hairbrush was sitting on the back of the couch where she had left it that morning all those weeks ago, absently talking to Nolan and searching for her bus pass. She ghosted her fingers over the bristles, shaking.

"Are you okay?"

"They took a lot of my stuff," she managed, grabbing the brush and gripping the handle firmly. There were still old magazines on the coffee table, along with a box of tissues and the remote for the DVD player. Looking back at the shoe rack by the door, she saw that Pat's work heels and coat were still missing, and she liked to think that she hadn't come home that day—that she hadn't been here to deal with whoever stole all their stuff.

"We shouldn't stay here too long."

"I know." She licked her lips and took a deep breath. "I just want to pack a small bag to bring back with me… Sue must be sick of lending me her clothes."

"Okay."

Peter followed her down the dark hall, and she carefully pushed her bedroom door open. Her room was messier than she left it. Her laptop was gone, as was her alarm clock and the mirror that hung on the outside of her closet, but otherwise she wasn't missing much.

Sighing, she flicked on the light, feeling safe with the curtain over the small window by her bed, and grabbed her gym bag. How was she supposed to fit her life into one small bag? What was most important, she knew, were clothes, so she opened her drawers and started to line the bag with underwear, socks, pants, and t-shirts. She managed to fit her own running shoes in there, and decided to give the pair she was wearing back to Sue immediately—they pinched her toes.

In the side pockets, she stuffed some moisturizers and non-essentials—anything that would fit and felt like home.

"That bag isn't exactly the most subtle," Peter commented. When she looked back at him, she saw him examining the photos on her bookshelf. She didn't reply: she was taking the bag.

When she got to her bed, she almost wanted to curl up under the covers and never leave. They could stay here. They managed to get around just fine on their own so far—did they even need the tower?

No, they did. She couldn't imagine doing this without Loki, even if he was on her shit list at the moment, and she knew that it would be stupid to forgo the strength of the Fantastic Four for the comforts of home. However, before she turned away, she spotted something she knew she couldn't leave without: Nolan's sweater. She had stolen it from a recent family barbeque, one that her parents had hosted in April on an unseasonably warm weekend. Max was a notorious hoarder of her brother's things, and no one batted an eye when she left while wearing it.

It was thick, baggy, and disgustingly old—their high school emblem was fading on the chest. Max brought it to her and inhaled deeply, her eyes prickling as she clenched them shut. It smelled like him. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend he was standing right in front of her.

"Is that Loki?"

Peter's voice drew her out of her fantasy, sounding almost too loud in her ears, and Max cleared her throat as she looked back at him. He had a Polaroid picture in hand, and she nodded, smiling a little.

"Yeah," she said with a chuckle, coming to his side with Nolan's sweater cuddled to her chest. "That was from when we dated a couple years ago, actually."

Tiffany had found the picture when she was packing up her room in Masonville and asked if Max wanted it. The shot was taken during the woman's Polaroid-obsessive phase shortly after Loki and Max officially started dating, and it was clearly taken without either of them realizing. They were at Ben's house, in the kitchen, with Loki wrapped around her from behind and his face nuzzled into her neck. He was smiling. Max seemed to be mid-giggle, her head turned somewhat toward him.

At first, Max hadn't wanted it. She didn't want things that reminded her of Loki, of the way he just left her. However, there was something about that photo that spoke to her, and she had taken it in the end, tucking it away on her bookshelf so that she could look at it if she ever wanted to.

"You guys look happy."

"We were," she said, taking the photo from him and giving it another hard look. The date and time was scribbled on the back in Tiffany's loopy handwriting, and Max felt a pang of worry in her heart for the woman. Where was she? Was she with Garret?

Was she one of the corpses on the street?

She pinned the photograph to her corkboard, preferring it to be there now, and then packed Nolan's sweater away.

"Ready?"

"Just a couple more things," she said, holding up her finger and darting down the hall to the bathroom. She heard Peter turn the light off in her bedroom just as she flicked the one on in the bathroom, and she stuffed whatever else would fit into her bag: toothbrush, razor, hair elastics, make-up, face wash. It wasn't all necessary, but if it fit, she'd take it.

She frowned when she couldn't find the one thing she thought she really needed, and she ended up fumbling around for a long time, going through the little plastic cabinets and under the sink.

"What are you looking for?" Peter inquired.

"My birth control pills," she said absently, digging through a bag she kept her spare tampons in. Those ought to come too… She dumped half in one of the already too-full pockets. Her cheeks pinked a little when she realized what she had said, and she met Peter's gaze in the mirror. "You know…"

"No offense," he started, "but are you guys even the same species? Can he even get you pregnant?"

"I… hadn't thought about that," she noted, her arms falling to her sides. "I don't know… I think he said we… No, I guess not."

"There you go," he said with a grin, the expression looking somewhat forced. "Let's get out of here."

"One last thing," she muttered. She grabbed a tube of Pat's lipstick—bright red—and scrawled a message on the mirror for her.

On the off-chance that she might come home sometime.

Pat – stay strong. Love, M.

"Okay," she said briskly, tossing the lipstick into the sink after capping it. "Let's go."

"Don't look like you're struggling with that bag," Peter insisted as they hurried down her hallway. She readjusted the strap across her chest self-consciously. "You'll be a giveaway."

"Yeah," she muttered, shooting her apartment one last wistful look, "a dead giveaway."

"Ha!"

Max let out a little squeal as Peter swung them from the tower's elevator shaft into the main floor's hallway. It was the same spot where she had first arrived on that fateful night all those weeks ago, and it felt strange to come back to it willingly with a bag of her things slung over her shoulder.

Both she and Peter had noticed a few curious eyes on them on their march back to the tower, and they ended up ducking into an open manhole shortly before reaching Times Square. There was a lot of noise underground, and they stuck to the shadows, avoiding wandering groups of people—neither could see well enough in the dark to tell if they were walking corpses or roving rebels, and neither wanted to take the time to find out.

It was a bit of a hassle getting through the underground works, and Max's borrowed shoes were so waterlogged by the time they happened upon a familiar tunnel route that she wondered if she should even give them back to Sue. Peter made no offer to carry her as Loki had, and she was shivering and stumbling through murky water behind her companion this time—she missed being carried. Still, there was something satisfying in making her own way through the underground system, and Peter seemed quite proud that she managed to keep up, not asking to stop even once.

Now that they were standing there, both of them somewhat breathless, they let out a few tired chuckles. Max leaned against the wall, her pants dripping little muddy water droplets on the clean tile, and she yanked her sneakers off gracelessly. All she wanted to do was change into some dry clothes and take a nap.

Maybe after a bit of food.

"Have you two lost your minds?"

Max straightened up quickly, the weary smile falling from her face, as Sue strode down the hall toward them. She didn't look as furious as she could have, but there was still an anger in her eyes that made Max want to cower—Peter looked like he wanted to hop back down the elevator shaft and be done with it.

"I knew you'd snuck out," she hissed, pointing an accusatory finger between both of them. "I'm not going to stand here and mother you… I feel like I do that enough to everyone else in this goddamn tower."

"Sue, I'm sorry—"

"Don't you start with me, Peter Parker," the woman snapped, and Peter pressed his lips together firmly. Sue's gaze darted between them, and Max clung to her bag strap with both hands. "Leaving this tower when you can't turn invisible is reckless. It's selfish and dangerous, and you put everyone in jeopardy!"

"That wasn't our intention," Max said weakly, but she fell silent when Sue's sharp gaze flew back toward her. "I'm sorry."

"If you want to go out there and get captured, it's fine by me," she hissed. "That's two less mouths to take food away from my kids, who I'm trying to keep safe in the sheer fuckery that this city has fallen to."

"Sue—"

"No." Again, Peter fell silent. "No, that's it… I've said what I wanted to say."

She turned and stalked down the hall, and it was only then that Max noticed Loki hovering nearby, his arms by his side and his expression cold. However, before she could disappear into the main section of the floor, Sue whirled back and glared at them.

"And the next time you want to go for a stroll down Park Avenue, don't just sneak out like you're a bunch of teenagers," the woman said. "You could have gone with Johnny… You could have made the trip worthwhile for everyone, not just yourselves."

Max stood there in the quiet that followed, feeling like she had just been scolded by a teacher, and felt her cheeks colouring. When she looked over at Peter, she saw him turn and hop through the open elevator doors, disappearing into the darkness without another word. She huffed, her palms sweaty, and forced her legs to inch down the hall.

There was validity in Sue's anger, but she thought the extent of it was misdirected. They had been careful. They hadn't let anyone know which tower they returned to. For all anyone knew, Peter and Max were sewer-dwellers who came up for air.

Still, no matter how much she tried to argue with Sue in her head, she still felt bad. Her bag was heavy as she marched by Loki, and as she pushed open the door to the stairwell, throwing her full weight into it, she heard him fall in line behind her.

She readjusted the shoulder strap on her gym bag, paying more attention to that than Loki as she climbed the staircases between the floors. However, she was winded after a few floors, having exhausted all her energy already—running on limited food seemed to take more out of her these days than it might have done in the past. Loki stopped when she did, and Max doubled over, a hand on the railing, as she took a few deep breaths. She shot him a look under her arm.

"Well?" She straightened up, breathing heavily. "Do you have something to add?"

He leaned toward her, his voice tight as he spoke. "Not here."

Max swallowed thickly: first the teacher, and now the principal. Taking a few more deep breaths, she turned and continued up the stairs. Their footsteps echoed, as though both stomping, and by the time she reached their floor, she wanted to sit down in the corner and stay there until she had recovered.

However, she pushed through the door all the same, needing her body's weight this time to actually get it open. Loki followed, hovering like her shadow, until they were in their bedroom, and for some reason or other, he slammed the door behind them.

Max turned back sharply to face him, dumping her bag on the ground, and they stared at one another for a moment.

"What you did today was very foolish," he said softly—softly, not gently. She could feel the barb of his words, the way they cut through her, and she did her best to hold his gaze.

"It was Peter's idea to—"

"And yet you had no qualms throwing yourself into harm's way for his stupidity!"

"It's not stupid to want to know what's happening out there," she argued, her voice shaking a little. "I needed to get out and see… I went to my apartment—"

"I could have taken you if the desire was so strong," Loki hissed. "That boy hasn't the slightest idea how to defend you if—"

"We did just fine, thanks," she told him coolly, shaking her head. "And you and I aren't exactly on the best terms at the moment, are we?" His hands fell to his sides, balled into fists. "So, no, I wasn't going to ask you."

"Max," he said, letting out a small puff of air. "Whether we are on good terms or not, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Why?" She crossed her arms. "Why do you even care?"

"Why?" he thundered. His tone made her flinch. "Why do I even care?"

Something pulsed through the room on the last word, washing over her and causing the window to her right to split. The crack ran from the floor to the ceiling, and she took two steps from it, almost tripping over her bag in the process. When she looked back at Loki, his head was bowed.

"I thought I had made my feelings for you quite plain," he said finally, just as Max was reaching for her bag. She paused, the strap hanging loosely from her hand, and when he met her gaze, she shook her head.

"Having a lot of sex with me doesn't tell me anything."

"I had thought we…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together, and Max let out a heavy sigh.

"Telling me what to do in front of everyone doesn't tell me anything," she added. "Just because I've never been in an invasion or war or whatever is happening…" She gestured arbitrarily toward the window. "It doesn't mean you get to order me around and pick me up and set me here and there like I'm a little kid."

He stepped toward her, crossing the distance between them in two large strides, but she moved away when he reached for her.

"I don't do it to degrade you."

"Well, maybe that's the case," she said slowly. She grabbed her bag and set it on her mattress, Sue's shoes tossed elsewhere for the time being. "But that's what it feels like."

"Don't you care for me anymore?" he asked as she unzipped her bag. His voice had weakened, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him, he appeared to have slumped down somewhat. "As you used to?"

"Right now," she said, yanking her borrowed sweater off and tossing it aside in favour of her actual clothes, "I'm angry at you."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," she mused, aware that she had avoided his question entirely. "Do you recall calling me a whore yesterday?"

His gaze hardened at her, and she turned, digging through her bag to find something more suitable. The only article of clothing that really called to her was her brother's sweater, and she pulled it out with care, as though she was handling pricey silk.

"I was angry with you too—"

"That doesn't mean you call me a whore," she snapped, hugging the sweater to her chest and whirling around to face him. "That was so unnecessary… I can't even begin to…"

She shook her head and set the sweater aside for the time being. Remembering what he said to her now that she wasn't in a hung-over stupor set her temper off, and she needed to take a second to calm down. They were actually talking to one another, and she didn't want to spoil it by shrieking at him.

Max found a pair of trackpants midway through her bag, and she pulled them out, eager to shed the wet yoga pants that clung to her legs. Slipping her thumbs under the waistband, she pulled the fabric down and kicked it aside. As she crouched to pull her trousers on, she hesitantly glanced back at Loki, but saw that he wasn't watching her. Instead, he was examining the crack in the window, trailing a hand along it gently.

"I am sorry for what I insinuated," Loki told her after a long moment. He faced her properly, his hands clasped behind his back. "It was indecent of me to suggest that you were something you are not."

"Yeah, it was." She fidgeted with Sue's fitted tank top, tugging it down to cover her stomach. "I'm sorry if I said something that… upset you. I'm sure it was just drunk talk that didn't make sense anyway."

"You said we were nothing," he told her. "That I was nothing to you—"

"I'm sure I didn't say that."

"You did."

"Well, that's obviously not true," she snapped as she rolled her eyes. "Why would you even believe that?"

"Then what am I to you?"

She swallowed thickly, lips pursed, and then cleared her throat. "I… What am I to you?"

"No, Max," he said, the corners of his lips quirking upward somewhat as he pointed a finger at her. "You cannot turn this around on me."

"What, because you asked first?"

"Precisely."

She groaned and let her hair out of its ponytail, running her hands through the moist, damp locks.

"I don't know."

"I had thought, foolishly so, that we would simply resume where we left off," he admitted, and when she raised her eyebrows at him, he shrugged. "Foolishly so."

Her heart broke a little as she watched him lean back against the window—which, to its credit, didn't shatter under his weight—and slide down to the floor. Knees bent, he set his head against the glass, watching her levelly for a response.

"It wasn't a foolish assumption," she said quietly. "I can see why you would…" She took another breath, noticing the way her heart was pounding. She felt like she had made the drop again. "It's been two years for me. Two years of trying to move on and forget you, because I thought you left me."

"But I didn't."

"I know," she told him, "but that doesn't change the fact that I've been trying to move on. And now you're here again, and I just… I don't know how I feel about you. You're obviously not my friend…" She added quickly, "You're more than that."

"I see."

"I don't know how I'm feeling right now." She knew she didn't want to be without him. She knew she wouldn't survive this on her own. She knew that there was a need for him, stronger now than ever before, but she didn't know how to vocalize it in a setting like this.

"Is it because I'm no longer human?"

"What?" Max frowned at him, and then let out a laugh. However, when she saw that he wasn't making a joke, her expression softened. "No, no, it's because my whole world has been flipped on its head and people are dying and…"

She grabbed Nolan's sweater, cradling it to her, and then marched over to him. Dropping to the ground slowly, Max set her hands on his knees, the sweater on her lap, and exhaled deeply.

"I don't care that you aren't human anymore," she murmured, holding his gaze. "I don't care what you are, really."

She cared that he had initially lied about it, yes. The thought made her frown again, but she decided now wasn't the time to rehash that. Instead, she licked her lips and kissed him, wiping the unconvinced look from his face. She was still angry. She didn't want to have sex with him—she was still angry enough that she didn't really want him to touch her. However, she felt like she needed the kiss just as much as he did, and she willingly parted her lips the more aggressive he became, her hands cupping his face as his nestled in her hair.

When he bit too hard, nipping at her lip sharply enough to make her wince, Max pulled away, touching the area hesitantly. There was a spot of blood on the tip of her finger. Her eyes flickered up to his, and while they were heavy with lust, and also noticed that his expression was apologetic, speaking more clearly to her than he ever could.

Stroking his cheek with her thumb, she tried to offer a small smile, but it probably fell just as flat as she felt. When he leaned in to kiss her again, she pulled away, shaking her head somewhat, and then planted a peck on his cheek instead. She then used his shoulder to push herself up, and she grabbed Nolan's sweater—which had fallen between them—and turned, marching off to the bathroom for a shower. She probably smelled like a sewer—she was surprised he kissed her at all.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HELLO DARLINGS! So, I'm done my ghostwriting assignment, and while I'm applying for freelance editing work, I'm not actively looking for more writing for the rest of the year. THEREFORE, it's just this story that will have my sole focus. .. and… I've also come up with a fifth story to tie in with this series. I thought I'd be done at four, but now this plot just works and I can't ignore it, so there's something extra added now. Fml. I'll be writing this series until I'm thirty.

Which is like seven years from now, but whatever.

Thank you all for your kind words about the trolling reviewer. I wasn't looking to be babied or anything—it was more of a rant than anything else. I used to be a really sensitive writer back in the day, and stuff like that really took a lot out of me. But I've grown some thicker skin. I've been rejected twice from a publishing house. But I've also had a story published, and I've got literally the most amazing readers ever with this story—and all my other fanfics—so I'm not complaining.

Max and Loki might be a train wreck, but they're a functional one at the very least. I think this is actually the first time that they've ever spoken this candidly with one another, and that's a bit of progress. Things aren't fixed by any means, but we're getting there.

Spoilers, for those who like them: something major will happen for Loki and Max in the next chapter. MAJOR. I'm excited to start, and I'll probably get to work on it this Thursday. Now that I've got less work to do, updates will probably pick up speed again.

Anyway. LOVE YOU ALL, and I'll see you for the next update!