"Okay," Max sighed, pointing the remote at Franklin's TV as the Finding Nemo menu screen hummed in the background. "Repeat it all back to me."

"Everyone has a specified task for the day," Valeria recited. Her wording was different from Max's, and she somehow sounded more intelligent when she said it. "It's of the utmost importance that we stay on this floor until someone comes to get us."

"And who might that someone be?" She crossed her arms, tapping the remote against her side. Franklin looked up from his spot on the beanbag chair, which he was currently rustling around in in an effort to get more comfortable.

"Oh, uhm…" He cleared his throat. "Uncle Johnny, Uncle Ben, Peter, Mom, Dad, you, and Loki."

"And if anyone new comes along?"

"Blast them through the wall!" Franklin mimicked his mom's signature stance when she controlled an invisible force field: arms out and hands outstretched. Valeria let out a shy titter, but she quieted down when Max arched an eyebrow. Her brother took a moment longer to realize she wasn't kidding around, and his laughter faltered off. "Uhm."

"Lock ourselves in whatever room we're in," Valeria said after it was clear her brother was blanking on the answer, "preferably the one with the panic button in it."

She nodded, her smile growing. "Precisely."

"Aren't you supposed to hang out with us today?"

No one had specifically given Max the glorious duty of playing babysitter when the jobs were divvied up. In fact, no one had bothered to tell her anything about what she was supposed to do while the rest were out saving the world. Peter was off to Oscorp. Loki, Ben, and Johnny were collecting subjects. Sue and Reed were on lab duty and serum concocting. After Max's almost painful showdown with Loki yesterday, no one had dared to offer her anything. If they said she could be a sitter, she might have lost it on them—she was more capable than sitting around and watching kids for a few hours.

Not that she minded hanging around with Franklin and Valeria. They were good kids who knew how to make her laugh, but what was happening today could make the difference in this war. She knew she wasn't radioactively-gifted, nor was she born with super strength. However, she wasn't an idiot either. She wasn't useless. She wanted to contribute to the fight, and that did not involve her sitting in a room and watching Finding Nemo.

"I'm going to help Peter today," she said, turning on the balls of her feet to face the TV. The little fish on the screen jumped from option to option, and once she turned the Spanish subtitles on—as per Valeria's request—and turned the commentary off, she got the film started. "You can pop in the next movie when this one finishes."

They had spent the last half-hour selecting eight films—which was more than enough to keep the pair busy for the rest of the day. After breakfast, which was light and tense, the rest of the tower moved out to their designated spots in the lab or the basement level.

Peter promised to wait an extra hour for her, knowing it would take the boys longer to kidnap the perfect specimen—one that fit Reed's stringent requests, and Max spent that hour picking movies and getting the kids settled. Sue and Reed had barricaded themselves in the lab, though Sue had woken the kids up earlier than usual to spend the morning with them.

After yesterday's meeting finished, Max left in a rage. Loki wasn't her dad. He wasn't her husband or brother or teacher or boss—he had absolutely no right to ever tell her what she could and couldn't do. Hell, even if he was one of those people, he still didn't get to order her around like that. She was infuriated that she had been reduced to asking for his permission to join the fight, and even angrier that he denied her. So, despite having a few nice moments in the basement of the tower earlier in the day, Max had gone to bed in a snit, refusing to speak to him no matter how much logical sense he offered.

Sometime around midnight, she had wandered down to the kitchen for a snack, unable to sleep—and had nearly screamed when she ran into Johnny in the dark. After grabbing an apple and a cup of milk, she joined him and Peter for a quick game of cards on his floor, and when she left (around three) to go back to bed, he pushed a beautiful gun into her hand—a Colt Python—and a bag of bullets. He said nothing afterward, merely looked pointedly at the weapon before sauntering off to bed, and as she and Peter climbed the stairwell back up to their respective floors, Max asked if she could come with him the following day to Oscorp.

He had been hesitant to accept, as she expected he might be, but he did before they reached his floor, and from there, a plan was hatched. Apparently he also disliked the way Loki decided things for her, and thought it was only fair that she make her own decisions. Besides, now that she was armed, they both thought she had something to contribute to the team.

She liked Peter. He had such blind faith in her abilities—he'd never seen her shoot before, and yet he took her word for it.

Max's eyes flickered toward the sweater sitting by the door, the one she hid that beautiful Colt, and then handed the remote off to Franklin.

"Now, Franklin, you're in charge," she said, pronouncing each word carefully, "until another adult comes back."

A quick glance at Valeria was in order, and the girl gave her a little nod. Franklin would have thrown a fit if he wasn't put in control of the situation, despite the fact that his sister had a higher level of maturity to handle everything. Valeria was logical, concise, and quick-thinking. However, Franklin was older, and no matter how much he teased her, Max knew he'd do anything for his sister when the time was right. He might be stubborn, arrogant, and occasionally ill-tempered, but she saw a lot of Johnny in him: all of those negative traits were outweighed by his intelligence, humor, and kindness.

When the situation was right for them to shine through.

"Gotcha." He grinned and tucked the remote under his arm, shooting Valeria a look over his shoulder. Max's eyebrows shot up, and she held up a warning finger.

"A good leader doesn't use his power for evil," she said, reiterating the moral of every story that she knew. "You need to alternate between whose movies you watch, and you need to share the treats."

So, she might have snuck two bags of chips and a pack of soda cans upstairs without anyone realizing—as a token for the children's collective silence while she was out. Valeria seemed to understand the intent perfectly, while Franklin just seemed thrilled to be eating chips in bed.

"I guess," the boy muttered, settling back in his beanbag chair.

"Okay," she said, glancing down at her borrowed wristwatch before hurrying to the door. "I have to go, but be good. Someone will be back before you know it."

The grunts of acknowledgement were drowned out by the starting scene in Finding Nemo, which Max always thought was the saddest bit in the whole movie. So, she grabbed her sweater, cradling the bundle to her chest, and hurried out into the hall.

Once she was clear of prying eyes, she unzipped the front zipper and slid her arms into the sleeves, and then tucked the colt into the makeshift holster that somehow found its way into her room between the time that Loki went down for breakfast and Max stepped out of the shower. It tucked neatly under her arm, all the chambers loaded, and she felt a confidence in her step just by having it on her person.

The stairwell's silence throbbed in her ears as she climbed to the roof, and she paused at every foreign sound she heard—or thought she heard. The door was propped open when she arrived, the digit code block humming angrily, and Max slipped through it, taking the brick with her. When it slammed shut behind her, the buzzing stopped, and she felt a warm gust of air rush by her.

It was June today. The second day of the sixth month. As was to be expected, the weather was beautiful—it was the tender time after the spring chill left and the summer heat swept in, and normally, everyone was outside to enjoy it. Outdoor cafes were brimming with people. Parks overflowed with joggers, walkers, and Frisbee throwers. Max liked getting ice cream with Pat on Sunday afternoons and strolling through Central Park—they used it as a day to catch up on their separate hectic schedules.

But that wasn't in the cards for today. When she spotted Peter, he was decked out in a familiar wardrobe: the suit that made his character famous. She couldn't help but smile as she approached him, the Colt pressed against her side.

"I bet you drive teen girls wild," she mused, eyes traveling up and down his form. Although she couldn't see his face, she was sure he smiled.

"I drive one girl wild," he told her, zipping up a black gym bag and holding it out for her to take. Max set the strap over a shoulder, letting the weight carry across her body. It was empty—for now. "And I don't know if that's a good thing yet…"

"You'll just have to see, I guess." She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows a little, and then nodded to the side of the building. "Ready?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "Man, Loki is going to kick my ass when he finds out I did this."

"Don't let him bother you," she said stiffly, anger curdling in her stomach once more. "A healthy dose of concern for my safety is fine… but I'm my own person."

"I know."

"I get to choose what I do."

"Trust me, Max, I'm not—"

"I'll be an asset," she promised, and he tilted his head to the side. "I'm not useless."

"I know." He tapped her arm, knocking it lightly with his fist. "That's why I agreed to this."

Loki and his small team were long gone, traveling through the tunnel system below. They'd pop up at random parts of the city, ready to take aliens from different sectors as to not cause suspicion. Reed wanted four for today: two women and two men.

"I'm going to leave you on the street on your own," he said, hopping up on the ledge. Max followed cautiously, her muscles clenching when a gust of wind threatened to knock her over. "I'm not exactly inconspicuous."

She squinted in the sunlight, and then peered over the edge. The streets were more crowded now than they were the last time. He would have to get her down really fast without pedestrians—or worse—noticing. "We should have done this at night."

"Relax," he said, his voice somewhat muffled behind the mask. "I'm going to drop down in the alley… behind that dumpster. Just walk with confidence. I'll be close."

"Right."

She knew the general route to Oscorp from the tower, but she wasn't keen on doing it alone. Peter wanted to assess the security situation from a safer distance at first, apparently.

"Just get into the lobby," he instructed as he wrapped his arm around her waist. "I'll meet you in there."

"Got it."

The freefall was no less startling this time around, but Max was able to keep her mouth shut and her eyes clenched for the entirety of it. Peter didn't wait around for her to steady herself—once both feet were on the ground, he was gone, scaling the wall and disappearing over the top of the tower. Taking a few deep breaths, Max readjusted her bag, set her expression to neutral, double-checked that her Colt was loaded (despite knowing that it was), and then stalked out of the alley.

There was more emotion on the faces that she passed today. Some held phones to their ears without saying a word, but they managed a smile. She noticed an older couple walking arm in arm, their heads pressed together, expressions warm. A child ran by her, laughing as he looked over his shoulder at the man in a suit hurrying after him. It hurt her heart to imagine the boy was dead, taken by the horrible creature inside.

The facial features were all caricatures of actual expressions, or so she realized. The frowns were too deep, the smiles too big. She chose to wear a mask of unhappiness, marching through the too-clean Manhattan streets. Somewhere below, Loki and the rest were plotting to kidnap someone—and perhaps, by tomorrow, a cure would be found.

Oscorp wasn't the most attractive building in the city. They had apparently remodeled it after the fiasco with the giant lizard a few years back: steel and reflective glass stared out at the other skyscrapers. The name trailed down all four sides in large white letters, capitalized for effect, and the roof was strictly off-limits to non-essential personnel—according to Peter, anyway.

But not to the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. She saw him for the first time in that moment, hopping from the building across the street and landing on one of the O's. He fell with grace, traveling the distance as though hopping down one stair to the next. No one around her looked up, and there wasn't a sound when he touched down in the letter. Instead, Max found herself staring at his retreating form, until finally there was nothing. Clearing her throat, she pretended to root around in her bag, marching back and forth in front of the ground floor window of the building across the street.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a flash of red and blue. When she looked up, she barely caught Peter's thumbs up, and he soon disappeared behind the expansive building like he had never been there to begin with. Her eyes fixed on the entryway, and when she saw no one go in or out for at least a minute, she took the opportunity to cross the street stiffly and open one of the heavy Plexiglas doors.

The lobby was clinical and pristine, stretching across the vast space in white, grey, and beige stonework. There was a ridiculously large reception area—three times the size of Max's old stomping grounds at the museum—behind a small, tasteful fountain. Beyond that were the main elevators and escalators that she assumed led to the various upper floors. At this point, she wasn't exactly sure what to do with herself—Peter said he would meet her in the lobby. So, she poked around the reception desk, moving at the mouse sharply. She flinched when one of the monitors came to life, and then smirked when she saw Oscorp used the same scheduling system that she did at work.

She straightened up when she heard something, whirling around in the general direction of the noise. Much to her relief, she found Peter perched atop one of the escalators, a foot on either side. He kept his mask on, which was a little off-putting, but Max would make do. After all, it was a small price to pay for her safety—and, she supposed, his personal identity.

He gestured for her to join him, and she raced up the unmoving set of stairs.

"How was it on the ground?" he asked as she approached. Max nearly tripped over the final stair, slightly winded, and then nodded a few times.

"A little bit better and a little bit worse," she told him. She shrugged when those blank white eyes stared at her. "I mean, there's more people wandering around, so I'm not out of the ordinary, but… there's more of them then."

"Fair."

"And up top?"

"More air traffic than I've noticed before," he said, stepping off the railings and gliding across the spotless floors. Max scuttled after him, moving briskly toward the row of elevators. "Johnny must have really put them on edge."

She smirked. She wanted to tell him that the idea made her happy—let them be worried. However, increased security was never a good thing, and she wouldn't delude herself into thinking it now. Still, as the elevator doors hissed closed smoothly, she liked that those assholes were worried.

"So," she started, watching as the floor numbers whirred by with each level they climbed, "can we expect anyone to greet us up there?"

"It all looked pretty empty to me," Peter told her. He fixed his mask, an elastic-snap sound making her grin, and then added, "Which is surprising."

She nodded. Of all the various buildings across Manhattan, she thought Oscorp would have been a hub of activity. Not that she knew what she might find inside its doors, but she knew as much as anyone else in the general public did—they were one step below Stark Enterprises, and that was saying something.

Max also would have thought there would be security systems in place, but when she saw the little sensor strips on the tips of Peter's fingers, she wondered if he had found a way to disable them.

The cabin bobbed when it came to a stop, making her stomach knot and tighten, and Max braced herself as the door slid open. However, just as Peter suggested, there was no one standing before them, and they exited into a sun-lit hallway, lined with massive windows and a few abandoned cleaning carts.

"So, there's a few things for us to do," Peter told her, and she found she had to power-walk to keep up with him. Must have been something to do with the suit.

"Aren't we just getting the extra ingredients?"

"We are," he told her, glancing over his shoulder, "but there are a lot of sensitive files on this system, and Reed hasn't wanted to access them from the tower on the off-chance that someone is watching."

"Right."

He produced a small USB drive out of nowhere, handing it back to her as they stepped into what appeared to be a computer lab. There were dozens of desks lined with expensive Macs—modern office life, apparently. The wall dividers were almost completely sheer, with a slight tinge to them, which let her see into other offices: conference rooms, laboratories, and a break room.

Peter crouched in front of one of the nearest computers, clacking away noisily at the keyboard, and then pulled out the chair for her.

"Move everything onto there," he instructed as he stuck the USB drive in place. "No matter what it is, whether it's important or not, just move a copy here."

Max nodded and nibbled on her lower lip: she was Mac-illiterate, but she wasn't about to share that with him, not after how hard she fought to come along for the ride.

"I'll get the stuff," Peter said as she settled on the thin, though almost painfully ergonomic, chair. "Yell if you need anything."

"I think I should be fine," she insisted, taking a moment to glance pointedly across the empty offices. "You yell if you need anything."

"Yeah, the storage cupboard in a locked room is going to have its fair share of troubles." He chuckled when she rolled her eyes, and then hurried off into the bowels of the floor. Taking a deep breath, Max squared her shoulders and set to work. A hand curved over the practically round mouse, and she spent a minute or two trying to locate the USB folder in order to begin copying to it. She wasn't sure if anything else might need a password, but as she began transferring every file she could find, she figured she'd be just fine.

If she was more of a snoop, she might have gone through all the sensitive documents flashing across the screen. Instead, she slumped back against the chair, feeling accomplished just for being there. The screen's pop-up told her that it would take three minutes to transfer her most recent copy onto the seemingly massive USB, and she took the time to breathe, happy to be away from the alien eyes outside. Every so often, she did a quick scan of the room, her heart racing each time. It settled when she saw no one—she couldn't even hear Peter anymore.

The screen flashed when an error came up, but Max managed to get around it. She copied each and every file she could, and then set the clicker over the internet option. She hesitated. Did she dare to weed through the stream of propaganda until she found some underground website of resistance? Would they be able to track her travels or her location? Shaking her head, she settled back in the chair again—that could wait.

Though she wanted to send an email to her parents. She wanted to do some massive Facebook alert to let people know she was alive, and to check on everyone else. What was social media like these days, anyway? She licked her lips, pushing the mouse back toward the symbol at the bottom of the screen.

However, a noise in the hall caught her attention. Freezing, she slowly turned back, looking for shadows and shapes, only to hear the shuffling of boots coming her way. Panicked, Max turned off the computer screen and darted under the desk. The USB stayed in place—she hoped whoever it was wouldn't notice.

Crouched under the smooth, gumless surface, Max took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves as the steps grew louder. Had Peter heard them too? Would his sensitive hearing carry that far? She licked her lips, swallowing down her nerves, and then wrestled the Colt out of its holster under her arm.

The boots stopped at the entrance of her area, and Max gritted her teeth when she realized she hadn't tucked the chair back into its original place. Cursing softly, she debated reaching out and pulling it in, hoping that the person wasn't watching, and then thought better of it. Instead, she shuffled back as far as the desk would allow, and then held her breath.

The steps were slow and deliberate. Each one walked and then paused, walked and paused. The sounds grew softer the longer she spent under the desk, but she didn't dare stick her head out to get a better look at the situation. Max waited, patiently, just as she had done under the mannequin's hooped skirt at the museum after Nolan died. At least this time she wasn't choking back sobs—that seemed to make quite the difference.

And then there was a face hovering in front of her. She shrieked when a man dressed in an obvious janitorial outfit ducked down in front of her, his hand resting on the top of the desk. The sound that came out of her mouth was beyond her control—she couldn't stop it, nor could she stop the grunt that followed when he clamped down on her wrist.

He dragged her out from under the desk, but before she could wriggle away or call for help, she stumbled forward and shot him. It was bad form to have her finger resting on the trigger like that, but in a time like this, there was no other way to do it. The gunshot echoed through the empty corridor, and she took a trembling step back as the body dropped to the ground. The fall had forced her hand—she would have liked to have tried to wrestle her way free, but the pool of black blood around the body had an oddly satisfying effect on her.

"What?" Peter sounded a little breathless as he ran back into the room. "What happened?"

"I… I just…" She pointed down at the body in front of her, waving the Colt in the way that she had always been told not to—by her dad, by instructors, by her boss. There would be no foolish gun waving—ever.

"Where did he come from?"

"I heard h-him in the hallway," Max replied, stepping back as the pool started to seep toward her shoes. She had managed to get him right between his ribs. Hopefully the creature inside had no face. Her eyes darted sporadically along the once clean tile, searching for the bullet—the possibility of an exit wound was unsettling to her. She wanted it to stay lodged in there.

"Well, definitely dead," Peter said quickly. He grabbed the bag off her shoulder. "I've got just about everything… You good on the computer?"

She looked back at the blank monitor, but she found she couldn't move yet. Alien or not, she had just shot and killed someone who looked like a human—she'd need a minute.

"Max?"

"Yeah, I think I'm almost done," she said, exhaling deeply. "Let's get out of here."

"He may not be the only one in the building." He said it as he bounced back into the bowels of the offices, leaving Max with a horrible feeling. She turned the monitor back on with a shaking finger, but she couldn't sit back down into that chair again. The previous files had finished copying, and she highlighted the last few folders to transfer. She wasn't sure if she had missed anything, but she just wanted to get out of there—she had helped enough for one day, contributed enough.

When the files finished, she practically wrenched the USB from its port, and then cringed: was she supposed to eject it? Stupid Macs.

Footsteps again. Max froze momentarily, and then darted back in the general direction Peter had gone. She wasn't going to wait around this time to see if the sounds belonged to friend or foe, and she heatedly whispered Peter's name.

He popped out of a metallic storage room in one of the labs, the black bag in hand, and turned toward her expectantly.

"He had friends," she snapped, pointing the barrel of the Colt over her shoulder. "Let's go."

"Agreed."

To his credit, he didn't take her by the hand and drag her through the abandoned offices. However, when a deafening alarm started to sound throughout the entire building, or so she assumed, he picked up his pace. She did the best she could to keep up, happy that she didn't have to carry the bag full of precious ingredients too.

"It's a security lockdown," Peter yelled over his shoulder. Her hands tightened around both the USB and the Colt. "They're going to start sealing doors!"

Through the clear walls, Max could see a small group of people-shaped blobs racing down the hallway, and she pointed toward them, shouting Peter's name over the din. His mask gave no hint to the expression underneath, but when he broke off into a full-tilt sprint, Max did the same.

They came out at another exit, ending up in a similar hallway to the one just off the elevator, and she held in her surprised gasp when a trio of janitorial staff members approached from the left. Three blasts of webbing from Peter's wrists took them down, and they were able to dart around them while the bodies struggled on the ground.

Unfortunately, they weren't the last of the cretins they'd run into at the Oscorp building. Peter opted to take the stairs down, promising her a secret tunnel that would take them out of the building—used for the CEO in times of emergency, it was a one-way door that would only allow for a speedy exit into the Manhattan tunnel system. She nodded, but started to worry she'd be deaf by the time this was over: the sirens were worse than any midnight fire alarm she had ever endured in any of her apartments.

They were cornered on the sixth floor. With a seemingly endless supply of janitors to throw at them, Peter pointed back at the window.

"Shoot it!"

"What?"

"Shoot," he repeated, his voice cracking noisily, "it!"

She nodded, pointing the Colt at the beautifully clean window and letting off two rounds. The glass shattered, and before she could steady herself, Peter wrapped an arm around her waist and leapt through the jagged opening. Max cried out when a sharp broken piece snagged her cheek, cutting a shallow scrape across the entire thing.

The freefall was worse this time. Plummeting down the short descent, Max disliked falling sideways with her limbs flailing this way and that, and it wasn't until Peter's webbing shot out and stuck itself to another building that they were righted. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, but her grip wasn't as secure as she would have liked it to be. Peter swung through downtown Manhattan like Tarzan between two trees, and when Max spared a glance down at the streets, she noticed they had caught the attention of a tank. It rolled out of an avenue and onto the street behind them.

"Peter!"

He moved so fast that there was no longer any doubt in her mind that he was a superhuman—and hero. Unlocking her arms, he tossed her free from him, and she fell toward the ground with another embarrassing shriek. However, in that moment, Peter used his webbing to yank the fast-approaching circular metal manhole cover up and out of place, and as it clattered noisily on the pavement, Max fell through the opening and into darkness.

Just before she crashed into the slippery, sewerage filled river below, webbing snapped onto her shirt, stopping her immediately. All this had happened in the span of thirty seconds, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to vomit or laugh.

She did both.

Peter landed gracefully beside her, and once he had finished webbing up the opening, he got her down.

"Sorry," he said, sounding quite sheepish beneath the material. "I just… Did you puke?"

"A little," she admitted, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. The evidence was washed away in the sewer's slow current, and she had no qualms contributing to the city's filth. Her leg strength was questionable as she leaned back against the cold stone wall, taking a deep breath—despite the smell.

"I guess a warning would have been out of the question."

"I figured you'd rather that than being shot by a tank," he told her, readjusting the shoulder strap of the black bag and then unzipping it. She watched him rifle through the ingredients for a moment, and then zip it back up. When he looked at her, she nodded slowly.

"You thought right."

He patted her arm. "Still got the USB?"

She held it out, surprised that she hadn't crushed it, and Peter stuffed it into one of the bag's pockets.

They both looked up when it sounded like someone was hacking at the other side of the webbing, and Max flinched back when Peter touched her cheek.

"You okay?"

"I must be running on sheer adrenaline and terror," she mused, delicately touching the wound. Her fingertips were bloody when she looked them over. "I don't feel it."

"I think it looks worse than it is," he told her. "It doesn't look too deep."

"Well… Here's to hoping I don't end up with tetanus down here," she muttered, using the clean side of her sleeve to wipe the excess blood away. She cringed when it stung a little, and when they started moving again, she really started to feel it.

But the pain was good. It was the sort of pain she wanted to feel—the pain of doing something.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Hello all!

So! I had wanted to get this out earlier in the week, but I ended up doing an editing freelance gig that took up all my free time. I was also packing and getting ready for my holiday, so I thought I could do it on the plane. FALSE. Long-haul night flights are not the ideal place to work, particularly in economy.

So. I'm slightly jetlagged—JK super jetlagged. I'm also officially on holiday. Soooo I'm going to work on bits and piece of the next chapter, but I actually have a friend with me this time, so my holiday will consist of doing touristy stuff rather than sitting around my house and getting fat on holiday food. I'd like to update once more before the New Year, but we'll see how that goes.

I think most of you knew Max would give Loki a giant middle finger and do her own thing. However, I was also happy that there were a bunch of people who understood his point of view—that's what I always want whenever Loki and Max clash. I like that there are reasonable sides to an argument, even if Max probably wasn't all that right in this situation. But hey. I think she did okay with what she had.

Anywho. I think that I'm going to do a thing in January, maybe leading up to my birthday in February—I've always wanted to do a series of oneshots that readers request for stuff from The Sky is Falling¸ and possibly this sucker. You know. Just things you would have liked to see that I never wrote. Nothing that would change the plot of the story, but scenes that you think you'd like to read—or a scene written from an alternate POV. But I'll fine-tune that for now… If I do it, I'll probably post it in a future author's note and on my tumblr (which has a link on my profile).

OKAY time to go play tour guide. I apologize for any spelling issues or grammar fuck-ups. It took me like ten tries to write "okay" properly up there, so it's been a struggle.

MUCH LOVE!