The irony of having a calm, casual drink with Thor wasn't lost on Loki. He could see the absurdity of the situation, but for some reason or another, he couldn't be bothered to tear himself away. After all, he had accepted the brute's invite that evening—there was no one to blame but himself should he have a poor time. Max had spent the afternoon trying on her dresses, and when he found her again, she was in a particularly foul mood, snapping at everything and anything he said to her. There was no explanation for the sudden shift in behaviour, but he was almost glad to pass her off to Johnny, who asked if they wanted to get dinner outside the tower.

Max said yes. Loki said no. Max went for dinner without him, and Loki wound up on a small balcony some dozens and dozens of floors above the street level with Thor and a case of strong ale between them. His jealousy of Johnny Storm had faded significantly in the time since they had first become acquainted, but he was still pleased to see that Darcy woman trailing along after him and Max, turning the suspicious duo (in the eyes of the realm's media, anyway) into an innocent trio. No more appearances on the television screen with her holding another man's hand—that was the hope, for now. He knew there was nothing there, that it was trickery of the image, but it still made him happy that she was physically ill after seeing the photo that morning.

He crumpled the metal can in his hand once he finished the last of its ale, then tossed it behind him into the ever-growing pile of empties between the pair. How Thor had found such a secluded spot was beyond him, but the balcony was nestled between the folds of the east side of the building, sparing them the glare of the setting sun and the city's flickering lights. Below them, traffic roared by, accompanied by honking vehicles and the steady thrum of people. Somewhere out there, he hoped Johnny had found a way to cheer Max's spirits. He hoped she was smiling.

Still, Max's moods were not the only thing on his mind that evening. As he sat beside the man he once called his brother, a man who was his everything, he couldn't help but dwell on a flippant comment made some weeks ago in the hospital. Thus far, their conversation had been almost nonexistent: their silence was comfortable, though it verged on tense whenever Loki shot his older companion a sidelong glance. Thor would stiffen, as though waiting for the venom, but then Loki would take a sip of his drink and settle back into his chair.

One leg crossed over the other, he leaned his head back with a sigh, a new can of cool ale in one hand. It opened with a noisy hiss, and the first sip tasted like nothing: he and Thor had worked through almost a dozen cans each, and maybe he'd start to feel some semblance of drunkenness after another couple of drinks.

"Your mind seems heavy, brother."

Eyebrows up, he glanced toward Thor without turning his head.

"But, then again," Thor paused to take a slurp of his ale, finishing the can and tossing it over his shoulder, "I suppose your mind is always heavy. You think too deeply."

"Someone must."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thor nod as he reached for another drink. "Yes, someone must. It needn't always be you."

Lips pressed together tightly, he refrained from throwing a crude comment the man's way, knowing that there was no need for it. Instead, he brought his drink to rest on his lap.

"I was thinking of something you said to me," he admitted after a long pause. The words came out stiffer than he would have liked, as though it took great effort to say them. Perhaps it did.

"Oh?"

"When we were at the hospital searching for Max," Loki began, a plane catching his attention in the sky, its white stream leaving marks across the blue, "you told me that my magic had changed. Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you say it?"

He hadn't noticed any specific changes in his magic. Sure, it had been somewhat stunted over these last few years: first when he was punished by Odin, and next when he was tortured by Pagurolids. Now that he was in peak physical and mental health, his magic was where it should be—and yet Thor saw fit to comment on it. He waited patiently for a response, taking a few sips of his drink here and there, and then cleared his throat.

Thor was smiling now, a small grin that seemed more for himself than for Loki. Eyes narrowed, he pressed further. "What did you mean by it?"

"I mean that your magic is good, brother."

He wrinkled his nose. "Good?"

It felt silly to say aloud. Good magic? There was no such thing. No good, no evil—only magic and power.

"No longer do you use it to torment, to tease," Thor continued. "I watched you develop it under mother's tutelage, and yet whenever you used it beyond of her watchful eye, it was always to be cruel."

"That sounds like a gross exaggeration—"

"And that is a lie," he told Loki, turning at last to look at him, "and you know it."

The difficulty always lay in not turning to meet those big oafish eyes. Loki forced himself to look ahead, his gaze unfocused as he processed Thor's response. He hadn't noticed any shifts in his power, but if he thought back to all the magic he had done since he returned to Earth, he realized that it was for the better of someone else. His magic was a powerful tool in turning the tide of the war—no longer a gimmick to torment servants with.

"I suppose your observation has some merit," he mused finally. "I hadn't thought of it."

"That is why I have such high hopes for you, brother." The words made his throat tight, his expression somewhat pained, and Loki turned his attention to his drink, running a finger along the outer rim. "Father will be pleased."

"How lucky for me," he muttered. "I live to please Odin and Thor. It's my life's aim to be good in their eyes—"

"Why can you not take a compliment from me?" He sounded a little frustrated now, a sharper edge to his voice. Surprisingly enough, that made Loki smirk, the tightness easing out of his throat as he swallowed down his emotions. "Why can you not see that I am being earnest with you? I've forgiven and forgotten your past transactions, and I've not once used our history against you since we've come together again."

"Perhaps I am still angry," Loki remarked as he faced him at last. "Have you considered that it might have nothing to do with you? That you are not the problem? Perhaps it is all me and my rage."

They held one another's gaze for a moment, and Thor blinked first. "I hadn't thought—"

"What a surprise," Loki chuckled, taking a sip of his ale. "And here was me thinking you'd grown wiser in our time apart."

For a moment, Thor seemed to be trying to gauge how he truly felt, waiting for something more. However, when it was clear that Loki was finally at ease with the conversation, he too smiled, and they settled into an easy silence again—something he realized he had actually missed. Even before his first banishment, it had been years since he and Thor spent any significant time together that wasn't rudely interrupted by one of his Warriors Three or Sif. When they were boys, afternoons in the sun, free from supervision and care, were frequent. This might not have been quite the same, but there was still a sense of happiness that Loki could take from it.

Perhaps they ought to do it more often.

"I must confess that I did have an ulterior motive to bringing you out here."

Loki's eyebrows shot up. "You? The Golden Child of Asgard? I didn't think you were capable of forming ulterior motives."

"You'd be surprised of all that I'm capable of."

"Yes, yes, you've grown so much." He rolled his eyes when he spotted Thor studying him, but did so with a hint of a grin. "And what, pray, were these ulterior motives?"

"I wished to discuss our return to Asgard."

There it was—the tightness in his throat had returned. Eyebrows furrowed, he cleared his throat and sat up, shifting into a more alert position in his chair. A part of him had wished to bring this up with Thor countless times, but a much larger part had always assumed he'd need to find his own way back to Asgard. It wasn't completely undoable, but it would certainly take a great deal of work.

"Our return?"

"You've proven yourself more than worthy to come home," Thor told him, setting his drink aside and leaning on his chair's armrest. "It is your home, Loki, no matter what you might think. With your punishment long over, you should return with me as my brother… as you always have been."

Loki shook his head "You must stop trying so hard to convince me… It's getting pathetic."

He said it without malice for the first time, and Thor actually chuckled after. Still, his sigh was a heavy one, and Loki knew there was more behind their return than he initially thought.

"The Nine Realms has been in chaos since the destruction of the bifrost," Thor told him. "Father has been trying to regain control, but they are in outward rebellion."

With the link to Asgard severed, rebellious groups were probably itching to further themselves from Odin's rule. Truth be told, those groups were once peoples Loki considered as possible allies, but he'd moved beyond that after two years of constant torture. "I hadn't thought of it."

"I stayed on Midgard because when I knew what its people faced, I knew they would need me," he continued, "but now that the realm is calming, the Pagurolids are gone… I feel restless."

He nodded. "As do I."

"Then you will return with me?"

There was so much hope in the man's voice, and for once, Loki didn't feel like stomping it into the earth below. Instead, he gave a small nod, accompanied by a heavy sigh.

"In time, yes."

"What have you to wait for?"

Frowning, he turned to Thor once more. "The same reason I thought you might have."

Thor's shoulders dropped a little at the thought, and he eased back into his seat.

"I cannot stay for Jane." He shook his head. The setting sun cast long shadows down the street, covering their little balcony in darkness. "There is more to do elsewhere."

"Nor will I stay for Max," Loki insisted, "but rather she will come with me."

"Father would never allow that," Thor argued. "No humans in Asgard, Loki… You know of his rules."

"Then we will live outside of Asgard." The thought of a small province of his own, far beyond Odin's reach, gave him immeasurable happiness. With Max by his side, perhaps he could be happy with so little. "But I will not go until she will come with me… and… I suspect that will take some persuading."

She loved her home, her realm, her people and her family, but in time, she would grow to love another place just as strongly. And she loved him. That love, theoretically, could carry them far beyond this world. Thor said nothing to it, as Loki suspected he might. Instead, he felt his own insecurities rising, frothing at his lips before he could stop them.

"And I cannot leave when there is something wrong with her." His voice softened, riddled with concern and confusion and annoyance. "Something changed during the revolution, and she's not been the same."

But she wouldn't tell him. He'd noticed her tension around him. He'd seen the sickness, the fear in her eyes, and yet she wouldn't say a thing about it. When she did speak, he could hear the falsehood between her lips, and that pained him.

"What makes you say that?"

"I know her," he said, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "I know her, and there's something wrong."

She always thought she was so clever at hiding her feelings from him, even when they lived in Masonville. She thought she could keep her anger bottled up, her sadness contained, but Loki knew. Sure, he might not know the root cause of the feeling, but he wasn't blind to the slight changes in her demeanor.

"Why not simply ask her?"

"Yes, what an obvious solution," he snapped, rolling his eyes, this time with some snark to it. He couldn't just ask her what was wrong—he'd frighten her off, send her into more secrecy. He'd never expected this side of her to surface so vibrantly, but here it was, and his patience with it grew thinner and thinner with each passing day. "I want her to put her trust in me wholly… She should tell me on her own terms."

How could he ever convince her to leave her home, her friends, and her family behind if she didn't have complete trust in him? Why would she go anywhere into the stars if she couldn't tell him her secrets? Everyone was entitled to them, to privacy, but this was something else—something that affected her so much that it made her ill.

"She seems friendly to me, but I suppose I don't know her—"

"At all," Loki hissed. "You don't know her at all."

"But I know that she loves you." His breath caught in his throat: to hear another say it aloud made his heart race. "She will tell you what troubles her in her own time. You must respect that if you love her too."

"You of all people must know that sometimes love isn't enough." Loki pursed his lips, then downed the rest of his ale and crushed the can in his hand. "Actions are always more telling."

Loki lobbed the empty can toward the pile and stood, stretching his stiff limbs upward and outward. He then clapped his hand on Thor's shoulder, leaning down to give him his final reply.

"I wish to return to Asgard with you," he paused, swallowing thickly, "brother. But I won't leave without her."

As he stalked through the narrow doorway back into the room that the balcony shot off from, bladder full and emotions spent, he swore he heard Thor mutter, "And I won't leave without you."

Max had always pictured a doctor's office as a cold place. In the few that she had visited while she was at St. Judith's, they had been similar to the examination rooms: small, free of clutter, sterile. There would be a computer station, a set of chairs, some tools that the doctor might use. She'd only been in them briefly during her college years, usually when she had the flu, strep throat, or something else that required tests and news and medication and a future appointment to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

Doctor Donna Fisher's office was nothing like the ones on the St. Judith's campus. Rather than discuss Max's test results at the hospital, the good doctor had invited her to private practice on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was the top floor of a relatively small tower, one with only eight levels total, with a cosy waiting room, smiling receptionist, and a sea of other patients waiting to visit with one of the three doctors working in the clinic.

Painted a warm brown with floral etches along the ceiling, Doctor Fisher's private office was quite spacious: a corner suite with two massive windows overlooking the nearby street, it had an autumn theme throughout with its leafy paintings and earth tone couches. There was still a computer station and some chairs, but Max felt like she was being given first class treatment for the first time in her life, and it almost felt unwarranted. Fiddling with the hem of her loose purple dress, she took a deep breath and leaned back against the couch, eyes darting to the clock. She had been on time, and now the doctor was fifteen minutes late.

Typical, and it wasn't like she had anywhere to be—her first S.H.I.E.L.D. promo gig was tomorrow.

When she told Loki that Osborn had approached her during the dress fitting, he had responded just as she predicted: irritably, he told her that he planned to put Osborn in his place as soon as possible. However, she couldn't risk losing all the benefits that jerk had lined up for her—her mom's medical care was just too important. So, she had toned down the interaction, downplaying the man's pervasive behaviour as she and Loki chatted in bed the night before after her dinner with Johnny and Darcy.

She had also said she wasn't looking to cause problems, that she needed the money, and that her first job was a photo-shoot for a prominent local magazine—it wasn't that bad. Her text from whichever S.H.I.E.L.D. operative Osborn had working for him told her that she and the rest of the tower would be getting together with police captains and fire fighters to do a "Heroes of the Revolution" spread for Manhattan. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. Loki's name was on the list, of course, but she couldn't imagine him posing for a picture—ever. He hadn't decided yet whether he'd do the assignment, but she made some progress when she pretended to be really excited about the process.

Loki's participation would go a long way with Osborn, and it wouldn't kill him to stand in front of a camera and smile. Max felt woefully out of place once more at the thought of being there. After all, aside from the video and a few subway meetings with police officers, she hadn't really done anything. However, when she saw Jane's name on the list, she assumed both of them warranted an invite because of Thor and Loki, a revelation she kept to herself.

That morning, while she was nestled between Loki and Valeria with cartoons blaring out from the television set, Johnny had popped into the common area to tell her she had a phone call. Her confusion dissipated when she realized Doctor Fisher didn't have her new cell number yet, and had contacted the Avengers Tower directly to get a hold of her. Her test results from earlier in the week were in, and Fisher requested she come see her immediately in her Upper West Side clinic—no more trips to Lennox Hill.

Johnny offered to take her on his new motorbike when he found her stressing about how to get there, but she preferred to ask Stark's automated man-servant Jarvis to order her a town car. Surprisingly enough, Loki hadn't asked her where she was going, and as she crawled through midday traffic, she worked through a story to tell him when she got back.

She hated this. She hated the lying. She hated medical workers. She hated the nausea and the dizziness and the aches.

Max straightened up out of her slumped posture when the door flew open, and she forced a smile as Donna Fisher flew in with a few clipboards in hand.

"Sorry, we're a little behind today," she said breezily as she set them down on her large L-shaped desk, then ran a hand through her hair.

"I'd rather wait in here than the waiting room," Max offered, extending her hand when Donna held out hers to grasp. "And I'd rather be here than the hospital."

Nodding, the doctor grabbed her leather chair and slid it across the space. "I figured as much."

With no folders in the woman's hands, Max felt a frown coming. Weren't they were to discuss results? As she shifted to take some of the pressure off her lower back, she realized she had broken out into a nervous sweat: cold and clammy, she could feel it staining her dress and coating her hands.

"Now, I had your results rushed." Donna smirked a little as she spoke. "It's so amazing what can be accomplished when top secret organizations actually let us use their equipment."

She gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah."

"Max," Fisher started, her hands pressed together, her perfectly crisp pants distracting. "This might be a little difficult for you. I know you're having a tough time deciding what to do about this pregnancy."

"That's a bit of an understatement," she muttered as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"A lot of women feel like this," the woman continued. "It's not abnormal to have doubts and concerns and fears, while also feeling a little excited… maybe protective."

She nodded quickly, wanting to move away from her feelings to actual data. Data wasn't difficult to understand, and it couldn't be disputed. "Did the tests have anything to say?"

"As I suspected, your baby has some normal chromosomal markers, and then it doesn't."

"So…" She shrugged. "What does that mean?"

"There is some genetic material that isn't human," Donna told her. It was obvious by the tone of her voice that she was trying to break the news gently after royally botching the pregnancy announcement when they first met. "There are chromosomes that aren't recorded in humans, and… We can't really be sure what it is."

Max leaned back and shut her eyes, a hand gripping the soft leather armrest. She had an inkling that this was the result that the tests would yield: Loki wasn't human. When she opened her eyes, a tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away.

"What does that mean for… everything?"

"We don't know," Donna said, eyebrows somewhat furrowed. "There aren't any other half-human babies on record that we can draw comparisons to. Yes, there are mutants, but they keep their genetic records pretty sealed."

Mutant. She immediately thought of Franklin—he was a normal little kid, aside from his few special abilities.

"In my opinion, there's a high probability that you won't carry the baby to term," the woman continued. "This is an extremely high-risk pregnancy. You're a healthy young woman, and if you had a… human partner, this would be a relatively easy nine months for you, but that's not the case."

"No, it isn't." She didn't register her mouth moving. Her hands had gone colder now, and her stomach was a mess. It wasn't news she wanted to hear, and yet… it wasn't entirely unexpected either.

"And not only is there a chance you could lose the baby midway through, but there's a high risk to your health too," Fisher remarked. "My first concern is always the mother, and there are a lot of unknowns here. You're already experiencing a lot of regular symptoms at a higher rate than what's normal for a woman your age and health standing."

"Oh, aren't most women bedridden and miserable?" she asked, her word dissolving as the tears started to flow faster now. Donna grabbed a box of tissues off her desk and handed it to her, and Max blew her nose noisily. She hid her face in the soft white material for a few moments, breathing deeply and evenly through her nose.

"I'm sorry. I know this upsetting."

"I'm not upset." She was scared. Scared for her herself and, strangely enough, for that stupid fetus. "I don't… I don't know what to do." Max wiped her supposedly waterproof mascara off her cheeks and took one final deep breath. "What should I do?"

"I can't tell you what to do." The chair legs shuffled across the carpet toward her as Donna inched closer. "It's your decision. All we can do is provide the facts and figures and… and you tell us what you want, and we go from there."

Ugh. All she wanted was for someone else to make this decision for her. She was sick of debating it around in her head, sick of hoping that she'd wake up the next morning with it all figured out.

"What would you do if you were me?" she asked, lower lip trembling. Donna held her gaze for a moment, rolling the pen hanging from her neck between her fingers, and then sighed.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. hired me on as private medical personnel to see that you carry this baby to term," the woman started, and Max felt her stomach drop. "They want me to take you as far as possible, and ethically… I just can't encourage that. I'm taking myself off their staff list tonight."

"So… You don't think—"

"If it were me," she interrupted, "I wouldn't want to be the first person in the record books to carry a half-human and half-whatever baby. I wouldn't want to risk the unknowns, and I wouldn't want to die for it. I'm saying this because, deep down, based on how you've acted and what you've said to me, I think that's how you feel too. No one knows what this pregnancy will be like, and we can't even pretend to prepare you for it. Pregnancy in itself in stressful, but this… We don't even know what to expect."

Each word hit her like a lead brick, dragging her further and further away from any decision that favoured going through with it. It was what she needed to hear, what pushed her toward the mindset she had from the very beginning—before the confusion, before the ultrasound images.

"I wouldn't want to be the guinea pig for some organization to study interspecies procreation."

"I don't want that either." The weight lifted a little as she spoke—finally. Why was she still crying?

Donna nodded, then pushed her chair back to her desk with some effort. Max heard keys clacking briefly.

"I know this is a hard decision," the doctor said, her back to Max, "but would you like me to schedule the termination procedure? We should get you in sooner rather than later."

She shook her head. "I have to… talk to the… father first. He still doesn't know."

Donna shot her a look over her shoulder. "He doesn't?"

"I haven't told him."

"And when do you plan on telling him?"

Her cheeks flushed under the doctor's scrutiny. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she repeated, still sounding unimpressed with her.

"I need to process everything first," Max stated. And she did. It was too much information given in such a short amount of time, and as she sat there, both relieved and openly weeping, she had no idea how she felt about any of it.

"Max, the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be on everyone."

"I know," she snapped as she stood, a few jolts of pain shooting down her legs. "I know this is difficult… I know it's going to be hard on everyone. I'm not a stupid person. I understand the gravity of the situation, thanks."

"Max," Donna started, turning in her chair and handing her another tissue. "The only person I care about right now is you. I don't care about the father or anyone else… I care about you. You should too."

She stood with her hand on the doorknob, face screwed with emotion, and then returned to the couch as Donna went to fetch her a cup of water.

The thing growing inside her wasn't human.

All Max could think about on the way back from the doctor's office was that she was carrying a human-hybrid—and that it could kill her. Despite all that, she couldn't find it in herself to set a termination date just yet, especially with Loki still in the dark about everything. Her guilt for deceiving him was at an all-time high by the time she returned to Avengers Tower, and after skirting the press, she just couldn't look at anyone. Instead of making her way up to the common area, Max stopped at a random floor in the lower levels, then decided to explore the tower to take her mind off things.

Unfortunately, the exploring didn't do her much good. Most of the floors were still empty, and the few with people working on them were less than welcoming to her random intrusion. She did eventually find a place that caught her eye: there was a fitness center some thirty-eight floors above Manhattan, in which was an in-ground pool the length of the entire building. Natural light spilled in through the enormous windows, and before anyone could stop her, Max kicked off her shoes and sat on the pool's edge, feet in the slightly chilly water.

How was she going to approach Loki with this? How was she supposed to tell him that not only had she been lying to him for almost three weeks, but she wanted to get rid of his kid before things went sour? How was she supposed to be convincing when, deep down, it broke her heart a little?

Max had always thought she could be logical in a situation like this—but being there was harder than she could have anticipated. Hearing a heartbeat. Thinking about a kid of her own. Maternal instincts kicking in. All of this fought against her rationale: this pregnancy could kill her, the baby probably wouldn't survive, and if it did, Loki was probably going to go back home no matter what. He wanted a home, and it wasn't Earth—and he had every right to. But he'd leave her alone with a baby that she was in no way qualified to take care of, because she knew she couldn't ever leave with him. He'd asked once before. He'd suggested it recently. Max didn't have it in her to tell him no then, and she was sure she could do it now, but at what cost?

Why was this so difficult?

As she kicked her legs out, clockwise then counter clockwise, she could feel some of the swollenness easing out of her feet and ankles. A swim would probably help with a lot of her aches—she made a mental note to find a swimsuit somewhere for the times when pain medication just wasn't cutting it.

But then again, maybe that wouldn't be the case for much longer. Every time her mind wandered back to what she had told her doctor (that tomorrow she'd tell the father), her heart started to race. Her head throbbed with pressure, and she could feel her anxiety sweats dampening her dress again.

She trailed her fingers across the water, drawing circles and squares and writing her name. It would have been easy to slip in. Slip in and sink down and block out the rest of the world.

A bubble caught her attention. It popped up out of nowhere a few feet from her, and Max cocked her head to the side as it dissipated. Strange. Suddenly, there was another, and then another, and after a few more rose to the surface, she searched for nearby jets. After all, it wouldn't be a surprise that Tony Stark's pool was also an enormous hot tub or… whatever the hell else might need jets and bubbles.

Each bubble was innocent and small and non-invasive at first. However, after watching them for a few moments, Max scrambled back with a shriek when something dark shot toward the surface from the bottom of the pool. It broke the surface noisily, water splashing everywhere, waves crawling over the edge and onto her dress.

The Iron Man suit. Max glared at the red and gold armor as she placed a hand on her chest, breathing rapidly.

"What…" She couldn't even think of any question to ask. The suit's face mask peeled backward to reveal a slightly bleary-eyed Tony Stark. "What were you doing?!"

He paddled toward the edge of the pool, and Max inched back a little more, still on the concrete ground. "Did I scare you?"

"Well, obviously," she snapped. "I thought I was the only one in here…"

"So did I," he told her, clambering over the edge and rolling onto his back. "I was going to go for your feet, but I didn't want to deal with the repercussions of that—"

"Oh, well, that's good of you." Max rolled her eyes and smoothed her dress out, tucking her legs beneath her as he tapped at a few buttons on his wrist. Suddenly, the suit opened, and he was able to clamber out of it, a little unstable on his feet. "Why were you at the bottom of the pool?"

Even if he nearly set off a heart attack, Tony Stark might have been the distraction she was looking for.

"Testing out some features underwater," he said, and she watched him stagger toward a counter near one of the massive windows. "What were you doing here?"

Her eyebrow arched as he ducked behind the counter, and when he straightened up, he had a bottle of dark liquid and a glass in hand. "Just needed a quiet place."

"Hard to find one of those these days," he mused. "Harder still to find one with privacy. Drink?"

Max shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thanks."

"What's the matter? Don't drink?" He posed the question as he strolled back toward her, his shirt disheveled and shorts a little too loose. Max shuffled back to the water's edge, enjoying the tranquility it brought. She chose a spot by the edge that was dry, naturally.

"I drink," she replied after a moment, feeling his eyes on her.

"So what then?" He almost sounded annoyed.

"Maybe I don't want a drink—"

"You pregnant or something?"

Her cheeks flushed at the accusation, and she pressed her lips together—not that there was a risk of her blurting her secret, but she had the urge to snap back at him, and she wasn't sure what she would have said. His bare feet slapped noisily along the concrete as he made his way over to her. Once he settled down beside her, his feet dipped in the water and the hems of his shorts wet, she let out a sharp puff of air, one rife with frustration.

"Maybe I don't want a drink at… five in the afternoon," she snapped, finally turning her glare toward him. The scent emanating from his glass was overwhelming, and as usual, it made her nauseous. "Maybe I save my hard alcohol binges for special occasions."

His dark brown eyes studied her for a moment, a flicker of intelligence barely visible beneath the clouded drunkenness. He then downed the rest of his drink and hurled the glass into the pool, and Max watched him struggle to get to his feet. At one point, it looked like he was going to pitch back into the water, but he managed to find his balance somehow.

"I liked you better in college," he told her as he stalked toward the door, leaving her and his discarded suit behind. Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Fuck you!"

Max's voice carried through the overwhelmingly large room, bouncing off the walls and back to her. Her lower lip wobbled, and she turned her gaze back to the water. She kicked her leg out irritably, splashing no one. Some distraction.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HELLO DEARIES! I meant to have this update out last week, but my wrists were a mess, and I just couldn't get myself through it. My wrists are worse than usual because I'm ghostwriting at the moment, and the book is due in two weeks. I'm nearly finished it though, so once it's done and sent in, I'll have more free time for fanfiction.

Fun fact! The last book I was a ghostwriter for was actually published! I can't give the name or details, but it has received good reviews, and is available on major publication websites. So. That makes me super happy, and gives me hope for my own novella series, the first book of which is off to the editors for content development in two weeks. My aim is to have it published mid-July, maaaaybe early August, and it will be totally free for at least a few weeks so people like YOU can download and enjoy. It'll also be free for fanfic folks who will offer to review it on the sites it's listed on (when it's no longer listed as free, that is), but more on that later.

For those of who read Born from Dark Water (my Loki/Artemis story), I'll be releasing a small sequel to coincide with the novella release (as it's a Loki/Aphrodite mythology-based series), so you can also keep an eye out for that.

Anyway. I'm in a weird spot with this story because I can feel everyone's impatience with the plot at the moment. I get it. You want some sort of clarity. It's coming. Spoiler: the cat will be out of the bag sometime soon. As much as some people dislike Max like this, it just feels so genuine to me as her creator. Maybe I empathize too much—I tend to dwell on life-changing decisions for too long, weighing pros and cons and never reaching solutions until it's almost too late. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Also, my Thor-Loki feels were OFF THE CHARTS for the first scene. Ugh. Love those boys.

I'm super excited to write the photoshoot for good ol' S.H.I.E.L.D. in the next chapter, so stick around and I'll see you soon! MUCH LOVE!