"Close your eyes."

Max spotted the hairspray bottle in the stylist's hands in the mirror, prompting her to shut her eyes and bring her hands up to her face.

"Don't touch the make-up!"

"Sorry, sorry," she mumbled, cheeks a little flushed as she set her freshly manicured hands back down on her lap. She'd been offered colour and length and studs and whatever else was in the nail art kit, but she went with bland and boring: all the nails were trimmed and filed down, and there was a fresh coat of clear polish to give them some shine. That was all she wanted—simplicity was all she ever wanted.

On the other hand, her hair was a beast to contain, and a part of her wished she had asked the stylist working on her to chop it all off to her shoulders. Instead, she had a weird, massive, messy bun sticking out of the back of her head, one that almost appeared a little pointy. She sat there patiently, trying not to inhale the fumes as the woman behind her sprayed the up-do for what felt like a good five minutes, poking bits of hair into place while pulling others out and twisting them around her finger. Whenever she peeked at Loki in the chair behind her, she saw him trying not to laugh in the mirror's reflection, and she couldn't wait to throw something at him when she was allowed to move again.

Never in her life had she been a fancy-clothes, big make-up, high heels sort of girl. Sure, she indulged herself in college: special occasions warranted the extra time and attention that she figured she could put in. She wasn't naturally talented by any means: many, many Youtube tutorials had been the only way she'd achieved anything remotely stylish on her own. Still, when she found out she was getting paid almost three grand to look pretty and smile for a camera for the day, Max couldn't pass it up.

Well, there were other reasons she couldn't pass it up, but to Loki and anyone who asked, the money was what brought her to the "Heroes of the Revolution" photo-shoot at a sprawling studio space in Chelsea. They were picked up almost two hours ago in the usual black town cars, but when they arrived at the studio, there were throngs of people waiting for them. Press and average folk alike loitered by the main entrance, and as Max hid under Loki's arm, face down and moving fast, she noticed that many of the security personnel keeping the crowd back wore S.H.I.E.L.D. badges on their arms.

Well, according to Sue, anyway. Agents were everywhere inside too, escorting the cluster of superheroes—and Max and Jane—to the studio space. The name of the building sounded familiar, but as Max was rushed into a massive white room, half of which was set up as make-up, hair, and wardrobe, while the other appeared to be the photography space, it was easy to forget everything else.

The one thing she couldn't forget, however, was that she had talked to Loki that morning. She'd taken him aside after brushing her teeth, dressed in a pair of track pants and a slightly too big t-shirt, and told him that they needed to have a serious conversation that evening. And he had agreed to it instantly. And then smiled. He seemed more than receptive to the idea, which left Max a little concerned: whenever one half of a relationship dropped the "we need to talk" bomb, the other went on the immediate defense. Loki was as normal as ever—maybe even better. He was chattier with the rest of the tower, and not once had he sneered at Thor—not once all morning.

Progress, but she wasn't sure why there was progress. Maybe the "we need to talk" line wasn't thrown around that much in Asgard, and she had been incredibly nervous to bring it up initially. However, now that his mood was so light, so pleasant and calm, she could feel some of her anxieties fading away. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, when she told him she was pregnant and that, as of right now, she was leaning toward termination, he would surprise her with how supportive he was.

There was a huge possibility that she was dreaming too big, that the excitement of people fawning over her and Loki's good mood had given her a false sense of confidence—and security—that morning. Whatever the case may be, she didn't want to scare away the good vibes. For the first time in a long time, she was actually in a genuinely happy mood. Everyone in the tower seemed moderately excited about the gig, and as soon as the police officers and fire fighters and captains turned up, it was social hour to the extreme in the hall. Various assistants with clipboards and headphones tried to get the cluster of people to keep their voices down, but no one wanted to listen—even Reed chattered away amiably with a police officer, both in their blue uniforms.

The energy was good. With a massive spread of food on a table near the back and music humming out of a sound system nearby, it almost felt like she was at a party—a party where she was pampered for a good hour, her face cleansed and hair done, and despite the fact that it wasn't really her "thing", Max found herself having a good time.

"Okay," the hair stylist sighed, stepping back and capping the bottle. Max glanced at the black container: half of that must have gone toward her hair. "You're good to go to wardrobe."

"Thanks," she said as she eased herself out of the seat. Her back was killing her when she woke up this morning, and if it hadn't been for Jane's extra-strength painkillers, it probably would have dragged her down for the rest of the day. Now, thankfully, the dull ache was easier to ignore, and aside from some swelling in her ankles, she was doing okay.

Loki tilted his head up to study her as she approached, his magazine cast aside on the black chair beside him.

"What do you think?" She pretended to fluff her hair, careful not to touch anything—she could feel the stylist's eyes glued to her. Loki's eyebrows flickered just a little, and he seemed to be trying hard not to smirk.

"It's… very large."

"Large and in charge," she said with a grin. "We should get them to do something with your hair too…"

He snatched her wrists before she could reach him. "That won't ever be happening again."

"Aww, didn't you like what I did last time?" Max giggled as she tried to wriggle free, but he held her in place, firmly but gently. She glanced back over her shoulder at the stylist. "I cut his ponytail off once."

The woman's cheeks flushed, perhaps finally realizing she was blatantly staring at the couple, and then gave a nervous chuckle. "Oh."

Her attention back on Loki's handsome features, she arched an eyebrow. "Maybe you could get a trim."

"I'm very serious this time," he said slowly, his voice low. "If you touch my hair, I'll end you."

Wrists still in his grasp, Max leaned forward and kissed him. It was only a peck, fearful of ruining the make-up artist's good work, but before she could pull away, something flashed brightly beside them. A photographer held his camera to inspect the photo, and Loki released her wrists.

"We're just doing some candid shots while everyone gets ready," he told her as he held out the camera's screen for her to inspect. "They probably won't go in the magazine."

She couldn't help but smile as she studied the image: he'd caught them mid-kiss, both of them smiling and perfectly relaxed. When she glanced at Loki now, that relaxation had disappeared, a few unimpressed lines evident across his forehead.

"It's cute," she offered. The photographer nodded, and before she could ask for a copy, he had flitted off to take a picture of Tony Stark passed out in his make-up chair, sunglasses on and mouth slightly open as one stylist worked his eyebrows and the other gelled his hair. Her smile faltered a little when she watched him: he'd now joined Banner in not acknowledging Max, but that didn't bother her. He probably didn't even remember the pool incident from the day before.

Loki's fingers tickled hers suddenly, and she turned her focus back to him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she tucked his hair behind his ears, sliding over so that she stood between his knees. He frowned at the question.

"How am I feeling?"

"Yeah." She almost wanted to take a seat on his lap, but she suspected he wouldn't be entirely comfortable with that. The whole situation was out his element—all these people he actively disliked in a setting that made him roll his eyes. "I know you don't really want to be here."

"Well, I'm with you." He smiled when she did, but as he took a breath to say something more, she heard her name over the buzz of nearby conversations.

"Max? Max Wright?"

"Here," she called, raising her hand at the older woman in the lavender pantsuit calling for her in a thick Jersey accent.

"Come get your outfit, honey."

She squeezed Loki's shoulder as she stepped around him and made her way across the sprawling space to all the clothing racks.

"My name's Bernie," the woman told her, a hand on her ample chest, "and I'm going to make you look fabulous today."

"Thank you."

Bernie guffawed and patted her arm, which stung more than Max cared to admit. "Not that you aren't fabulous already."

"It's the hair and make-up," she offered, pointing to her face as she followed the woman toward some hanging outfits. "I'm all smoke and mirrors."

"Speaking of someone who isn't…" Max's eyebrows shot up as Johnny pushed through a clothing rack, hands up as he did a spin for her. "We're going to be matching today."

She scoffed: he had no shirt on beneath the studded leather jacket—that wasn't going to be happening.

"Well, you two are going to work together," Bernie told her, perhaps noticing the panic on his face, "so we've styled your similarly."

"What do you think?" Johnny asked, his hair slicked back. Max took in his faded, frayed black jeans with some surprise.

"Why aren't you in the Fantastic Four uniform?"

"I'll do that for our group shot," he told her, pointing to another rack. It was there that she saw his blue suit. "Me and you are early in the day."

"Okay, here we go…" Bernie held up two items for Max to look at, and she was fairly happy from the get-go. Her blouse was dark purple with silver studs on the shoulders to match Johnny's, and her pants appeared to be high-waisted, flaring out over her hips and then coming in tight around her ankles.

"It's nice," she said as she took the pieces from Bernie, "but I don't really see what this has to do with the video we made."

"Well, it's gotta be a little more fashion-forward," the woman remarked. "You were wearing a purple shirt in the video, and we like the money the designers pay us to feature their clothes… So… There you have it."

Max offered Bernie a small smile as she was shooed off toward the dressing room. Inside, she shed her comfortable attire for something a little more form-fitting, worried that the tightness would accentuate bumps she didn't want seen. However, once she had the pants done up, she was pleased with the way the extra material around her hips and thighs hid all evidence of pregnancy, and she could finally just enjoy wearing a nice outfit.

The heels, on the other hand, were a completely different story. Her eyebrows shot up skeptically when Bernie presented her with a pair of platform shoes, the heel portion thin and bedazzled with silver spikes.

"I'm already… tall," she said after taking them hesitantly. At least they were her size. "I'll be taller than Johnny."

"Tricks of the camera make it all come together," Bernie assured her. "You don't have to wear them until you're in front of the camera."

"Oh."

Johnny seemed infinitely more comfortable in this setting than Max was. He pulled her away from wardrobe, passed Sue getting her hair straightened and Ben Grimm getting his rocky shoulders dusted with make-up powder, and she soon found herself standing with the photographer.

"Just have fun with it," he told her. Australian and devilishly handsome, Max had a hard time not gawking at him. He'd yet to look at her, fiddling with his camera as an assistant stood by. "You two had great chemistry in the video… Just let that come out."

She spied Loki over the man's shoulder—he'd moved from his chair behind her make-up station to loitering near the set, arms crossed and lips neither set in a smile nor a frown. Johnny wrapped a hand around her waist and dragged her onto the white tarp, and she wore an uncomfortable grin as the photographer snapped a few test shots. Make-up assistants flitted in to give them touch-ups, one woman working one of Max's curls so much that it was straight by the end—which required another few minutes with the hair stylist to fix it.

They were the first of the day, her and Johnny, and she could feel various eyes around the room on her at different times. She wasn't a model. She barely liked photographs taken by friends. Still, Johnny's confidence and ease with everything was easy to siphon off, and after a while, Max only focused on him. He cracked jokes, poked her sides—whatever it took to make her laugh. Sometimes she'd look to Loki, shooting him a "What the fuck is happening?" look, an expression the photographer seemed to enjoy capturing as well. Even though they were dressed like rock stars, Max thought their whole shoot was silly—goofy, even.

When it was over, they moved to a small computer behind the photographer, on which they could look through some of the shots. Loki joined them, his hand on the small of her back as he studied the monitor over her shoulder.

"I like this one," Johnny said as he tapped the monitor, much to the photographer's distaste. It was one of him telling an exaggerated story to her, his hands in the hair and mouth wide open, while Max watched him with her arms crossed, her expression somewhere between shock and mirth.

The photographer carried on through another few shots, some of which Max looked good, others not so much. "We definitely got what we need."

"Your next shot will be a group shot," his assistant said tightly, ushering Johnny, Max, and Loki away as Sue and Bruce Banner were brought forward. They'd dressed Banner in green, which Max thought was a bit too much. "It'll be in a few hours, so just hang around… Grab some food, drinks, whatever you need."

And with that she was gone. Max looked up at Loki as Johnny wandered toward the buffet table.

"So," she started, looping her arm around his as the followed in their friend's footsteps. "Are you going to do the shoot with Ben?"

They really, really wanted Loki to do a few pictures with the Thing and a few police officers to represent that ground unit, but Loki had been reluctant since the news was broken.

"I don't think so," he said. "I will pose for a picture with the entirety of the room."

"Well, I guess that's something."

"Precisely."

Before she could dig in to the pastry section of the spread, her cravings suddenly through the roof for the tray of cupcakes, Bernie snatched her away and had her change out of her outfit. Her wardrobe for the group shot was much more subdued.

There were small mercies, apparently.

In her absence, Loki had settled down beside his brother, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He appeared almost relaxed, and as Max wandered over to him, she thought it was a pleasant sight to behold. If Nolan had been here, she would never have left his side—but then again, all siblings were different.

Licking her lips, Max plopped down on Loki's lap and snatched the cupcake out of his hand, one that was on its way to his mouth, and started to peel back the wrapper.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said nonchalantly, licking some of the vanilla icing off. "Were you going to eat this?"

His eyes narrowed as she took an unnecessarily large bite, too far gone in sugary bliss to care whether he was annoyed or not, and Thor chuckled softly beside them. Loki sat up a little, pulling her more snuggly against him, arms curved around her. He took a small bite of the chocolate dessert when she offered, far more elegant than she could ever be, and she leaned back, surveying the smattering of empty chairs around them.

"Where's Jane?" The last time she saw the woman, she was by Thor's side.

"They are trying to curl her hair," the blond noted, pointing a thick finger toward the make-up and hair station that Max had vacated almost an hour ago. "Unsuccessfully, I might add."

Jane looked miserable. Slumped down with half a head full of curlers, she stared at her reflection blankly as a stylist tried to keep the massive loops of hair from falling flat.

"The struggles of really thick hair are real," she said before shoving the rest of the cupcake in her mouth.

"I wanted more of that," Loki muttered, nudging her side with his finger, and Max smirked at him, but said nothing of it—much to his annoyance.

"This doesn't really strike me as Jane's scene." Or any of theirs. Thor and Loki seemed out of place in their Asgardian armor. Tony was asleep. Jane looked miserable. Bruce Banner had to have the photographer come over and physically move him around during the photo-shoot. The only ones who had been through this already were the Fantastic Four, and only Johnny seemed to have any fun with it. Aside from talking to the police captains, Reed seemed so done with the proceedings, and Sue kept smoothing her hand over her stomach, fiddling with her hair, picking at her nails. Ben Grimm spoke to no one.

Captain America had a pretty brave face on. He was polite to just about everyone, and Max watched him for a little while. A scathing article had just been published that morning about Captain America's failures during the invasion. It criticized every single thing he had done over the last two months, including many rescue missions carried out in Brooklyn. While Osborn seemed to be feeding everyone else to the press on the silver platter, Max included these days, he was letting the public flay Captain America alive.

Poor guy.

To make up for eating his cupcake, Max made a round of the buffet table with two plates in hand, filling one with everything she thought Loki might like, while the other was reserved for one item of every dessert.

"Thank you," Loki murmured when she perched on his knees, taking the plate from her as he rubbed her back. "How are you feeling?"

"Happy to be in sweats again," she said as she studied her plate, mentally assessing the taste-level of each item before picking up a cookie. "Those heels were killer."

Heels she could manage—stilts were another story. Chomping down contentedly on her cookie, its thick chocolate chips melting in her mouth, Max noticed Loki watching her out of the corner of her eye. She raised an eyebrow.

When he continued to stare at her, she brushed a few crumbs off her lips. "I'm fine."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but she'd take it. Her plate was gone in a few minutes, sugar cravings temporarily satisfied, and she chatted with Thor while Loki ate. They were soon joined by Johnny, and as a few hours dragged on, they found various ways to amuse themselves. For a time, Loki magically balanced things on a sleeping Tony Stark's face, suggestions for things to add to the pile from Max and Johnny. The game was over when Stark woke up, and Max and Johnny spent some time dancing around to the songs coming out of the speaker system, an activity Loki did not participate in, their moves synchronized and familiar and full of laughter.

She thought Loki would have looked stellar grooving to Beyonce's "Move Your Body", but seeing as Johnny knew all the moves better than she did, she hadn't wanted to step away for a second. When they were finished, she noticed that the photographer who had snapped a picture of her and Loki kissing earlier was filming the dance routine on his phone.

The games and the dancing and the chatting took up a good chunk of the late morning and the early afternoon, and yet when Max sent Johnny to check on the schedule for the day, she was mildly annoyed to learn that they weren't even halfway done yet. The photographer now wanted to do some family shots with Johnny and Sue, and apparently none of Banner's pictures worked.

"This is ridiculous." Max settled back on Loki's lap, arms crossed and back against his chest. He pecked the side of her chin, his hands folded together across her stomach. She stiffened.

"We could always leave," he murmured, his breath warm on her skin. He almost sounded hopeful, but a quick glance at the suited S.H.I.E.L.D. agents milling around by the exit put her off. She didn't want to cause problems here—she wanted to show Osborn that she could play nice if he did.

"I'm just bored." Slipping her hands under his, she tilted her head back to kiss his cheek. Tonight could change everything—the ease between them, the way he felt about her. Max let out a heavy sigh. Even with all the concerns she had about telling him, a small part of her couldn't wait to do it. It was time—she just needed to keep building herself up to it.

She could do it. She knew she could.

"Excuse me? Miss Wright?"

She looked up with raised eyebrows as an agent in a black uniform approached her, bending down a little so that he could meet her at eye level. Loki's arms tightened around her.

"Yeah?"

"There's a man outside who says he knows you." The agent pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "We're expressly forbidden to let people in on the shoot, but apparently he works in the building… Said his name was Garret—"

"What?!" She would have tumbled off Loki's lap if he hadn't been holding her in place. Prying his hands off her, she shot to her feet, her ankles protesting the sudden movement—they were already on edge after all her dancing around earlier. As fun as it had been, swollen ankles and bouncing weren't a great combination.

But. Garret. Garret! No wonder the building's name had sounded so familiar! He'd been producing at two locations in Manhattan, and Tiffany always complained whenever he went to Chelsea: it meant he'd always be home late.

"Max." Loki stood, a hand on her arm. He managed to catch her before she shot off toward the door, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent muttering into an intercom on his wrist. "I'm so sorry. I meant to tell you that I saw Garret… We fought on the streets together. I… I've been distracted—"

The rage that flushed through her was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. However, as quickly as it came, it dissipated too: she had a much bigger bomb to drop on him later that evening, and she wanted him to react calmly and coolly.

"It's fine," she told him, though she could feel the heat in her cheeks, hear the stiffness to her tone. She let out a deep breath, shaking the frustration off. When she spoke again, she was almost back to normal. "It's fine. We've all had lots on our minds."

"This shoot and location is supposed to be top secret—"

"He won't say anything," Max said as she tried to blitz toward the door. Over the head of the two thick agents blocking the way, she could see a familiar tuft of brown hair. Tears sprung to her eyes. "I promise."

"You can't go anywhere," he told her, easily keeping pace with her long steps as she hurried toward the door, "and you can't be gone long. We're on a schedule."

"I get it, man," she snapped, pushing through the other two agents. Sure enough, there was her Garret. He was a little on the thin side, like most people after the occupation, and his eyes were shrouded in dark circles, his cheeks sagging a little, but it was definitely him. His smile lit up the already bright hall when their eyes met, and she flew into his arms with a cry, eyes clenched closed. The force behind her side of the hug knocked them back into the wall, but neither seemed to care.

"Oh my god." Her voice trembled as she spoke, and she could feel him shaking, his face buried in the crook of her neck. "Oh my god, Garret."

"I've been trying to call you," he told her, his voice sounding a little muffled. "You're always on TV."

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." She pulled back and wiped her happy tears away, then took care of her runny nose on her t-shirt's sleeve. "I should have tried harder to… to… I've just been so… It's been really hard."

His eyes were watery too, and he nodded. "I get it."

She took his hand and pulled him away from the eavesdropping agents. Wandering down the hall, its walls plastered with promotional posters, job advertisements, and building info-sheets, she found a couple of chairs outside what appeared to be a choir room. The pair plopped down next to one another, never once breaking contact, their hands clasped together tightly.

"Are you here for work?" she asked after a moment of staring at one another.

Garret sighed. "A lot of the company is still missing… We've sort of just been getting anyone still in the city together to see if we can salvage things. They told me there was a private shoot today with some celebrities, but I wasn't allowed to see who…"

"But of course you did."

"Well, I figured I could be helpful," he said with a small grin. "I mean… Music producer… Photo-shoot. I'm sure I could offer my opinion on the food at the very least."

"It was really good."

Their eyes met again, and her chin quivered as he brushed a few tears away with his knuckles.

"Where's Tiff?"

She watched his face fall, and it was like someone had knocked the wind right out of her. Swallowing thickly, Max pulled him into another hug, stroking his hair as he shook again. When he eased back, he took a deep breath and pushed the base of his hands into his eyes.

"I don't know where she is," he said finally. "They took her away, and… I've been calling all these agencies that reconnect people. One said they had a woman matching her description in Buffalo, but I'm waiting for a confirmation."

She wasn't sure what to say. She could see the hopelessness in his eyes, hear it in his tone, and she tried to be chipper. "Well, that's something, right?"

"I just sit in our apartment and look at her pictures," he told her. "I don't know what to do without her, Max."

In that moment, she saw the eighth grade Garret she had first met. Hunched and awkward, he had a shaggy mullet and a stutter—and he was broken. Having left his previous school after being bullied relentlessly, he was a shell of a person, a blip on the radar, barely a fly on the wall. It was Ben who took to him first, bringing Max and Pat and their group of friends around to see what a cool kid that awkward thirteen year old could be. But when she first met him, he was barely there.

And now he was barely there. A pang of guilt stabbed at her: she should have made more of an effort to find him. She should have tried more over the last few weeks to reach out. She'd been so wrapped up in the pregnancy, in getting better, that she hadn't considered that some of her nearest and dearest were just as far in a black hole of their own—and they probably didn't have a first rate doctor to care for them, a security team to escort them places, and a person to be there through thick and thin.

"I'm so sorry, Garret." Her voice cracked. "Give me your phone."

She punched in her new number.

"Call me anytime. I mean it. I'm staying in the Avengers Tower right now," she told him. "It's…" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an agent lurking nearby. "It's a long story. For another time."

He nodded as he slipped his phone back in his shirt pocket. She caught a flash of his wedding ring.

"How's the family?" he asked, his voice thick.

"Dad was up a little while ago," she replied, "and Mom's back in chemo."

He frowned, scratching at the back of his neck. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry."

"Dad says she'll get better once she's back on her treatment." Her breath caught in her throat. "Nolan's dead."

"Jesus…" His arm wrapped around her shoulder. "Max, I…"

She nodded, her head resting on his shoulder. "It's been tough. How's your side of things?"

Nolan was also a conversation for another time, and she wanted to steer clear of it for now. Still, she could see the pain on Garret's face: she wasn't the only one who knew her brother, after all. He cleared his throat.

"My sister called a few weeks ago," he said quietly. "Most of my relatives are scattered, but majority are doing okay."

"And Corey?" His old roommate had mentioned wanting to move to Manhattan sometime.

"Him and his girlfriend were at their cabin when the aliens attacked," Garret said with a chuckle. "They just waited the whole thing out."

She arched an eyebrow: she never took Corey as the outdoorsy type, so the thought of him surviving on rations in a run-down cabin with his new explorer girlfriend (who Max had always been unsure of, having met her twice before) was a surprise to her. Still, it was good to hear he was doing well.

"What about Ben?" Max waited for a moment, licking her lips, and then looked at Garret with a frown. "Have you… Have you heard anything about him?"

Sniffling, he wiped under his eyes again and shrugged. "Max… I… Ben's dead."

The words hit her like a lead paperweight, smack dab in the middle of her chest. It could have dragged her down through the floor, to the depths of darkness itself, and she let out a sharp puff of air.

"What… What do you mean?" It was a rhetorical sentiment. She knew what dead meant. She understood the concept, but she couldn't picture Ben with it. Ben with his goofy grin, his out of place hair, his awkwardly long limbs.

"H-He was up for the weekend, remember?" Her eyebrows knitted together, and she recalled Ben had plans to stay with Garret and Tiffany for the weekend, but only vaguely. "We were doing some errands when… when everything went down. They took us to a camp, and they took Tiff one way a-and me and Ben the other."

This wasn't happening. Not again. Not now. Max buried her face in her hands, Garret's voice slow and thick in her ears.

"They tried to split us up, and when Ben tried to get loose, him and his guard fought, and… and I think the gun misfired or something." His voice cracked, and she couldn't stand to look at him. "He just bled out right then and there, and they took the body away."

She didn't know what to say. When she sat up, she found it strange that she wasn't bawling her eyes out. Instead, she leaned back against the wall, numb.

"I'm sorry to just drop the news on you."

"I asked."

"Yeah, but I could have waited."

She shook her head. "I'd rather know."

Anyone would. He grabbed her hand again and gave it a squeeze, and they exchanged weak smiles. It was then that the loitering agent decided to step forward.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Miss Wright," he said, "but we're responsible for keeping you all contained in one area. Would you mind stepping back inside?"

"Come on, buddy," Garret groaned. "Give her a minute."

"And you are going to have to sign some forms before you go."

"Are you kidding me?"

"It's fine," she muttered, easing her now aching body to her feet. She suddenly felt exhausted. "We'll meet up soon… Text me so I know you have the right number."

Garret stood and they held one another for a long while, saying nothing, until the agent started tapping his foot. She shot the man a glare when she pulled away, and he ushered Garret down the hall.

"You know, I actually work in this building," she heard her friend snap just before they turned a corner.

For a long time, Max stood still in the middle of the corridor, arms limp at her side and her stare blank. It wasn't until the agent returned and tapped her on the shoulder that she zoned back into reality.

And reality was noisy. Once she was back in the huge white room, the music seemed louder than before, the conversations at an all-time high. Assistants and stylists and officers covered the large empty space, and as Max stood in the doorway, all she wanted to do was put herself in a locked room to process everything.

Unfortunately, the one room that might have given her some privacy—the bathroom/changing room—was occupied when Max tried it, and with all the noise and flurry of activity around her, she could feel herself breaking down. So, she took herself to the emptiest corner of the facility and slid down to the ground, back against the white wall and knees pulled to her chest.

And it was there that she let her heart fracture once more, losing a piece to sadness that she was sure she'd never get back.

Loki had watched Max flounce off toward Garret with real gusto. While she might have been annoyed with him, the enthusiasm she had for seeing her long-lost friend gave him hope that she was finally on the mend. Still, he would need to apologize for forgetting such a crucial detail that would obviously affect her. It was an earnest mistake. There were more important things happening in his world than Garret, but he knew it was wrong of him to forget.

In her absence, Loki sat back in his seat, rolling his eyes when he spied Thor and Jane in front of the camera. They were posed together as lovers should be, hands clasped and faces near, and Loki absolutely refused to do something like that with Max—the question had been posed to him already. In fact, he refused to stand in front of the picture-maker and smile for anyone, no matter how many times someone had asked him. A small part of him enjoyed his increased fame: people knew his name once more, and it was for something he and others could be proud of. Unfortunately, he found he disliked the constant attention his name drew these days.

He could pose for regular people. He'd smile and chat and nod along for them. He wouldn't do it for Osborn, not after the man managed to trick Max into working for him too. He should have sent her home with her father when they had the chance. He regretted that: Loki could have gone with her, and all the madness of a city struggling to rebuild itself in a new order would be behind them. Instead, they were in the thick of it, and there were people insistent on making them puppets in this ridiculous game.

Thor saw it. He knew Thor saw the sheer ridiculousness of everything, but he was more a part of this realm than Loki was, and he performed what was asked of him unquestioningly. The time was ticking, however, before the blond grew anxious of returning to Asgard, and Loki was sure their discussion on the balcony was not the last they would speak of it.

Time passed slowly. Designers were getting wilder and wilder with their styles, and Loki watched with distaste as they forced Tony Stark into various different outfits, debating every aspect of each piece noisily. He wanted this day to be done. Max had approached him that morning with the intention of speaking privately together later, and he couldn't deny it: the prospect excited him. He was eager to see progress for them, to learn what little secrets she'd been keeping lately. A lesser man would have been nervous for such a conversation, but Loki couldn't be—not with her.

Drumming his fingers on his knees, he finally stood and grabbed one of the plates Max had discarded earlier. He chose the one with the least crumbs on it, then sauntered back to the buffet table. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he needed something to do to pass the time in Max's absence. The few remaining pastries with icing sugar caught his attention, and he strolled over to them with a grin. The expression faded, however, when he found his missing lady—curled up in the corner, face obscured and shoulders shaking.

All thoughts of snacks flew from his mind as he rushed to her side, plate thrown haphazardly on the table. His brow furrowed with concern, and he dropped down beside her, hands on her shoulders. She seemed very small before him.

"Max?" He smoothed the loose hair away from her face when she straightened up. Face and eyes red, she appeared to have stopped crying recently, and he could see the stain marks on her t-shirt. "What's the matter?"

"Ben's dead," she whispered as she wiped under her nose. "Garret says it was an accident, but… h-he's dead."

Having no warm feelings for the man, Loki thought his concerned expression was almost realistic. He cared more for Max's response to the news than he did for the death, and he stroked her cheeks gently. She hiccupped, then rubbed her hands on her shirt.

"Can you take me back to the tower?"

He nodded and hoisted her to her feet. Even if they weren't done for the day, Loki needed very little reason to leave this place, and Max's distress was more than enough to get him going. He returned to their little area to fetch her purse, which then hung off her slumped shoulder as she trudged ahead of him.

"Sorry, no one leaves until the shoot is done," an agent remarked as they approached. He noticed the tremor in Max's lips when she looked up at the man, and he saw nothing wrong with stepping ahead of her and lightly nudging the man out of the way.

"We're done," he said levelly, taking Max's arm in one hand and stepping between the agents.

"Actually…" The thicker of the two agents darted in front of him, a hand on Loki's chest. "Everyone arrives together and leaves together. It's protocol for the day—"

Before he could finish with his stupidity, Loki caught him by the throat and shoved him back against the wall. He heard Max whimper behind him as the agent struggled for a breath, his face going red.

"We're leaving now."

"No one wants any trouble." The other agent had drawn his weapon.

Max touched his arm. "Loki…"

"No, they need to learn," he said, speaking to her like this was any normal conversation, "that I do not work for their organization. I do not cater to their whims."

This all felt quite familiar—hadn't Agent Hill told her lackeys how to handle him yet?

"What's going on here?"

He glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. There stood the Soldier, a man disgraced by the papers that morning. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the situation with a keen eye.

"These gentlemen have informed us that we cannot leave when we please," Loki replied, tightening his grasp just enough so that the agent started to sputter. "I'm sending them a message of my own."

When he looked to Max, he saw her staring vacantly at the scene.

"There's no need for this." The Soldier stepped forward and placed a hand on the other agent's weapon. "You're not a prisoner… You can come and go as you like."

When Loki released his captive, the man crumpled to the floor, gasping dramatically and holding his neck.

"Our orders are to keep everyone together," the second agent protested, but Loki was already leading Max down the hall. He could have sworn he heard the Soldier argue with him, but he didn't care for the content of the speech. A few other men in suits tried to stop them, to ask where they were going, to tell him that they weren't finished yet, but Loki barreled right through them just as he had done with the first men. The insolence of these cretins: Loki wasn't bound by their rules.

He wasn't bound by anything in this realm. Not one law could curb his behaviour.

But the woman following him, her expression still vacant, could sway him if she tried.

The awaiting press outside were just as relentless. Loki ground his teeth together when he found no sleek black car waiting for them at the curb, and he grabbed an agent by the cuff of his shirt and demanded the man call for one.

"Just a moment, sir."

When he turned back to Max, he saw her hunched inward, hands covering her face as men flashed their cameras at her. Lips pulled back in a snarl, Loki lunged forward and grabbed the nearest camera, snapping the fabric tie off the man's neck and hurling the device to the ground. It shattered into dozens of little pieces.

"Enough!" His voice echoed down the street, and he swore he saw Max flinch. "The next person to get take a picture of her will have their head meet a similar fate."

He didn't care if they all turned their cameras toward him, barking questions about things Loki ignored. Wrapping an arm around Max, he walked her to the edge of the curb, jaw clenched as he watched for a familiar car. Sure enough, one appeared within moments, and once it was stopped before them, he opened the door and ushered Max inside. The look he shot the media representatives behind him was enough to send the few nearest to him scrambling backward, and he slammed the door behind him with a huff.

"Avengers Tower," he snapped at the driver, and the car sped away from its spot so speedily that the wheels screeched on the road. Shaking his head, Loki rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable on the hard seats. "The audacity of these… people."

He looked to Max for some sort of response, but he found her staring blankly out the window, her hands limp in her lap. Her whole demeanor softened his rage, and he tried to think of ways to make her smile. Unfortunately, none of them felt appropriate in a moment like this.

"I'm sorry," he started, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. "I know he was very dear to you."

She nodded, her hands balling into fists. "Yeah."

With a few sniffles, she shuffled closer and curled up against him. She tried to clutch at his shirt, but his armor made that difficult.

Over the last two months or so, he had seen various states of emotional duress from the little human woman he loved. He'd seen her struggle to breathe and he'd seen her weep. He'd seen her ecstatic, her head thrown back in laughter. He'd seen her cry softly—he'd never seen her like this. It was like her mind had shut down, like there was no one left inside.

"We don't need to… have that talk tonight." He thought he could give her a night of peace. Perhaps he'd get her to talk like he had done with her brother's death, but maybe not. "Another day."

She was still for a few moments, but eventually nodded. As much as he wanted to hear what she had to say, he knew this wasn't the right moment. Soon he would press her. He would sit her down and ask what had happened—or what was happening. But for now, he knew the cause of her behaviour. She was in shock, and he'd do what it took to get her through it.

Because that's what one does for love.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HELLO DARLINGS! I'm going to keep my author's notes short since I've got to run. I'm finaaaally seeing a personal trainer (hurray!) because my meds have wreaked havoc on me, and I need someone to tell me how to work out. And I hate working out. So. There's that. Blegh.

There was a third portion to this chapter, but I felt that it detracted from everything happening at the end here, so I've moved it to another chapter.

Not too much to say on my end. I've been getting some reviews from people I've never seen before, giving their opinions on the situation Max finds herself in, and I'm loving it! Even if you disagree with her choices, it's still nice to see your feedback.

And we were so close to getting our moment between them… Ben's death reaction in this scene was another one of those scenes I had planned way back when I was writing The Sky is Falling, so once again it's been nice to write it out. Poor Ben. People were meh about him, even disliked him in the last story, but he was still one of Max's childhood buds. Gotta be hard for anyone.

Anyway. Must force myself into workout clothes and get moving. My freelance novel is due next Monday, so I'll probably take the rest of the week to work on that. However, spoiler alert, the next chapter for us is huge, so I don't want to rush it. So, maybe an update late next week, maybe not.

LOVE YOU GUYS! SEE YOU SOON!