"Good grief," Peter muttered, shaking his head as a trio of older women power-walked by their bench, breathing rhythmically together. "I… I don't even know what to say. You were fine when I last saw you?"
"Yeah, that was a while ago." Max readjusted her sunglasses, still squinting under the hot August sun. "Thanks for visiting, by the way."
He shrugged and took an obnoxiously large lick of his ice cream. Some of the melted chocolate drizzled down to his chin, and he muttered his thanks when she handed him a napkin from her pile.
"I had to keep a low profile."
"Tell me about it." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man snap a picture of her and jet off on his bike. She rolled her eyes. The number of photographers following her around these days were fewer and fewer—she was only half as interesting without Loki or Johnny or Tony Stark in tow, apparently.
And that was fine by her.
"How are you feeling?" He gestured down to her stomach with his cone. Peter Parker was effortlessly cool in his shades and Beatles t-shirt, legs outstretched and an arm resting on the back of the bench. He was also, despite all he'd done for the city, still a kid. "You know… Health-wise."
She scooped the purple plastic spoon through her cotton candy flavoured ice cream, forgoing the cone for a slightly less messy bowl.
"Okay, I guess," she replied with a sigh. "I saw my doctor last week and he said I'm definitely not pregnant anymore… So…"
The silence that followed was a little awkward, and for a moment it looked like Peter was trying to scramble for something to say. When words failed him, he returned to eating his ice cream, and the duo continued to watch the swarms of people enjoying a beautiful day in Central Park. Now that the bodies were cleaned up, the grass and trees redone, and a few memorial plaques added, Manhattan's largest green space was open to the general public again—and Max could have her Sunday afternoon ice cream, just like before.
Hurray.
It had been four Loki-less weeks since she'd had her procedure, the aftermath of which was messier than she'd expected. In the week that followed, she'd experienced a lot of bleeding and cramping, until it finally just stopped. No more pain. No more nausea. No more intense cravings. According to all the online articles she'd perused in the meantime, it would take her body time to adjust, for the hormones to level out. Pat had taken her mood swings in stride, especially after Max spilled all the details of the last three months to her.
Of course, Max wasn't the only one with baggage from the invasion. Pat had come home with night terrors and a fractured wrist—and stories upon stories upon stories of the miseries of the alien-run prison camp. It was easy to understand, then, that her roommate wasn't as sympathetic toward Max's situation as she could have been. Sure, Pat was supportive, but anytime Max started to regale the woman with other stories from the Baxter Building, some of the more fun ones, her eyes started to gloss over.
Pat was also interested in drinking away her problems. They'd always been social drinkers, but this was another beast entirely. At first, Max hadn't wanted to participate. She didn't want to go to bars or clubs, and she didn't want to wake up dreadfully hungover from the night before. Unfortunately, her alternative had been moping around the apartment, obsessively checking gossip sites for any word on Loki, debating how often to text him, and wallowing in bed.
When she was drinking, she could forget almost everything. She could get dressed up and inhale fruity cocktails and waste away the money she'd earned from her S.H.I.E.L.D. gigs—just to stop being miserable.
Surprisingly enough, there were no horrible punishments from Osborn—that she was aware of, anyway. About a week after returning to her apartment, she received her event schedule, same as before. There was no inquiry as to whether she'd like to keep working for the agency: it seemed to be assumed that she wasn't going to stop. With her mom still in chemo—and doing relatively well on it—and a huge chunk of her savings automatically removed over the last three months by her landlord, Max figured she needed to work.
And it wasn't like they were especially difficult assignments. One night, she'd gone with Johnny and Tony Stark to a fundraiser, which she dragged Pat to, and drank herself into a hole once she'd smiled at enough people. A few days later, Captain America led the Avengers, Max, and the Fantastic Four on a street-wide clean-up where some shops had been hit particularly hard during the revolution. No drinking there, but the street-side barbeques for all the volunteers were amazing. Then, she and Sue had been joined by Bruce Banner and a few police captains at the cleaning and replanting of Central Park, which was actually a lot of fun.
There were never any tasks she'd do by herself: there was always a friendly—or moderately friendly—face from the Avengers Tower to work with her, and the press were always more interested in the actual superheroes than her.
Still, there were articles that called her Avengers eye candy. They argued she was only at these functions to stand and smile and look excited. Wild speculations about her relationship with various members of the superhero core were openly discussed in gossip magazines, and she'd seen an article recently analyzing her and Johnny Storm's body language in photos from yet another fundraiser. It was both humiliating and insulting at the same time: Max spent almost ten hours planting shrubs and flowers for the Central Park clean-up event, and yet the following day the press aired a picture of her and Pat drunkenly eating McDonald's after a night out instead.
Regardless, with no direct word from Osborn, Max continued to take the S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments, only backing out of an auction (like she could actually bid on anything anyway with her sad bank account) because she needed to go to Nolan's funeral. Her parents had hosted it at home, without a body, and it was an affair that sent her right back on a bender last night with Pat once she returned to Manhattan. Her parents' sobs echoed in her ears. The looks from relatives when they whispered about what happened—why Nolan had died and Max had lived—had been too much.
Nolan's wife hadn't spoken to her once. Elisa barely made eye contact with her, and the only time Max held her niece Noelle was when her mom had handed the little girl off to her, not because Elisa had offered. The whole ordeal had been draining to say the least, and Max was actually happy to be back in Manhattan. Sure, there were dozens of stressors in the city, but two days with her family had trumped them all.
It had been precisely one month since she'd seen Loki in person. He was never at any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. events she went to, though she'd always gone hopeful. She missed him. She missed his smile, his touch, his voice. She missed the way he rolled his eyes and sighed at her, exasperated. She missed having a confidant.
The way things had come to a close felt wrong to her. Any time she relived their last few conversations, as fleeting as the final one was, she wanted to bury her head in her hands and never resurface. It wasn't right, but she knew she couldn't change it now. No matter how many shots she did with Pat at the bar, she couldn't wish away her regrets.
Unsure whether to go back to the Avengers Tower or not, Max had sent him a few text messages two weeks ago. She'd asked how he was doing, what he'd been up to, and if he wanted to talk—because she missed him. In the entirety of the novel that she'd written for him, she must have mentioned that she wanted to talk a dozen times, and that she hoped he was doing okay—and that she missed him... again. When he didn't respond to the first message, she had tried again a few days later. She knew the very fabric of whatever they had relationship-wise was delicate, and she hadn't wanted to overwhelm him by showing up when he didn't want her around.
But he could have at least texted back. When there was no news after the first week, Max decided to put it off for a little while. She asked others about Thor, hoping that they would inadvertently bring up Loki, but now that she was away from him, she saw just how much the original Avengers unit disliked him.
Somewhere nearby, a toddler started shrieking. Max winced, still a little hungover from last night, and rubbed her head as she turned to glare at the offending sound. A nanny stumbled after the little girl, a few bags flung across her shoulder, as the toddler raced through the sea of picnic blankets and tranquil families.
"So what are you going to do?"
"About what?" She shifted back and faced Peter, then scooped some more ice cream in her mouth. "Pick an element of the shit-fest that is my life, and we'll dissect it."
He chuckled and bit into his cone, once more painting his face with chocolate.
Despite not seeing him until today, Peter had somehow gotten a hold of her number a few weeks back, and they'd been texting about a day to meet up for quite some time. Unfortunately, he held his anonymity in high regards, and when Max was in the gossip rags, Peter was nowhere to be seen. She learned, however, that he'd left Oscorp, nervous about Osborn heading both that company and S.H.I.E.L.D.—given that the agency was relentlessly pursuing Spiderman to join their ranks, she could see why he'd want the distance. He found a job at a small-time newspaper and made them a fortune by getting photographs of his elusive alter-ego, which bigger presses bought from his editor for an undisclosed sum.
"They're pretty happy I'm there," he'd told her when they first sat down to discuss his life in the recent months. "Even if I just get coffees and go to press stuff with their real photographer, I'm definitely moving up on the pay roll."
She was happy for him. So far, it seemed that Peter Parker had kept himself from Osborn's clutches. His girlfriend and aunt were alive and well, and he was able to walk away from everything that had happened relatively unscathed. While she was happy for him, a small part of her was bitter that he had no lasting repercussions.
And then she felt awful for thinking something like that, and she tucked away that guilt with all the rest of the guilt inside her. Sometimes she wondered if the negativity—the guilt, the regret, the sadness, the loneliness—would just drag her into the ground.
"Okay," Peter said after a moment's consideration. "Love life. What are you going to do about Loki?"
She sighed heavily. There hadn't been a day where she hadn't thought about what she'd do about the predicament she found herself in. Even now, a month later, she had no real answers. Pat had told her once over a martini that she personally would have moved on by now—they weren't married, he hadn't spoken to her in a month, so get on with life.
But she couldn't do that. Any time she even considered doing that, her eyes watered and she wanted to bury herself in chocolate and fast food and alcohol and anything else that would make her remotely happy—or make her forget.
"I just want to talk to him," she told him. Her ice cream had started to melt—today was annoyingly humid. "I've texted him and tried to call once or twice, but… he hasn't really been receptive to that. I think he turned his phone off."
"He doesn't exactly seem like type to not be wounded after something like this." Peter crunched down on his cone again and chewed thoughtfully, his fingers now drumming on the back of the bench behind her head. "I mean, he has every right to be upset."
"I know," she groaned, trying not to roll her eyes. "I know he does. I just wish he'd hear me out… I wish we could talk it through. I feel like I was living in this weird… toxic bubble after the invasion, and it finally burst the day I got back to my apartment."
"Well, living in hiding and fearing for our lives wasn't exactly an average day in the life of Peter and Max…"
"Right? I feel like I can breathe again." Max shook her head and let her cup rest in her hands, her ice cream a puddle of blue and pink. "I feel like I can think again. Now would be the ideal time to talk things over."
Well, while she was sober, yes. Heaven help her if she ran into Loki while out on the town with Pat, reeking of alcohol and covered in make-up and hairspray, squished into a tight dress. Max always hoped to see him at S.H.I.E.L.D. regulated events, even if his name wasn't mentioned on the attendees list. She never, never wanted him to see her while she was drunk. He'd seen her intoxicated before, yes, but these past few weeks had been different.
"I don't think you can compare the last few months to real life," Peter said once he'd finished his cone. "It wasn't. Aliens aren't real life."
"Says the guy who fought a giant lizard—"
"An alien invasion was a new one… even for me." He smirked when she looked at him, and then rubbed her shoulder. "You're going to be okay."
Max chuckled weakly. "Aren't you twenty or something? Where's all this wisdom coming from?"
"Baby, I was born this way."
She rolled her eyes, her grin widening. "Gross."
They sat back against the bench and watched the breeze tickle through the trees across the way. If it wasn't so ridiculously hot out, Max might actually enjoy herself. As it was, however, she could have done with a cooler gust of wind: hot air did nothing for her sweat stains.
"So, how long you are you going to wait for him?" He shifted beside her, sitting up and retracting his arm. The shrieking toddler raced in front of them now, nanny a few feet behind. Max watched until the kid face-planted on the cement walkway some ten feet from their bench, and then the manic hysterics started all over again.
"I'm not putting a timeline on it," she said. She knew what she'd decided. She would give him another week or so, and then she'd try to get in touch with him again. "It's not like I'm dying for a different relationship or anything… I'm still trying to get my life back on track."
"Have you gone back to work yet?"
The thought of her old museum always made her breath catch. She shook her head.
"I can't go back to work there." She'd tried to contact her old boss about her situation, but when she was unable to reach them, she dropped her letter of resignation off in the mailbox and hoped someone would realize she had quit, not died. "Nolan… My brother died there. I don't think I could be there every day, you know?"
Not for a long time, anyway. Peter nodded. "Sucks."
"Yeah, it does."
She checked her phone for the time, and then sighed. "I have to get going."
"What?"
"Remember? I'm picking up Valeria from piano…"
Now that Johnny and Ben Grimm weren't forced to remain in the same tower at all hours of the day, Sue found her list of babysitters growing thinner and thinner. She'd called Max earlier in the week to ask if she could pick Valeria up from her lesson Sunday afternoon while they were away for the weekend. Johnny had Saturday covered, but she needed Max to cover today in the afternoon. Franklin had an interview with Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and his parents were eager to get him a spot for the fall term. Theoretically, they'd be home by the time Valeria was finished, but Sue had hoped Max would cover for her if there were any delays.
"I bet she's excited for that."
"Well, she spent yesterday with Uncle Johnny," Max noted as she stood, throwing her purse strap over her shoulder and fluffing out her hair. Sweaty neck. "I think she's excited for some quiet."
"Wait, wait, before you go…"
Peter rose and darted down the walkway toward a beautiful blonde woman strolling toward them, and then returned a few moments later, their hands entwined.
"This is Gwen Stacy." He gestured to her, his mood a thousand times brighter in her presence, and Max grinned and reached out to shake the woman's hand. "Gwen, this is Max… Wright."
The usual pleasantries were exchanged. Max tried not to think about how much she wanted greasy food to cure her hangover while Gwen talked about her schooling and summer job, and Gwen seemed genuinely interested in Max's somewhat lame plans for the future: try to find a job and rekindle almost lost love, thanks.
She couldn't stay for long, no matter how friendly Gwen was. Valeria's piano studio was in walking distance, but all the chatting put her behind schedule, and Max really pushed herself through the lazy Sunday foot-traffic to get there on time. When she finally arrived at the building, she had to argue with the doorman, who insisted she wasn't a regular. It wasn't until she threatened to call Sue and have her sort it out that he finally buzzed her in. The pleasant attitude carried over to the studio's receptionist, who looked Max's sweaty figure up and down brazenly before telling her to take a seat.
Her shorts hiked up a little as she settled into one of the leather couches, music magazines spread out artistically on the coffee table in front of her. If there was ever a time she felt out of place, this was it. Another woman eyed her from across the waiting area: her hair up in a neat French braid, her make-up exquisite and her clothes ironed. Her kid looked even better.
Max, on the other hand, barely wanted to take her sunglasses off, knowing there'd be bags and mascara from last night for all to see. Dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a white racer-back tank, she did not belong amongst the leather and flower arrangements and varnished hardwood and classical music lilting through the air.
Thankfully she didn't need to endure it for long. Valeria was finished right when she was supposed to be, and Max smiled, genuinely so, when she spotted the little girl toddling out ahead of the man she assumed to be the instructor. Bag in hand with music notes scrawled across it, she flew towards Max when their eyes met, and Max scooped the little girl up into a hug.
"Max!"
"Did you forget I was picking you up?" She winced when the tote bag slammed against her side, the corners of all the books inside digging into her, and then set Valeria down. The little girl rearranged her dress, her cheeks flushed.
"No," she said in a small voice. Max looked up when a figure loomed over her, and arched her eyebrows at a man with one of the biggest noses she had ever seen on a person.
Valeria could fit inside one of those nostrils.
"Her homework is in the bag," he told her, hints of an Irish accent seeping out. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the doorway, beckoning for Samuel and his ironed shorts to follow. Grabbing Valeria's hand, she offered to carry the bag for her, and the two set out together. Max asked the little girl to tell her all about her lesson, which Valeria did with impeccable detail. It seemed like every keystroke was touched upon on their walk back to Sue and Reed's temporary apartment building. They'd rented out the penthouse suite and two units below it. It was a swanky affair, similar to the Avengers Tower's interior décor, and Max was surprised that they wanted to leave.
"It's not home," Sue had mentioned flippantly when Max asked. "It's not ours."
She couldn't imagine just how much the family had lost when the aliens bombed the tower—and she wasn't about to ask, given the soreness of the subject.
Since the piano lesson wasn't far from Valeria's home, Max thought it might be a good idea to walk back. Unfortunately, the gruelling heat hadn't let up any, and Valeria went from excited to miserable in a matter of minutes, her forehead glistening with sweat, hair stuck to her face.
"Almost there," Max assured her when she spotted the intersection they needed to turn on.
"Are my parents going to be home?" Valeria's hand tightened around Max's fingers when a man and his dog veered too close. Since her phone hadn't vibrated in her purse yet, she assumed Sue and Reed weren't around.
"Maybe," she said, shrugging as they rounded the corner, "but I'm going to hang out with you until they get here."
The little girl nodded, seemingly pleased. "Okay."
It wasn't until she was closer to the new apartment building that she noticed the reporters. They loitered in front of the doors, snapping pictures and haggling with the doorman. Her stomach sunk: Sue and Reed had tried really hard to keep their current location a secret. It was difficult, given Johnny's propensity for stumbling home after a hard night out on the town, but somehow they'd avoided the swarm of press hounds who'd been hunting them for the last three weeks.
Until now, apparently. Valeria stopped completely when she too spotted the cluster of men with cameras, and Max crouched down in front of her.
"I'm going to pick you up and just push through, okay?" They could have gone somewhere else to wait it out, but she had a feeling Valeria wanted to get inside and away from the general public, her social anxieties at an all-time high as of late—and Max desperately wanted out of the heat. "Is that okay with you?"
Valeria sighed, then pushed the straps of her music bag further up her shoulders.
"I guess."
"We'll move real quick," Max told her, grasping the little girl and hoisting her up onto her hip. "We'll barrel right through like the Hulk."
"You're not exactly the Hulk," Valeria said tersely. Max grinned: she took that as a compliment, even if it wasn't meant to be.
She kept her head down as she approached the horde, but one seemed to recognize her.
And worst of all, they recognized Valeria.
The duo were swarmed before they were even remotely close to the door. She heard some of them calling Valeria's name, telling her they liked her dress, her music bag, her hair. Others were asking Max if she was staying with Sue and Reed, if she was dating Johnny—as the rumors alleged in various tabloids—and what she was doing today. None of the questions had any real substance to them, and yet the cameras flashed and rolled, and the men continued to block her path to the door.
In her ear, she could hear Valeria crying.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped finally, wincing at the curse word. Still, she saw red everywhere she looked, and she finally used the hand not supporting Valeria to shove forward. "Get out of the way! Can't you see you're making her upset?!"
One of them broke the line at last, and Max darted through. The doorman, who'd seen her a few times since Sue and Reed had moved in, already had the door open for her, and she shuffled through with a quick thanks muttered under her breath.
Once she was in with the doors shut securely behind her, she hurried through the lobby and sat Valeria down on one of the benches near the elevator. With tear-stained cheeks, the girl looked physically fine, but she hunched over and in before Max had said a word.
"I'm sorry," Max whispered, brushing her thumbs over Valeria's little cheeks. "I'm sorry for swearing. We should have gone somewhere else until they left."
"They never leave," Valeria mumbled, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes were red when she finally looked up at Max, and it was heartbreaking.
"Okay, let's just go upstairs."
Valeria continued to whimper in the elevator and in the hall leading up to the penthouse suite. Once she was inside and it was evident that Sue and Reed were, in fact, home, the waterworks reignited. As soon as Max set her down, Reed appeared in the hall, face riddled with concern.
"The photographers were kind of pushy," Max told him as he scooped Valeria up, cuddling her to him as she wailed. Sue darted in from the same doorway that Reed did, and she stopped to temporarily console Valeria as Max kicked her shoes off.
Blissful, wonderful cold air powered through the vents at her—it was a thing of beauty.
"Sorry, sorry, I should have texted or called." Sue was still wearing her shoes as she stalked down the hall, running a hand through her hair and sighing. "We just got in a few minutes ago… The press are a nightmare. Johnny really been riling them up whenever he goes out these days."
"Shame they finally found where you were staying." Max pulled her sunglasses off at last and set them on top of her head, and Sue made a face at her.
"Wow. You look rough."
"Thanks," she chuckled. "Nolan's funeral was Friday. So… Needed to let some steam off when I got back to Manhattan."
Sue looked her up and down, and then beckoned for her to follow as she sauntered into the apartment. "I can see that."
Pausing at the hallway mirror, Max tried to pat the dark circles out from around her eyes, but there was no hope for her today.
"How was the school?" she asked, following Sue into the kitchen-living area.
"Beautiful." She watched Sue pull a pitcher of water from the fridge, and then made herself comfortable at the dining table. "Everything we could ever want in a boarding school."
"Do you think his chances are good?"
She nodded as she filled two glasses, then set one in front of Max. "He's in. We just need the final letter of acceptance to make it official."
The ice cream had made her thirsty, and Max gulped down the entirety of her glass all at once. It was as she reached for the pitcher, now placed in front of her, that she noticed a ring on Sue's previously ring-less finger.
"What is that?" she asked with a grin. "Is that…?"
"An engagement ring?" Sue's smile was enormous as she held the diamonds up for Max to study. "Yeah. He finally popped the question before we left for Massachusetts."
Her excitement for the news couldn't be understated, given all that she knew about Sue and Reed's relationship. They skimmed over the usual details that people share when an engagement is announced: how was it done, where were you, what did he say? Reed's romantic side surprised her—he'd taken Sue back to the waterfront bench where they'd had their first date and proposed with her favourite flowers—daffodils—just as the sun set over the river.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about the wedding," Sue said once the gushing died down. Max arched an eyebrow. "I'm not having a maid of honour or anything in a traditional bridal party sense… I don't speak to a lot of my relatives, and I've got a friend or two who agreed to help with everything. Would you… like to maybe… be something like a bridesmaid?"
She let out a laugh of disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"Well, you've been really helpful watching the kids lately, and I thought we were getting along—"
"Yes, yes, I'd love to!" She couldn't stop grinning, touched by the suggestion. "That's… I'll help out in any way that I can."
"We won't have a big table for the bridal party or anything either," Sue insisted as she fiddled with her glass. "It'll be laidback, and you can wear any kind of dress you want. I just… Reed's family is more… They want to see a real wedding, and it would mean a lot to them if we did it in a church and I had people who I can pretend to be bridesmaids walk down the aisle—"
"Whatever you want, I'll do," Max told her, nodding. "Whatever I need to say, I'll say. I think it's going to be great…"
Sue smiled softly and looked down at her ring. "Me too."
Loki always had a hard time picturing Max living in a place like this. His eyes trailed up and down the building that housed her apartment, hands in his pockets and back against the brickwork of the café across the street. Perhaps it was because he'd only ever known her in a small town, but he knew she liked the atmosphere there better. She liked walking from one side to the other on a clear day. She disliked crowded street corners on the weekends. She reveled in familiarity.
This city offered nothing of the sort, and the longer he spent in it, the more he struggled to understand why she would want to live here. It was hot and smelly, and the people could be just as vacant now as they were with Pagurolids inside them. There was no warmth to this place, no charm, and it infuriated Loki that she chose it over him.
That was why when Thor asked if he would like to get away for a few weeks, he agreed. Jane had been in the process of acquiring a new workspace now that she was living locally again, and with his nerves and emotions still raw from all he'd endured, Loki packed a bag and headed south for a few weeks. The quartet—that Darcy woman was an annoying shadow for every occasion—traveled to Virginia, Georgia, and Florida to examine a few buildings for sale.
The whole affair had been painfully dull, but it at least gave Loki a chance to clear his head. Thor was the only one to warrant conversation, and for the most part, Loki had kept to himself. He had welcomed the distraction, but the new, quiet hamlets and towns that they explored sometimes offered nothing more than a quiet place for him to sulk.
He was angry—angry at her, angry at himself. Once he had the time to reflect, he knew he could have responded better. He could have listened. He could have gone after her. After all, he'd heard her sniffling in the foyer while she waited for the elevator, for him. And all he'd done is sat there and listened, numb to everything. She was no better in this, no less at fault for the destruction of what they had. She'd left him in the dark for weeks, only to yank back the veneer and then shut him out just as quickly.
No matter the anger, no matter the rage, Loki couldn't banish her from his mind or his heart. Sometimes he considered it: after all, what chance did they stand? However, once he was finished with those musings, he found he was irrationally irritated with himself, as if thinking such thoughts was a ludicrous notion. He loved her—more than he would ever admit to anyone, even himself. Unfortunately, he needed the space. He needed to breathe, to think.
She sent him a few messages in the aftermath of their fallout, and not once was he tempted to respond. Communicating via an electronic device regarding such serious matters seemed foolish to him, though that didn't stifle the sting of her words. He hated reading that she missed him, that she wanted to talk—especially when he was in a whole different state at the time he received the messages. There was no sense in trying to work through his feelings that way anyway, so Loki shut his phone off and hadn't turned it on since he returned to Manhattan a week ago.
Aside from all the anger, there was sadness too. It was deeper down, a little more inaccessible, but it was definitely there. It wasn't so much the loss of his potential child that upset him, but it was what that loss represented. As Jane had annoyingly brought up, if Loki wanted another child with Max, there was the possibility that they could have one. But when she rid herself of the pregnancy, she broke any hope he might have had that she would leave Earth and live with him on Asgard—she'd stomped on the one beacon of light at the end of this incredibly dark, frustrating tunnel. No more castle in the Asgardian countryside with his lady-love, plotting their lives together… No more.
That child—or the potential of one—was the only thing tying her to him. With that gone, what reason could he give her to abandon her family and friends? Him? Loki wasn't a good enough reason on his own, apparently, and that burned him. It tore him to pieces again and again. It deterred him from sleep, from speech, from expression.
Sometimes he'd remind himself that she was only human—and their love would be different. Loki understood the gravity of time: he had thousands of years left to live. He could be earnest and true because he knew what a long future he had—and who he would want to spend it with. Max's life would be short. It would be a brief flicker, then it would be gone. She seemed to have no understanding of how deep his love ran, and how shallow hers seemed to him.
She was only human. He'd say it over and over again. Only a human. He could leave this realm and return in fifty years, and she'd have lived a whole lifetime's worth of experiences without him, while he had years to endure. She didn't understand that; after some deliberation, he decided it wasn't fair for him to expect her to.
Finally, below the anger, below the sadness, Loki was tired. He was tired of being homeless, aimless, pointless. When he was with Max, he didn't feel quite so exhausted. Even if he was upset with her, she made him feel a little less broken on most days—and he kicked himself for not going after her.
And so, here he was, loitering across the street from her home, unsure of whether he ought to approach her or not. A month's time had crawled by since they had last seen one another—was she as miserable as he? Had she shrugged it off and moved on? They hadn't exactly discussed her reaction the last time Loki disappeared in much detail: he didn't know how she handled separation.
He counted the number of floors in the building, eyes darting up all the way to the top. Was she the eighth floor? Ninth? In his pocket was the slip of paper she'd scribbled her address on, now worn and thin from all the times he'd looked at it, folded it, crumpled it, threatened to rip it.
"Hi."
The single syllable word broke his concentration, jarring him back to his side of the street. Loki almost flinched, annoyed at the intrusion, and glared down at a familiar blonde woman.
The roommate. Pat. Her arm was no longer tucked into a fabric sling, and she clutched two brown paper bags to her chest, food practically spilling over the top.
She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly, and Loki cleared his throat.
"Hello." Pushing himself off the wall, he smoothed his hands down the front of his black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sun's heat was positively sweltering today, but Pat's narrowed look did a better job at setting him on edge.
She nodded toward the apartment building. "Do you want to come upstairs?"
"What?" Loki frowned, his eyes darting back and forth between woman and building, and then shook his head. He almost scoffed. "Of course not."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I—"
"Because I've seen you here all week," she continued, and Loki pressed his lips together tightly—guilty. "And don't tell me you're here for the café, because their food is shit and their coffee could eat through concrete."
He glanced back at the establishment that had been his frequent post. Once or twice this week he'd stepped inside, but only to escape the heat—he'd ordered a water every time.
"So? What is it?"
"A coincidence," Loki said tightly. He then gestured to the bottom of one of her bags, on the corner of which was a quickly growing dark splotch. "Something's leaking."
"What?" She leaned back to survey the damage, and then groaned. "Fuck."
He used the temporary distraction as an escape, but he wasn't more than a few feet down the sidewalk when he heard her speak up one last time.
"She really misses you." Loki paused, chest tight with emotion. It was probably written across his face too—he refused to look back. "So maybe you could stop creeping our apartment from across the street and actually do something about it."
Loki's hands curled into tight balls, and he stalked away before his temper got the better of him.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Just a quick sidenote—I feel that people took what I said in the last author's note as: Max = 100% innocent, Loki = totally selfish bastard, end of story. That's not what I meant at all. A lot of people have rushed to Loki's defense, and I figured maybe I'd need to clarify. Both are selfish characters who didn't really consider the other person's wants, but Max was just the first to act. I only mentioned that Loki was being selfish too, not that he was the only one doing it. In the reviews that I was responding to in the last AN, everyone bagged on Max, and no one touched Loki's faults, like they didn't exist.
He has a right to feel betrayed and upset and miserable because the situation he's in is shit. It's crap, and his situation has been a huge clusterfuck for a long time. At the same time, that doesn't excuse him ignoring what Max wants to do with her body because he thinks he knows better. Max, on the other hand, should have given Loki more time to process everything and actually discussed it with him, like a real discussion, rather than just telling him how things were going to be. In a perfect world, that's how things would have played out.
Anyway, sidenote over. I'll admit, I was anxious opening every single one of my email alerts for your reviews. I fully expected a slew of hate and loads of people to tell me they were done. There were a few readers who let me know they checked out, and as I said on tumblr, I won't chase you back. No one is forcing anyone to read this free online content that I spend hours upon hours upon hours working on for you (and for me… I fucking love doing it, don't get me wrong). Don't expect me to grovel, particularly if you were rude about leaving.
But I was so pleasantly surprised at all the wonderful feedback people left me. It was so touching to read your support, and I also liked reading your constructive "what if" thoughts and concerns. Really, I enjoyed all of it. You guys definitely surprised me in a good way, and I'm so happy to have such wonderful readers.
Like I said when I started that pregnancy plot, I wasn't going to let a character's life fully succumb to that. The repercussions of it will be for Max and Loki to deal with, but life does go on. People adapt, they change, they grow. There's another fourteen or so chapters left to the story, plus an epilogue, and I'm excited to tackle some character development from various figures.
See you next week, lovelies! YOU'RE THE BEST!