"Tuesday?" Max's pen raced across the scrap piece of paper as she sat at her desk, shoulder holding her phone to her ear. "Yes… Yes, that sounds great! Thank you!"

She hit the disconnect button carefully—very carefully—and threw her arms up with a squeal. Her S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued phone flew from her hand and bounced off her bed, landing noisily somewhere behind her. Heart racing and cheeks aching, Max leapt out of her chair and bounded toward the kitchen-sitting room area of her shared apartment, her smile bright enough to power an entire city.

Pat glanced up from her magazine, her thin legs folded beneath her as a commercial flickered across the TV, the volume muted. "What?"

"Guess who just called me?" She flopped onto the other side of the couch, ruffling the cushions as she got settled. "Guess!"

"Some… other talk show host—" Pat sounded less than enthused, and she pressed her lips together tightly when Max cut her off.

"The Met!" It was hard to contain her enthusiasm, her sheer and unbridled joy in the aftermath of a call like that. "They want to interview me… Curatorial assistant, Arms and Armor department!"

Her roommate tossed the magazine aside and threw her arms around Max's neck, dragging her close and squeezing.

"That's so great," Pat gushed, though it was almost too obvious to Max that her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Really, I bet they'll hire you on the spot."

"Why aren't you more excited about this?" she asked, pushing the woman's shoulder. "We could be working together… Finally!"

Pat had been with the Metropolitan Museum of Art for almost five years now, and they'd talked about getting Max in for ages. Even if they wouldn't be in the same department, at least they'd be together.

"They, uhm…" Pat shrugged and reached for the remote to unmute the TV now that the commercials were finished. Gordan Ramsay immediately began degrading his chefs, and Max found herself temporarily distracted. "They fired me last month."

That snapped her out of it. She grabbed the remote out of Pat's hand and turned the TV off completely, then faced her with a frown.

"What? What do you mean they fired you?" She understood the concept of a firing logically, but in that moment, she couldn't quite wrap her brain around it.

"Budget cuts after… everything," Pat muttered, and then sighed. "They let a bunch of us go. I guess they're looking for a few replacements now that the staff was cut in half. Probably… can't run things as well—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" The news stomped Max's excitement right into the ground, and she opted not to tell Pat about how the Met contacted her. She'd done a TV segment with Johnny earlier in the week—just a regular morning talk show, nothing too exciting—and on it she'd been asked about her career. Museum studies, she'd noted enthusiastically. She then went on to say that she was between gigs now, and if museums were hiring, give her a shout—wink.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think a stunt like that would get her a call from the most prestigious museum in the city. She hadn't even given anyone her number, so how they found her was a complete mystery.

But she couldn't say that now. She couldn't even be excited, not when she saw the hurt in Pat's eyes, the distress written across her face. So, Max sighed and softened her tone, snuggling closer and wrapping her arm around Pat's frail shoulders.

"Why wouldn't you say anything?" she asked again, knowing that she had no right to ever ask why someone would keep a secret from her ever again. Pat shrugged and sniffled, using the neckline of her baggy t-shirt to wipe her nose.

"I was upset." Max nodded sympathetically. "I was hurt that I… didn't warrant a spot through the budget hacking."

"What have you been doing for the last month?" After all, Max was under the impression her roommate had been going to work every day. Again, Pat shrugged her shoulders. In the glow of the nearby lamp, she could see the woman's eyes starting to flood with tears.

"Nothing," Pat gasped. "Sometimes I go see friends… I shop a lot. I've napped at the library—"

"Pat—"

"I know, I know!" She threw her hands up and hiccupped. "I know I should have done something about it, but after everything that's happened, I-I don't feel like I have the strength to… to…"

"It's fine." Max pulled her closer and let the blonde's head rest on her shoulder. "I'm not going to take the interview."

Pat sat up sharply, her perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowing. "What? Why? Don't be stupid, Max. This is a really good opportunity."

"I wouldn't feel right taking it now," she admitted meekly, her mouth dry. "It feels… weird."

"I'm going to be so pissed at you if you don't take the interview," Pat told her, grinning as she snatched the remote out of her hand and turned their new TV back on. "Seriously. Take the interview. I can give you all the dirt on the place when you get the position."

Max watched her for a moment, and then sunk down into the depths of their worn couch, legs stretched out to the coffee table. They tried to make it a nightly habit, no matter their plans, to watch the news. The world around them was changing and regenerating after the aliens left, and some things were good, others not so much. Break-ins were high in major and minor cities alike. Government offices, especially in the US, were struggling to rebuild and fighting for power. Food prices were astronomical across the globe as suppliers tried to meet the demands again. Power was hit or miss most days, and utilities costs soared.

Even if she didn't like working for S.H.I.E.L.D., she was glad to have their hefty payments cushioning her bank accounts. It had only been a few days since Sue dropped her engagement announcement, and already Max had done three agency dictated events: her morning interview with Johnny, smiling for pictures at the opening of a new PTSD recovery and research center in Queens, and an interview with the occupants of the former Baxter tower for a newspaper.

Loki was absent for all occasions, and she had felt her hope for their relationship dwindling.

Until Pat had admitted to seeing Loki loitering outside their apartment for most of last week, that is. Stunned, Max had pressed hard for details, but Pat only said that when she approached him, he ran off. It was hard to gauge his mood from so few details, but the fact that he had come all the way down here, even if he didn't approach her, had to mean something.

So, she abandoned her plan to go to him on her terms. Instead, she decided to let him work his way to her apartment. Maybe in a few days, he'd be on her steps, then in the building, then at her front door. Pat thought she was putting too much stock into him, that her hopes were deluded and inflated, and that he wasn't worth it.

Pat didn't know what the fuck she was talking about sometimes, and Max had decided yesterday to stop sharing her Loki-related woes with her roommate. The woman might have been like a sister, but there were always times where they just couldn't see eye to eye on an issue—this was one of them.

And the Met job interview. As much as she wanted to take it, Max couldn't see how she'd be comfortable there now. Her best friend was cut for budgetary issues, and now they wanted to bring in a new hire. As they watched the opening news segment, Max couldn't help but feel, in the pit of her stomach, that she'd been given this opportunity because of all the S.H.I.E.L.D.-mandated publicity she'd been doing lately. The museum probably needed patrons and funding, and maybe it would help to have a shiny fake-celebrity with connections on staff.

She frowned as the news presenters joked around, smiling uncomfortably at an obviously scripted line. Damn. The Met was her dream gig—but she didn't want to get it without merit. Sure, she had the education and some work experience behind her, but not enough to land a job somewhere so lofty on her own. Had someone helped? She figured Osborn would try to keep prospective job offers away to keep her schedule free. But then again, maybe he didn't care about her anymore: still not a peep from him since his note.

And Max definitely preferred it that way.

"Oh my god, he's so good looking." Max snapped back to reality as Pat turned the volume up in what appeared to be a street-side interview with Tony Stark in front of the Avengers Tower. "He's a guy who just keeps getting hotter as he gets older…"

"He's…" A drunk. A good guy, but still a bit of a lush. Max licked her lips, trying to find the right word. "He's interesting."

"Why haven't you introduced me to any of them yet?" Pat demanded as Max tried to listen to the interview. "I mean, what perks do I get for being your friend if you won't introduce me to hot superheroes?"

She shot her friend a look, smirking, and then rolled her eyes. "You get the glorious honour of having my friendship."

"Like I'm not sick of that by now…"

She chuckled and tuned in to the interview. Tony Stark was going on and on about the big deal things his company has done in the last month and a bit: donations galore flowed from Stark Industries, and they'd just signed a deal with an international peacekeeping organization to fund their military technology for future out-of-this-world invasions.

Suddenly, there was some commotion, and the camera panned back to Thor, Loki, and Jane scurrying toward the main entrance. Loki and Jane seemed to be trying to avoid the cameras, while Thor grinned broadly and waved before disappearing inside. Stark smirked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the group.

"Asgardians," he said with a laugh. "Real casual folk. We're off to go have a group dinner and sing kumbaya under the starlight, because that's all we do at the Avengers Tower these days. Group hugs and big smiles for the camera. Thanks for your time, boys."

He then winked at whoever was recording him and blew a kiss toward the camera. As Pat prattled on about how dashing Stark looked, Max couldn't keep her heart from racing. It was her first real look at Loki in weeks, and even if it was through her TV monitor, she'd take it. He looked good—handsome as ever.

Fuck.

The segment then jumped to a less than welcome face. Osborn appeared to be caught in an interview on the run too, cameramen and microphones invading the shot.

"I don't know what Stark is talking about," he admitted, shaking his head. "His company's been in the hole for years… These donations—" He paused to put air quotes around the word. "—must be coming from him… or other illegal entities. That's all I have to say on the issue."

He then hopped into his car and slammed the door, and Mac couldn't help but smirk. It was nice to see him a little unraveled, a little annoyed.

"Can we get drunk tonight?" Max's eyebrows shot up at the question, and Pat let out a lengthy sigh. "I'd really like to get drunk tonight."

Ugh. She'd had enough alcohol in the last month to last a lifetime. Still, Pat was her happiest when she was intoxicated, or about to get intoxicated, or just after being intoxicated, and Max wanted to be supportive to an extent. Pat had been supportive of her need to drink after Nolan's funeral, after all.

"Your drinking isn't… a problem, right?" She posed the question once Pat had muted the commercials, and her friend shot her an irritated look. "I mean, we've been through this with Garret—"

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic," Pat snapped. She then got off the couch and started pulling ingredients from various cupboards and shelves around the kitchen to make her standard margarita. "I thought you'd understand..."

"I do." She turned on the couch to rest her elbows on its back, propped up on her knees. "I do." She then exhaled deeply and ran a hand through her hair. "Can you make me one too?"

Pat grinned as she grabbed the ice from the freezer. "Obviously."

Max then settled back on the couch and unmuted the news, hoping to catch another glimpse of her Loki sometime over the rest of the hour.

"Look! Look at him run!" Thor chuckled and leaned over the balcony, a can of ale clutched in his hand. "Your spider friend is exceptional at chasing down criminals. He stood no chance…"

Loki smirked a little. It was late in the evening now, the cityscape alight with colourful signage and window art, and Loki and Thor had just watched a robber flee up and down the street in front of the Avengers Tower, police in pursuit. The chase was unnecessarily dramatic: the man appeared unarmed, so officers chased him on foot. The average citizen had been ushered out of the way, and it wasn't until the Spider swung in that the chase came to an end. Stuck to a wall and coated in webbing, the thief was apprehended at last, and Loki took another swig of his drink as he watched Peter Parker swing between buildings.

"It was foolish to carry out such a heist in front of this building," Thor noted, shaking his head as the duo continued to watch the scene unfold below. "After all, we are supposed to be Earth's protectors."

"And yet neither of us did a thing to be of service." Loki raised his drink in a mock salute. "Earth's mightiest heroes indeed."

"Perhaps I feel that Earth's people should look after themselves for a change…"

Loki's eyebrows shot up at the omission, and he quickly finished the rest of his drink.

"Bold words, brother, given your love for this realm."

"There are more pressing matters closer to home, I'm afraid." He watched the blond study the scenery on the street, his expression heavier than it had been a few minutes ago. "The other realms are in open revolt, Loki."

"You've mentioned that." He didn't care about the other realms—he barely cared about this realm. Still, should rebellion mean the fall of Asgard by invasion or otherwise, Loki decided that this ought to pique his interest somewhat. After all, as much as he disliked Asgard in the hands of Odin or Thor, he hated the idea more of a foreign ruler. "What do you intend to do?"

"I think it only fair that I return," Thor admitted. "It is my duty as a prince of Asgard to see that there is peace… It could be your duty too, should you wish to claim it."

His jaw clenched as he crumpled his can. Once more, the duo had purchased a ridiculous amount of ale to share and had covered the floor of a balcony with crushed canisters. Their conversation, up until now, had been quite pleasant, and Loki had actually welcomed a distraction from his love life contemplations. Unfortunately, he could already feel the shift in the air, and while Thor had seemed quite patient with him since they were reunited, he could tell the man's perseverance was thinning.

"Loki, we should go home." Thor faced him now, no longer leaning on the railing, and sighed. "Our uses in this realm are dwindling, and I have no interest in posing for photographs and interacting with their corrupt politicians."

"What of Jane?"

"She is not the issue." Loki returned his gaze to the street. He'd hoped a mention of Thor's lover might halt the conversation, but it seemed that was no longer the case. "She understands that I must go, as much as she is saddened by it."

"Well, how big of her," he muttered tightly.

"You're miserable here." Loki tossed the can behind him irritably, nonplussed by the clamour it caused when it hit all the other crushed empties. "You spend your days wandering the city by Max's apartment—" His teeth clenched hearing her name on Thor's tongue. "—and your nights are spent with me at events, but I know you'd rather they weren't."

"I find you much more tolerable these days." There was supposed to be some humour in his tone, but the joke seemed to fall flat on both of them. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, as if that might strengthen his resolve. "I can't leave yet."

"Why not?"

Why not indeed. Loki gripped the metal bannisters, his gaze unfocused as he stared ahead. Thor's judgemental stare and tone were enough to send him over the edge, but Loki did his best to keep his cool.

"How can you ask that and expect a rational answer?"

"Perhaps that in itself is an answer."

He turned sharply and strode off the balcony. As he passed Thor, he muttered, "Perhaps."

To his credit, the oaf didn't follow him, nor did he try to stop him from leaving. Did Thor not see that Loki realized the lunacy of all this? He was well aware of his own inaction, his own cowardice, and it all made him feel very small. He'd be a laughing stock if he returned to Asgard and the others—whoever they might be—learned that he lingered on Earth for so long for the sake of a love affair with a human. His past self would have spat in his face.

It was all ridiculous. He'd been by Max's apartment twice in the last two days, both times disguised to avoid detection, and each time he couldn't bring himself to approach the building. He wanted to see her, but he didn't want to see her happy. He didn't want to see her living her life successfully without him—and yet he didn't want her to wallow in despair either.

He didn't know what he wanted, not now or in the immediate future. It was the first time that his mind was a mess. Loki was so accustomed to precision and calculated thought, but no matter how he tried to apply his reasoning skills to this particular situation, he always came out befuddled.

Having taken up residence in his old room again, much quieter and cleaner without his woman there, he finally had a small hint of privacy. Well, he had true privacy after Stark and the Monster did a sweep of his room to remove all the listening devices that had been planted by Osborn. Enraged at the deception, Loki planned to throw the man off a very tall building if he was ever given the opportunity to do so.

Taking a seat on his usual chair next to the doorway, Loki pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it back on. Even if he hadn't been using lately, he'd carried the thing everywhere. In the blissful silence of his private domain, he reviewed Max's messages for what was probably the tenth time since he received them, his mouth tightening and chest heavy with emotion. Why did she need to ruin everything?

Why did he?

Sighing, he turned the phone off again and slipped it back in his pocket, then closed his eyes. Lost in his thoughts, he wasn't sure how much time had passed before there was a knock on his door. Arching an eyebrow, he shifted and used his magic to unbar the lock.

"What?"

The door opened slowly to reveal Jane Foster, clad in what appeared to be one of Thor's shirts. She looked just as unimpressed to see him as he did to see her, and she held out a small white envelope without stepping into the room.

"This is for you."

Loki's eyes narrowed as he reached toward her. "What is it?"

"We all got one," she told him. "I haven't opened mine yet."

Once he had the envelope in his hand, she was gone. Licking his lips, Loki carefully opened the back, lifting the silver coat of arms that sealed the paper shut. There was nothing more than a little card with elegant script on it inside, and Loki's eyebrows shot up as he read the details.

He'd been invited to a wedding—Reed and Sue's wedding, to be exact. Two weeks from now. A very small, miniscule part of him was pleased to see that they would finally to become man and wife. After all, he'd made the mistake of calling them husband and wife repeatedly during his stay at the tower, so now his mix-ups would mean something.

A much larger part of him was actually touched that they'd considered Loki worthy of an invitation. He knew he shouldn't have cared, but he'd had limited contact with the family since they moved out of the tower, and yet they still thought of him. It was almost… endearing, in a strange way.

Everyone had received one, apparently, and Loki's mind automatically went to Max. Would she be in attendance? After all, she and Johnny were close, and he'd seen them all over the place at various media networks. It would have made his blood boil if he hadn't caught Johnny and Darcy copulating in the elevators last week. Smirking, Loki had turned and taken the stairs back to his room.

Hmm. There was so much more to consider now. Two weeks. He could wait another two weeks before deciding whether or not to return to Asgard. Thor could do as he liked, but Loki would wait. Naturally, he'd need to find something to do to occupy his time now… Wandering by Max's apartment repeatedly was unacceptable.

Nodding, he stood and slipped out the door, off to ask how one responds to the RSVP request mentioned on the bottom of the invitation.

"Can I get a Long Island Iced Tea?" Someone behind jostled by her, knocking against her shoulder and butt, and Max gritted her teeth. The bartender nodded, back turned to make her order as she rummaged through her clutch for some money.

A sweaty body suddenly pressed against her, crotch to her hip. "You from Long Island, sweetheart?"

His breath alone almost made her gag. Sure, she was pleasantly drunk, but even intoxicated she hated the smell of horrible, liquored-up breath. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, forcing her attention to the bartender in black. Her admirer, tall and needlessly muscular with a buzzed haircut, seemed unimpressed with her response.

"Fucking bitch." And with that, he was gone. Her hands wrapped around the cool glass once it was set in front of her, and she took a small sip from the red straw.

"That'll be eighteen seventy-five," the bartender told her, leaning across the faux-marble barrier to speak to her over the pounding music. She nearly spat out her gulp.

"Are you for real?" There was no point in arguing the prices. The guy just shrugged and stared at her pointedly, and Max begrudgingly handed over a twenty.

The Elephant's Trunk wasn't exactly her usual hangout, but she'd been getting invites to bars and clubs in the mail these days that she'd always ignored. They were all pricey and elitist, but they'd offer her two free admits if she posed for pictures, and Pat was eager to sink her claws into everything and anything night club related these days. Nestled in what would usually be a relatively quiet section of Midtown Manhattan, the club was three storeys high with different themes to each floor.

To soften the blow of Pat's recent dismissal from the Met, she'd agreed to take her to the Elephant's Trunk on the condition that they'd leave before the last call. It wasn't that she disliked drinking and dancing and goofing off downtown—it was that she liked it once a week. She and Pat used to get all dolled up and try a different club or bar every Saturday night. Sometimes they'd fly solo, sometimes they'd go with their friends, but it was as much of a weekly ritual as ice cream in Central Park on Sundays.

It wasn't special anymore. As she clutched her thin glass to her chest and scanned the packed area for Pat, she decided this wasn't as fun as it used to be. A few weeks ago, she'd needed the distraction as much as Pat had. She needed the loud noise and booze and the flirty guys to boost her mood. Usually they'd leave by one, grab a bite to eat, and then head home together—never a boy for Max, always a few phone numbers for Pat. Lately, however, Pat had been bringing guys home with her. She'd argue to stay until the last possible moment, then flit to another bar that was open later. Her friend was miles ahead of her on the enjoyment scale these last few outings, and it was starting to feel exhausting.

Still, she'd made an effort to have fun. She drank the concoctions that Pat brewed up at home, and she slipped her body—which was slowly filling out again, thank goodness—into a svelte navy number that hugged her frame perfectly. Make-up done. Hair blow-dried. Heels on. She looked the part, but as she finished half of her drink, which definitely wasn't strong enough for the money she forked out on it, and teetered toward Pat, she knew she didn't feel the part anymore.

"Oh my god, you'll never guess who's here!"

Max stumbled a little when Pat grabbed her arm and dragged her farther from the bar. The second floor was all bass and beats and black and white décor, and Pat also had no problem looking the part. With her willowy blonde locks and exceptional smoky-eye make-up, she caught every guy's eye they wandered by—and she loved it.

"Do you know how much this fucking drink costed?" Max finished it in another large gulp, then made Pat slow so she could discard the empty glass on an already cluttered little table. "Twenty fucking dollars."

Pat gave no response, and Max frowned. This should have been an outrage! She could get better Long Islands down at a cheaper bar with less people and fewer guys groping her—they always thought they were so subtle. Her head spun when Pat took her on a sharp turn, and the two struggled up a narrow staircase in their heels, squeezing passed men who wouldn't move and girls in similar wobbly situations.

Pat whirled around and practically screamed the name in her face once they cleared the stairwell. "Tony Stark!"

Her eyebrows knitted together. "What?"

"He's here!"

How the fuck did she know that? Max had left her alone for less than five minutes on her hunt for her next drink. Sure enough, in the far corner of the third floor, Max stumbled upon a roped off area for the one and only Tony Stark. He looked quite dapper in a pressed suit, no tie, and a harem of women around him. There were a few men too, but they were pushed to the outskirts of the couches. As was to be expected, Stark was seated in the middle.

"Introduce us," Pat demanded, fluffing her hair and adjusting her dress's lewd neckline. Max rolled her eyes. She wasn't in the mood for this. She might have been drunk, but she'd rather spend the night with Pat and then get out—not Tony and Pat and all the chaos that'd bring.

"No, come on, he's clearly—"

"Max!"

"Fine," she groaned, rolling her eyes again and pressing forward. A security official held up a hand to stop them, but she managed to catch Tony's eye and wave. He grinned immediately and rose.

"Ladies," he greeted, breath sour and tainted with alcohol. He opened the barrier and gestured for them to enter, which they both did with some trepidation. "Been a while, kid."

"It's been like f-five days." Her fumble made her wince. "At that dinner thing—"

"Figure of speech," he said breezily. Beneath his sunglasses, Max watched his gaze flit to Pat. "And who might this be?"

"Patricia." The blonde extended her hand to grasp Stark's outstretched one, and Max sighed when he brought it to his lips.

"My roommate," Max added. Pat's smile widened when Tony kissed her knuckles, and Max suddenly felt a little queasy. As the introductions continued, easily drowned out by the music and clusters of people on the other side of the rope barrier, Max's eyes darted around the area. On the hunt for a bathroom, she didn't even notice Pat and Tony leave her standing there by herself, and when she turned back to them, bathroom successfully located, she found herself standing alone.

Another drink would have been nice—something to hold as she felt numerous pairs of eyes studying her in her solitude. Squaring her shoulders, she stalked across the space, slipping around the circular little tables to squish onto the bench next to Pat.

"You never told me you lived with such a charming young woman," Stark told her as Pat giggled. Max wanted to point out that "young" was probably the opportune word, but she didn't. Instead she shrugged and nodded.

"She's a keeper."

No matter how many shots she'd consumed earlier in the evening, Max's buzz wore off faster than she would have liked. Pat and Tony fell into a deep conversation pretty quick—she assumed due to their shared state of inebriation—and Max excused herself at quarter to one for a bathroom break. She touched up her make-up in the mirror, removing some mascara smudges with a piece of toilet paper, then nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot though—that wasn't something she could just wipe away.

"Hi there."

A man stepped in her path just as she exited the bathroom. Standing at roughly her height in heels, he wore a suit similar to Stark's, his sunglasses tucked into his jacket's pocket. She appraised him quickly, assessing his face, hair and body in one fell swoop. Traditionally handsome, his grin would drive any girl crazy.

But not her. No one anywhere could hold a candle to the guy she actually wanted.

"Hi," she said after a brief pause. She then smiled coolly and stepped around him, but he caught her by the elbow before she could get too far.

"What's the rush?" For the first time tonight, a guy's breath didn't reek of alcohol. Max noted that he was chewing gum, and was tempted to ask for a piece for Tony. "Let's chat."

"No, I'm f-fine." Damn it. She just couldn't get her drunk tongue around the f's tonight. "Gotta get back to my friend."

However, another two steps closer to Stark's corner revealed a sight that made her jaw drop. Tony Stark kissing her best friend. Tony Stark had his tongue down Pat's throat.

And her friend looked thrilled. Arms everywhere, legs on his lap, she was practically straddling him.

How long had she been in the bathroom for?

"Looks like your friend is busy—"

"Still don't want to chat, thanks," she snapped, brushing his hand off her arm and hurrying forward. She wasn't in the mood for this tonight. The fun was wearing off quick, and she didn't have it in her to make small talk with strangers while Pat sucked face with Tony Stark.

"Hey," she said, shamelessly interrupting their face mashing. "I think I want to go."

"That's fine," her friend told her, hands on the buttons of Stark's dress shirt. "I think I'm gonna to stay here for a while."

"Pat—"

"Max," she hissed through gritted teeth, nodding pointedly at Stark, enunciating every word. "See you at home."

Stung by the way Pat wanted to end the night, Max nodded and stalked back toward the staircase. It took her another fifteen minutes to actually find her way to the ground floor of the club, having forgotten where the other staircases were and totally entrenched by club-goers.

Once she was through the exit, she staggered under the warm summer air. Apparently there was no reprieve at any time, night or day, from the heat. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to get some ventilation to the back of her neck. The inside wasn't actually much better than the outside, but at least the inside wasn't flanked by photographers. She noticed a few of them trying to get by the bouncers at the door, and she assumed Tony's presence called to them—he'd been all over the news the last few days, not just on tonight's news special.

When one of the paparazzi turned toward her, camera suddenly up, she groaned and stalked to the curb. Unfortunately, when she raised her hand to call for a cab, she realized she'd left her clutch somewhere inside the club.

"Fuck," she hissed, heart hammering in her chest, stomach lurching. All her identification was in there—her money! She whirled around, wobbling on her heels somewhat. The line to get into the bar was around the corner, and the bouncer looked angry enough dealing with the gathering photographers. And now said photographers were making their way over to her.

There was probably a slim chance she could get back inside without paying a cover fee, and with her picture being snapped by a half dozen men, she didn't want to stand around trying to decide what to do. She'd walked from her apartment to this area of the city before; she could do it again. In the morning, she'd come back for her clutch, assuming no one stole it.

"Max!"

She ignored the first few men who called her name, but they caught up with her soon enough.

"Do you need a ride?"

She kept her head down and charged forward, cheeks tinted pink as people skirted out of the way, annoyed that her entourage took up the entire sidewalk. "No."

"Did you have a good night in there?"

"Did you see Tony Stark?"

She sucked in her cheeks and bit down to keep from telling them to fuck off. Thankfully, her silent treatment sent the majority of them packing. Sometimes photographers could be nice. A few told her to have a good evening, to get home safe, as if they knew her. That was what got to her sometimes. Sure, the sentiment was nice, but they weren't friends, and she didn't want random strangers with cameras talking to her like they'd been buddies for years.

One asshole decided to stick around, however. As she turned a corner a few blocks from the club, he continued to pester her.

"Do you and Tony Stark make a habit of frequenting the same bars?"

"Can you just leave me alone?" She held her hand up in front of his camera, but he just moved to her other side and continued to film. "This is harassment."

The drunk buzz was fading fast, her forehead caked with perspiration, and she could feel the usual headache starting to sink in.

"Did you two talk about anything in particular?"

As her heels pounded on the pavement, a familiar face caught Max's attention across the street, and as much as she didn't want to get his attention, she was desperate now.

"Thor!"

Clad in a pair of knee-length shorts and a plain t-shirt, he could have fit in with any other pedestrian. However, his strikingly handsome facial features were always a standout, and it was mere luck that she'd looked up at the right time.

Max waved when he looked at her, and the photographer took a few steps back, still filming as Thor jogged across the street. He had a plastic bag shopping bag full of goodies in one hand and a dopey grin on his face.

"Max," he said, beaming as he pulled her into a hug. The whole gesture both surprised and touched her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his thick neck. "This is a pleasant surprise."

When he stepped back, she noticed his eyes dart sharply to the photographer.

"Is this a friend of yours?"

"No," she said quickly, pointing toward the guy. "He followed me and he won't leave me alone."

"What?" The photographer finally lowered his camera, scoffing. "Come on, we were just chatting—"

"Is there a reason you wish to pester this woman?" Thor took a step forward him, the shopping bag clenched in his fist now. "Must I forcibly remove you from her sight?"

"Nope, I got everything I needed…" With that, the guy scampered off at last, but Max waited until he disappeared around a corner and stayed there before letting out her sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she muttered, suddenly feeling awkward to be so scantily dressed around him. "I… I left my purse in the bar and all these photographers were there…"

When she looked up at him, it took everything in her not to ask about Loki. Every sort of resistance she had, Max used. Thor smiled gently, a hand in his pocket.

"Is your home near?"

"Maybe a twenty minute walk."

"Then I shall take you there," he offered, and together they flagged down a yellow taxi, his massive arms probably catching the attention of every car passing. Once they were settled in the backseat, her address given and car moving, Max shifted to face him.

"What's in the bag?" And why was he roaming the streets well after midnight. Thor held it up and grinned.

"We are holding a movie night at Darcy's request," he told her, "and we've run out of ice cream sandwiches."

She tugged at the edge of the bag, trembling a little. "Better hope they don't melt out here."

It was hard to contain her excitement to be around him—to be around someone to near to Loki. As the cab slowed to a stop at a set of lights, she licked her lips and took a deep breath.

"How…" But she couldn't say it. Even with her words unsaid, Thor seemed attuned to what she wanted to ask.

"He is… lonely, I think." His face lost some of its mirth when he admitted it, and it was like someone had stabbed her right in the heart. She leaned her head back against the armrest, unhappy with the way the whole cab stunk of cigarettes, its jerky movements making her dizzy—unhappy at the news.

"Should I come see him?" She folded her arms, holding herself. "I wasn't sure if I should."

"My brother is difficult to judge when he's in the darker places of his mind." The cab ride was surprisingly swift, and before she could say anything, Thor paid for the ride. They both scrambled out in front of her apartment, and he gave her another small smile. "One wrong word will send him running."

Smoothing her hands through her hair, Max exhaled deeply. "Great."

"Do you miss him?"

"Every day." She gestured down at her dress. "He always liked me in blue, you know? Sometimes I wear it… just in case he sees me."

Had she admitted her secret to anyone else, Max might have felt foolish. But under Thor's careful gaze, she felt relieved to finally admit it to someone. Pat wouldn't take any of her whining these days, and it was hard to burden Garret and Tiffany with her problems when they were so excited about their baby.

"Let me bring you inside." He nodded toward the door and caught Max when she stumbled on a step. She flushed as he watched her pester one of her neighbour's to buzz her in, and once they were at her apartment's door, he frowned when she pulled the spare key off the frame. "That seems dangerous."

"No one's broken in yet," she said, suddenly drowsy. "Well, no one while the city hasn't had looters and aliens, I guess."

She stumbled in when the door swung open, and then turned to face Thor.

"Thank you for taking me home."

"Of course." His smile was gentle again, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Sleep well."

"Don't tell him you saw me like this," she blurted when he was halfway down the hall. He stopped and turned, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times. "I mean… If you want, you can tell him I miss him, but—"

"You can tell him what you wish when you speak to him yourself," he offered. He then held up his plastic bag and chuckled. "I must go… Like you said, they're all melting."

"Yeah, yeah, go." Max waved him off as he waited for the elevator, and made sure to lock the door behind her. Seated on the couch, her aching feet finally free from her heels, blisters starting to form, she sighed again.

When she spoke to Loki again herself. Ha. How was she supposed to do that if even Thor didn't know how to approach him?

Groaning, she grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it, trying to forget everything: Tony and Pat, Thor's words, and Loki's loneliness.

And before long, she was asleep, legs dangling over the couch and drool pooling on the cushion.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was supposed to be two chapters, but I've had a few people comment on the pace of plot, noting that there's too much "ordinary". I personally haven't noticed scenes where people are just brushing their hair or teeth or whatever, but it's hard to be too critical of your own work. So, I decided to merge these two chapters together to keep the ball rolling.

Now that Loki's a little broken, I see a part of him reverting back to how he was in the first Thor movie. He wasn't one for huge action back then—he sort of stewed over his feelings until he finally had enough to do something. I think he's grown a lot, but he falls back on old habits more than he'd like to admit. He's quick to react to Thor, gets jealous, hides away from his problems.

I'm not sure how many people noticed my hints that Johnny and Darcy have been a thing for a while now, but… It's cute in my head, and Loki catching them in the elevator would have been a fun scene to write.

Max was initially going to be belligerently drunk in this chapter (hence the title), but the more I thought about it, the less it rang true for me for her character. She enjoys drinking and having a good time, but I think this party lifestyle is bringing her down more than up. So. She's just grumpy-tipsy, which is a state I find myself in whenever I drink.

I'm off! I have sooo much free time because work didn't schedule me at all, but I have author-y stuff to do now. My book release is August 20th, and my author's website is officially up and running. I'll try to add it to my profile here, because you can get updates on the books there and promote your stuff through my blog or my promos page. It's fun. CHECK IT OUT!

Much love, babies. The next three chapters are one huuuuge scene, and spoiler alert: we're in wedding mode. Muy excited to write it, and I'll hopefully see you sometime next week!