"Maybe I should have brought flowers…"

Everyone had brought flowers. Max stood some ten feet away from the wall, a wall laden with photos and bouquets and names etched in bright graffiti. Despite the potential fire hazard, candles littered the area, many lit and flickering in the chilly October breeze. All these long months had passed, and she hadn't been able to bring herself down here. News stations had covered the wall in detail, repeatedly. It was a strong humanity piece to show someone immortalizing their loved ones on the wall.

They'd done this, apparently, years ago when Loki wreaked havoc on the city—for real, not as a puppet king. Well, from what she understood, anyway. She'd hesitated asking him to come with her that morning, but when he learned what she was doing and where she was going, he'd dressed himself for the day and followed her out.

"Flowers die," he said, his hand resting on her lower back. She glanced up at him and noticed his eyes fixed on the scene, though his emotions were difficult to read. When he undoubtedly felt her gaze on him, he blinked away the blankness and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "They wilt. This is better."

According to the wall's website, people were allowed to bring whatever they wanted to place by the wall—but it should be noted that dead and dying flowers would be disposed of. Among the sea of petals and candles, Max had seen blankets and sweaters, lawn chairs covered in books, and trunks filled with who knows what. It was probably a pickpocket's dream to scrounge through everything once the sun had set and the mourners drifted away.

She wasn't sure if the thieves would want what she brought. Probably. Her grip tightened on the cardboard box, fingers slipped through the hand hole, and she heard the bottles clink together. She'd brought beer. Nolan's favourite, in fact. The fall chill would keep it cold, and she didn't even mind if Manhattan's seedier characters took one once she'd left. It wasn't great beer. Johnny said it tasted like piss when he'd gone with her to buy it, but he'd cut his tirade short when she told him why she was making the purchase.

Beer. Two laminated sheets, one with a picture of him and Nolie, another with an article detailing his bravery overseas. A permanent marker to write his legacy. Duct tape to keep it all in place.

It had taken them a long time to find a spot on the wall that wasn't completely covered. Loki had initially encouraged her to put Nolan's photo wherever she wanted, but Max had told him it felt wrong to cover someone else up in the process. So, they wandered the entire length of the wall, which ran through a good chunk of the island, until she found a spot that wasn't overly laden with memories already.

There were a few people milling around, some taking pictures while others added new bits and bobs to the wall. Now that she'd settled on a spot, Max found it difficult to move forward. She clutched the case of beer and the pictures to her, staring, her eyes prickling with emotion. A second squeeze from Loki brought her back to the now, and she sniffled a few times before pressing onward.

He held the pictures at her request, and Max doubled over to clear a small patch for the beer case. She lifted a few of the trinkets and bouquets briefly, but set them back on the box once she'd pushed it snug against the concrete. When she was finished, a passerby probably wouldn't notice the beer's label at first glance.

When she turned around, Loki was already by her side, holding out the rest of her supplies silently. Licking her lips, she pulled off her thin gloves and stuffed them in her pockets, then got to work on setting the pictures in place. His photo went up top. It was from a barbeque last year. They'd played cards in the backyard until long after the sun had set, celebrating her mom's health improvements since she'd started treatment. Max made sure all the corners were held down properly before adding the internet article below. Her parents had it framed at home—Nolan rescuing locals, going above and beyond the call of duty.

She thought it belonged up there.

Once all the tape was in place and she'd smoothed her hand over it a few times, she popped the cap off the permanent marker and started writing. Father. Husband. Son. Brother. Soldier. She then scribbled his name and his birthday before stepping back. It wasn't the prettiest piece on the wall. It almost looked a little bland next to some of the gorgeous artwork that people had done, but it was fine for the occasion.

Ugh.

Her face wrinkled as she tried to fight the oncoming waves of tears, her hands flying up to hide her expression. Loki pulled her close, his cool hand resting on the back of her neck while the other arm wrapped around her. He murmured soothing sounds, his mouth pressed to her hair as she pulled herself in tighter to his embrace.

"I'm sorry," Loki whispered, and she finally pulled her face out from behind her hands. The wind made the tear streaks biting on her cheeks, and used her coat to dry them. She then looped her arms around his, hugging him with everything she had. "Shall I take you home?"

She shook her head. "Can we just… stay here for a bit?"

He gave her a slight nod, and Max turned in his arms to face the wall. Back to chest, she leaned against him and cried, hopefully for the last time in the near future, for her brother.

"This is going to be amazing."

Loki shot her a skeptical look as he scrolled through the images on her phone, his eyebrows climbing ever higher on his forehead.

"This looks ridiculous." He turned the phone to show her a picture of a couple in neon. "I'm not wearing that."

"But it's an eighties-themed night," she argued, taking her phone back and going through some of the images herself. "We can just replicate the feel of it… You don't have to look exactly like that."

"Max—"

"We won't be able to get into the bar without dressing up," she told him finally, locking her phone and tossing it on the bed beside him. "I'll show you my outfit, then we can make yours."

He rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide the fact that attending an eighties night at a low-key bar was on the bottom of his to-do list. It had been Darcy's idea, and as soon as Max heard about it, she couldn't resist. After all, she'd been working for four days straight since she and Loki commemorated Nolan on the memorial wall, and she thought this would be a good way to let off some steam. Work was drowning her in projects these days, which made it harder to see Loki—or anyone, really. When Darcy texted her about a night out, she jumped on the opportunity for a little drunken mayhem.

And getting dressed up in silly eighties fashion only made the night better, in her opinion. At the end of the week, Jane, Darcy, and Thor were leaving Manhattan for Jane's recently purchased lab space in New Jersey. Out in the middle of nowhere on the coast, it was going to be her new primary working facility, and Max knew the woman was eager to set it up. So, in a way, this was sort of their last hurrah in the city.

Johnny had pushed Max harder than he needed to when he asked if she was going—even if he hadn't admitted it, she knew he was going to miss Darcy's presence. Apparently they'd decided to stay friends-with-benefits, for now, and resume their relationship if they were ever living in the same city again. So, of course, Johnny Storm was decked to the nines in a white suit a la Michael Jackson in his Smooth Criminal music video, and Max had popped into the kitchen to say hello while he and his lady love—sort of—made margaritas.

Loki, meanwhile, had been surprisingly quiet since her arrival, and had only really started to speak up when she turned her attention to his outfit. He'd sat on the bed for the better part of a half hour, listening to her ramble on about her work projects, giving only the mildest bit of advice whenever she looked to him for it. Otherwise, he seemed remarkably focused on her, like he was absorbing and processing every last word that fell from her lips. It wasn't that she objected to the attention, but she'd never seen him as interested in the mundane stressors of her job before.

"Okay, two minutes," she said, grabbing her duffel bag and heading for the bathroom. "Once you see my stuff, I promise it won't seem so ridiculous."

"Right."

She poked her tongue out at him before shutting the door, then stripped out of her work clothes. Grey, boring pants and a black sweater found a new place atop the toilet, replaced with a pair of leggings with geometric patterns running down the sides, some ballet flats, and a baggy off-shoulder shirt that said Express Yourself across the front. The colour scheme consisted of purples, blues, and whites, and she finished the outfit off with a pair of legwarmers.

Even if she was down for getting dressed up in eighties garb, she wasn't about to attempt any of the eighties hairstyles. From what she remembered—vaguely—they were ridiculous. Instead, she puffed her hair and added some bright lipstick to complete the look, then stepped out of the bathroom and flicked the light off.

"See… Not so awful…" She trailed off when she spied Loki, whose clothing had changed drastically in the last couple of minutes. Rather than his usual black ensemble, Max found him in a blue jacket with outrageous shoulder pads, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was a white t-shirt beneath, and a pair of faded jeans that touched down on a pair of loafers.

His eyes met hers, his expression almost sheepish, and she let out a delighted squeal.

"You look amazing!" And she didn't even have to do any work.

"I hate myself," Loki muttered. She laughed as she strolled toward him, her eyes roving his body in a way that wasn't subtle. Once she was close enough, she pressed her hands to his chest and leaned in.

"I love it." She pushed herself up on her toes and kissed him, then wiped the lipstick off his lips. "You look… crazy like the eighties."

"Wonderful."

"How did you do all this?" she asked, tugging at the clothes to get a better look at them. The jacket was impeccable, like someone had tailored it to his body. He shrugged one shoulder.

"I simply used a bit of magic to alter the shape and style of my attire, basing it off the pictures you showed me."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, lips quirked up in a smile. "Wow."

"I can change—"

"No," she said quickly, cutting him off with another kiss. "Don't change anything… You're spectacular."

Despite not being thrilled about the evening's outing, it seemed he was at least making an effort for her—and that was all that mattered. After appraising his outfit a few more times, Max had him alter a few of the colour patterns on her leggings, then they tackled his hair. She poofed it to the best of her ability, and even though there was a lot of giggling and flirty vibes coming from her, she didn't quite feel the same from him. Once more, Loki seemed so focused on her, his eyes rarely leaving her face when she talked.

He'd also managed to find a way to keep touching her since they'd started working on his outfit. A hand on her shoulder, her lower back. Pressed up to her. Seated snugly beside her. She wasn't sure what had brought on the onslaught of attentive affection, but she wasn't about to complain either. Instead, she reveled in it. She leaned back, kissed him frequently, and almost climbed into his lap before they were through.

However, they weren't the only ones going out that night, and it didn't seem fair to make anyone wait while they fooled around. So, hands clasped, they moved from Loki's room to Thor's, where Max found the other couple on their way out too.

And not dressed up at all.

"No, no," she said, pointing at Thor's casual, everyday outfit. "No, it's a themed night. Where are your outfits?"

"I don't have anything eighties here," Jane admitted. She looked lovely in her little blue dress, but it wasn't on trend for the decade. So, Max grinned and patted Loki's chest.

"How lucky that we have someone who can work magic with clothes," she chuckled. "Let's fix up these outfits."

Thor, unsurprisingly, was game to alter his outfit to the most outlandish degree. By the time Loki was finished, Thor looked like a legitimate eighties punk rocker, complete with dark nails and crazy hair. Dressing Thor was the first time that she'd heard Loki laugh that evening, which made her heart soar. His laughter, genuine laughter, was always so infectious, always so easy. He looked totally at ease when he let out a real laugh, and that was when Max found him most attractive.

Despite Thor's willingness to make a fool of himself, Jane didn't follow in his footsteps. Rather than letting Loki alter her clothes, she and Max went through her wardrobe, which was scattered messily across various open suitcases, and they managed to put together something more suitable for the evening.

With everyone in acceptable outfits, they all proceeded down to the kitchen common area, where Johnny and Darcy had drinks waiting for them. No matter how strong they made their margaritas, Max knew it would take a dozen before Loki started to feel even mildly buzzed—another reason she had such immense appreciation for him playing along tonight. At least Max could have drunk herself silly if she didn't want to go somewhere, but Loki would have to remain pretty sober for anything he didn't want to do.

"Thanks for all this," she said after she started on her second drink. Despite Johnny and Darcy encouraging everyone to pound back whatever they made, Max opted to limit herself to show some solidarity with Loki. As much as she wanted a fun night out, she knew it wasn't fun to deal with a belligerent significant other at a bar.

Loki raised his glass to her. "Of course."

"No, I mean it," she told him as she wrapped an arm around him, pressing her body against his. "There's so many things you don't have to do for me, but you always do. I really appreciate it."

He was quiet for a moment, watching her with just as much concentration as he had all night, before he let out a little sigh and said, "I know."

Her eyes wandered across his features, taking him in. She then set her drink on the kitchen island, ignoring the boisterous laughter coming from Johnny somewhere behind her, and nibbled on her lower lip.

"Are you alright?" She held his gaze, hoping to see some flicker of reaction dart across his eyes. "You seem… Is everything okay?"

Nothing. If she didn't know him like she did, she would have thought he looked stoic. Thankfully, he broke the expression with a gentle smile and a nod.

"I'm fine."

"You know, we can stay in if you really don't want to go—"

"I do," he murmured. He then ducked down and pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek, one that made her pulse race. "I want to go."

Max hesitated, but then decided that if he had something to say, he'd say it. So, she nodded a few times and grabbed her drink again. "Okay."

Darcy dragged her away a few moments later to do a few shots, which she barely survived. The only reason she did them was to encourage Jane to participate—the woman seemed more out of her element than ever surrounded by rambunctious drinkers. At least she had Thor to fall back on.

Two cabs pulled up for the group within the hour, and they were soon on their way to the bar. It wasn't an overly popular place, nor was it several storeys high with different themes on each floor. It was a standard two-level establishment with bars and booths and a dance floor and a stage. Max and Jane checked their coats when they arrived, then followed Johnny and Darcy into the sea of eighties-clad bar-goers. The music was loud without being overwhelming, the people drunk without being obnoxious.

After weeks of drowning her sorrows in alcohol with Pat at places the exact opposite of this, Max realized she was done with the club scene—at least for a little while. It was nice to be able to walk from place to place, Loki's hand always wrapped around hers, without shoving through a ten foot thick wall of people. The bartenders were attentive, since they weren't swarmed with people, and not once did she need to fight for a place to sit.

"See?" She turned back to address Loki, who followed behind her on their self-guided little tour of the bar. "It's not that bad."

"I never thought the establishment would be the issue," he argued, "but rather what I'd be forced to wear…"

She rolled her eyes, and the duo each grabbed a beer—a relatively safe drink—and headed over to the table that their group had commandeered. Jane and Thor were deep in conversation, their heads bowed toward one another, hands touching. Darcy and Johnny, meanwhile, made it very obvious that their time together was dwindling: she was practically on his lap, their lips locked and empty glasses scattered across the table in front of them.

It was maybe an hour into the night, after she and Loki had lost to Jane and Thor at a round of darts, that Max heard a sappy eighties melody croon through the speakers. She'd been eyeing the dance floor since she arrived, eager to throw herself into something silly, but she'd resisted asking Loki to dance with her until now.

"Dance with me?" She tugged on his arm, nodding toward the small, half-full dance floor. "Doesn't have to be anything wild."

No fist pumping or bouncing around needed to a song like this. It was like a slow dance at a middle school out there, something she thought was more Loki's speed. He looked between her and the dance floor, and then nodded.

"Sure."

His expression hadn't faltered once. No look of annoyance flashed across his eyes. There was no irked tone to his voice—nothing. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Seriously?"

He grabbed her hand and walked her toward the other dancers, and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd back away at the last second. However, her doubts were proven wrong when he pulled her to him and set a hand on her waist. Trying to hold back her giddy smile, she placed her hand in his, and even if it wasn't quite middle school dancing, it would do.

"You never dance with me," she said, sliding in close, her hand on his shoulder and forehead to his cheek. "Are you dying or something? Can pigs suddenly fly?"

Her chuckle fell flat when he didn't respond, and Max drew back. His hand clamped down on hers before she could wrench it away, and she frowned at him.

"Oh my god, are you dying?"

"No," he said firmly, dragging her close and swaying them back and forth. They weren't exactly in time with the music, but she didn't care. They were dancing. She and Loki. Dancing. Together. Willingly.

"Well, good," she muttered. They stayed like that for the majority of the song, on the outskirts of the dance floor, swaying in one another's arms.

"Max?"

She glanced up, an eyebrow arched. "Yeah?"

"I realize there is probably a more… appropriate time to tell you this," he started, his voice soft and smooth in her ear. Everything else was background noise, muffled and nonsensical. "When Thor and Jane leave at the end of this week… I'll be going with them."

She almost stopped swaying, but his movement was steady enough to keep her going.

"What do you mean?"

"Thor will take the weekend to settle Jane," Loki continued, his hand pushing her against him, pressed to her lower back. "When he is done, he will return to Asgard… and I will go with him."

Right then and there, Max was glad he was holding her up. She let out a shaky breath, her heart hammering against her chest, her palms overtaken by a cold sweat. Leaving? The end of this week was only a few days away. No more. No more of this.

She pulled her hand from his and let both of her arms fall to her side. The music had changed to something a little more upbeat, but it was still just white noise—irritating. People surged toward the dance floor to enjoy the peppier song, but she didn't notice them, not really.

"Oh," was all she managed to say.

"I'm sorry."

Loki watched her process the news slowly, her expression blank. He should have waited—there was no reason to do this now. She'd just been so surprised he decided to dance with her, and the only reason he did it was because he knew he might not get the chance to before returning to Asgard.

Before going home.

He didn't want to leave her. He didn't want to hurt her. This was the way it had to be, and he hoped that deep down, she could see that. He'd been in this realm for too long, doing nothing, feeling aimless. As he did that, as he wandered listlessly through the months, Thor talked his ear off about the wars between the other realms, about the need to return to Odin's side to restore peace. He wanted that—to be a bringer of peace. He wanted his reputation restored, to be known as something more than the banished prince.

And he missed Frigga—desperately.

The time had finally come, and he knew he should have told her he'd been considering it weeks ago. Despite the fact that they seldom did anything out of the ordinary, he'd been having such a good time with her. He'd been falling more and more in love with her, and he hadn't wanted to spoil it. He hadn't wanted to bring them down, to taint what they had.

And yet he'd done it. Just now. Moments ago, he'd broken them. He tensed, waiting for her anger, her disbelief. He deserved every last ounce of emotion she had, and he wouldn't fight against them. But she stood there, looking at him but not really, her gaze a thousand years away. It dragged on. Finally, she blinked her watery eyes and sniffed.

"You don't have to be sorry," she breathed. Loki watched her lips as she spoke, drinking in her every word. "You don't… have to be…" Her voice cracked, and she quickly cleared her throat. "You want to go home."

Home. The word made his chest feel tight, restricted, and drawing a deep breath was difficult. He wasn't sorry that he planned to leave—but there were a great many things he felt the need to apologize for, and in that moment, Loki thought she deserved the words.

"I get it," she continued, licking her trembling lips. "It's okay… It's okay."

Someone knocked into him, arms flailing as they danced, and Loki took her by the hand and led her away from the floor. They moved somewhere quiet, not returning to the table that they'd initially chosen for the night. Instead, Loki found a leather bench at the far side of the room near the emergency exit. With no one nearby, he thought it suitable for this conversation.

Although, this conversation should have been done differently. Somewhere else. Somewhere private.

Max sat down beside him, her hands resting limply in her lap, and stared at the floor. Her gaze was no longer distant, but rather, she seemed acutely aware, very present in the moment. Lips pursed in a slight frown, her eyebrows furrowed, she seemed to be processing the news better from a seated position.

"I don't want to leave you," he said finally, placing his hand on her slightly hunched back. She sat up and looked at him, her eyes watery but tears withheld. "It's not… I would stay by your side if—"

"What're you guys doing over here?!" Johnny's bellow sliced through the moment, cutting off whatever sentimental tripe was at the tip of his tongue, and Loki shot him a glare as the man drunkenly toddled toward them. However, before he could shoo the man away, Max held up her hand.

"Come back later, Johnny."

He paused, leaning on a nearby chair for support, and then flitted off with a shrug. Once they were alone again, Max angled her body toward him, their knees touching.

"My relationship with my family in Asgard is complicated," he admitted. "Strained, I suppose…"

He paused when she set her hand over his, though she didn't squeeze. Her palm merely rested there, fingers relaxed. It was a reassuring touch, a gentle one. Loki studied her for a moment, his stare moving from their joined hands to her face. This was not the reaction he'd expected—not at all. Perhaps that was telling, in a way.

"My status with the realm is damaged." He shook his head and sighed. "Staying here gives me no chance to repair it."

He fell silent, giving her a moment to say something if she wished. Max stayed quiet, however, and he pressed on.

"Thor says the realms are at war because of… my actions," he told her, and hearing himself say it aloud for the first time made him wince. "An honourable man would fix the mess he's made… and I'm trying to be an honourable man these days."

She let out an unsteady breath, one that he caught right away, and his eyes snapped to hers.

"I miss my mother." Her lower lip wobbled, and he finally grabbed both of her hands and held them. "It wasn't an easy decision to come to… Far from it."

She needed to say something. Loki waited, desperate for an utterance, a sound beyond that of a sigh. Her brow furrowed suddenly, and her face wilted in the way it always did before she cried.

"I'm sorry I made you stay here for so long," she said, each word wounding him. "I'm so sorry—"

"You never made me stay," he insisted quickly, cupping her face as she fisted her hands in his jacket. "I stayed for you… The choice was mine. I never felt that you forced me to remain here."

"But you…" She shook her head and took a few uneven breaths. "You could have gone home so much sooner."

"I would have never been able to return to Asgard without you."

And that was a sentiment he meant, down to the depths of his very core. If it hadn't been for her, Loki suspected Odin's punishment would have kept him on this planet for a long, long time. He would have aged. He would have succumbed to human weakness. He would have abandoned hope without her. Surely she knew that. Surely he didn't need to tell her.

Max stood suddenly, freeing herself from his grasp, but just when he thought she might walk away, she surprised him. His lady settled on his lap, her legs to one side and her arms looped around his neck. He'd miss her smell, the touch of her soft body to his. He'd miss her terribly.

"Are you going to come back?" she asked, her voice sounding frail in his ear. His hands wandered her back, until one finally settled in her hair. He could sit like this forever—if only Max had forever too.

"Time runs differently between the realms," he managed to get out, and he held her tighter when he noticed her shaking. "I don't want to make promises that I can't keep. My future, for now, is uncertain."

War. Battle. Odin. Those were all certainties, but beyond that, Loki knew nothing. He'd planned for nothing—for once in his life, he decided to let his gut choose which road to take, and he was determined to follow it.

"I can't come with you."

He closed his eyes slowly, practically feeling the pain in her voice. The sorrow. The controlled togetherness. She was showing restraint. Perhaps because they were in public, or perhaps because they both knew this conversation was a necessity, Max had conducted herself well through it all.

And that hurt him more than he liked.

"I know," he whispered. "I know you can't. I'm not upset with you for that."

After watching her with her niece, he finally started to understand why she'd be hesitant to leave. It would have made things much easier if she came, but not now—not with war in his immediate future. He pushed her hair from her face, then kissed her cheek. It was damp, and her eyes were red, but she wasn't sobbing uncontrollably.

"I wouldn't want you to come anyway," he told her, forcing a smile. "I'll be busy… fighting. Vanaheim is dreadfully unruly during rebellions… Wouldn't be proper to show you around with marauders running about, would it?"

She gave a strangled laugh, a few tears slipped free. Loki caught each one with his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

She wrapped herself around him again, and Loki buried his face in her hair.

"Don't be."

Over her shoulder, he spied Thor watching them, and he shot the man a dark look before closing his eyes.

He wished he didn't love her like he did. He wished he loved her less.

It would have been easier that way. So much easier.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

So I think everyone was waiting for this conversation to happen, for this moment to come. I'm hoping that you don't give up on Loki and Max, and remember that there is a sequel to come after this.

Making an update every other week has been good for my wrists. I spent all last week plucking away at my ghostwriting jobs, and then powered through this update as soon as I allowed myself to. Thank you to everyone who offered their kind words about my sad wrists—you're awesome. My wrists have been pretty good lately, minus today since I pushed. Just know that when I say every other week, I mean it. It won't turn in to me forgetting and not updating for four months. No fears on that front.

I personally am proud for Loki in finally making a decision about this. Max's life may finally be moving forward with her job and her emotional stability, but Loki's has been stagnant for a long time.

The end is near! Only a handful of chapters left before we jump into The Long Winter, and I'm so happy that so many of you have stuck by through it all. I appreciate all your thoughts and reviews and follows… Everything. You're all fantastic.

See you not next week, but the following. IT'S GON GET REAL.