What was she supposed to pack for her last night with Loki?

Max stood with her hands on her hips, surveying her disaster of a room. How it was this much of a mess was a mystery to her: she'd been at the Avengers Tower most nights since Loki dropped the news on her that he was returning to Asgard. So, her theory was that little goblins rummaged through her things every night, disappearing at sunrise, and that was why she couldn't find anything either. In the end, she decided on a change of clothes and the letter she'd written him, all of which fit conveniently in her backpack.

Her fingers smoothed over the envelope, which had been sitting on her desk since she stuffed the letter into it an hour ago. She hadn't cried while writing it. In fact, Max hadn't cried since the night Loki told her he was leaving. Maybe she'd shed a year's worth of tears already, but for some reason, she couldn't force out a single one when she thought about him going. Of course, that hadn't stilted the emotion she expressed in her letter. On that page, she thanked him for everything he'd given her, for the times he'd stood by her when he didn't have to. She told him that she loved him, that she'd miss him, but she also understood why he needed to go.

And she did. She really did. If that tables were turned, Max would have been desperate to get back to her family by now. He'd been separated from them for years, perhaps longer given that time ran differently in Asgard. His mother was probably distraught without him—she knew hers would be. So, of course she didn't want him to leave, but she understood, empathized.

She tried, anyway. Over the last few days, she'd felt very proud of herself for not breaking down, for not causing a scene. This was what being an adult felt like, right? This was growth—this was supposed to be how she reacted. Mature. Grown-up. Calm. Collected. Composed. Neither of them wanted to end things, but circumstances dictated they must.

A faint feeling swept over her, and Max collapsed into her desk chair, her head in her hands. Mature. So grown. Aware. Wise. Selfless. These were all the things she ought to be by now after the year she'd had, and damn it, she'd prove to herself that she could handle this. Taking a few slow, even breaths, she closed her eyes and ran through all her plans for the following week. Tiffany was due to deliver sometime early in the week—that would take her mind off things. Picking up Valeria from piano was always an event. Work was chaotic these days.

It helped her cope by knowing that the world wouldn't end when they said goodbye tomorrow morning.

But she wouldn't tell anyone that. She didn't need to "cope". She could handle this. Because she was mature now. Staring blankly at the envelope for a few moments, Max swallowed down the shaky feeling in her limbs before grabbing it and stuffing it in her bag. She wouldn't have come home if she hadn't run out of clothes at the tower, and she'd been trying not to abuse Loki's ability as the magical dressmaker.

She'd booked today and tomorrow off from work specifically to see him out. Thor and the others were headed to New Jersey at the crack of dawn tomorrow, wanting to beat traffic before the weekend. Loki would go with them, but that was all they'd talked about in terms of the plan for his leaving. Today hadn't been discussed much either—she was due to return after she'd grabbed a new change of clothes, though the letter had sidetracked her for longer than she'd expected.

After throwing on a clean pair of jeans and a black v-neck sweater, she grabbed her bag and made a pit stop in the bathroom for some added supplies. In doing so, she passed Pat's room, the door open and gaping.

"Hey."

She paused in the doorway and spied Pat on her bed, her laptop resting between her outstretched legs.

"Hey."

The woman's room was almost the polar opposite of Max's. While her furniture was donated by family members, Pat's was antique, vintage, and expensive. There were stunning portraits on the walls that suited the vibe the faux-old wood gave off, and everything had a place. Max tacked up pictures of loved ones. Pat's corkboard had clippings from magazines. The only printed picture of people were of Max and Pat on a trip to Coney Island last year. It was framed and set on Pat's bookshelf.

"So, Tony and I are over," she said, and Max crossed her arms, eyebrows up.

"Oh?"

"I just… I'm sick of being… a booty call." Pat closed her laptop and nibbled her lower lip. "You know he told me one of the main reasons he was attracted to me was because I looked like someone named Pepper."

The hurt was obvious on her features, her blonde hair greasy and thrown up in a hapless bun. The tension between them lowered a little as Max studied her. "What? Seriously?"

"Yeah." She nodded, her voice wobbly. "He said we have the same laugh."

"Pat," Max said, sighing, "you guys aren't over because you were never officially together. You're cutting ties with him as a person, not a boyfriend."

The blonde blanched at the words, and she tried to soften her tone.

"And I think that's good," she assured her, her smile soft and perhaps not entirely as convincing as she would have liked. "He's such a… complicated guy, and he doesn't treat the women he sleeps with very well. This is a good decision."

"You think?"

"For fuck's sake, woman," she laughed, throwing her hands up with a groan. Pat grinned and leaned back in her hundreds of pillows at the head of her bed.

"I guess you're right."

She bit down on her lip to keep from saying she'd been right from the beginning about this. Tony Stark had a number of exemplary qualities, but they weren't put to use when it came to Pat. She wouldn't demonize him for it—that wasn't fair—but she was pleased that she'd no longer have to hear about his sex exploits from her best friend.

"Do you want to maybe go out tonight?" Pat's eyes flicked to the collection of vodka bottles on one of her shelves. "I kind of need a blow-off night."

"Can't." She held up her bag. "Loki's last night… here. We're spending it together."

Her friend frowned, sitting up a little. "Wait, what?"

Max didn't have it in her to give her the detailed breakdown of why Loki was leaving, nor was she in the mood to discuss her feelings toward the issue. Besides, it wasn't supposed to be a big deal. Things happen, right? People move away from each other. Long-distance would have been easy if he was moving to Australia or something, but a whole different realm kind of put a dampener on that.

Actually, they'd never discussed a long-distance relationship. Perhaps they both assumed it'd be disastrous.

So, rather than launching into some long spiel, Max gave Pat the short version of her relationship's impending demise. Her best friend listened carefully, her eyes never leaving Max as she spoke, and before Pat said anything, she stood up, walked across the room, and wrapped her arms around Max.

And squeezed. Max dropped her bag and hugged her back, but her gaze was blank as she stared over Pat's shoulder, her view of the multi-pillowed bed going in and out of focus.

"I'm so sorry, Max."

"It's okay," she said, pulling back and nodding. "I mean… It's nobody's fault. I get it. I get why it needs to happen. I'm okay."

Pat's blonde eyebrows furrowed. "You don't sound okay."

"I am, really." She grabbed her backpack and fed her arms through the straps, only after realizing she still needed to layer up for the outdoors. "I mean, it's not ideal, but… hey… What can you do, right?"

"Max—"

"We're going to have a great day together, and then tomorrow we'll… say bye…" She coughed, her throat suddenly too dry to speak, and she swallowed a few times. "Tiffany's due next week, so I have stuff to look forward to."

Pat eyed her skeptically, her face no set in a permanent frown. "I don't—"

"Really, I'm okay," she said, stepping back and making her way down the hall. "But I have to get going because it's our last day together and I want all the time we can get on our last day together."

Ever. She bit down on her tongue before the last word slipped out, and then shot Pat a strained smile before slipping her feet into some boots, grabbing her coat, and making a beeline for the door.

"Bye!"

Her voice cracked as she shouted her farewell, and she marched to her building's elevator with a warm flush on her skin. Once she was in the compartment, she felt like she was going to vomit, but she chalked it up to the awkward, stuttering movements the elevator had been making since it had been fixed. She really needed to talk to the building manager about that. Fiddling with her nails, she added that to her mental list of things to do after Loki left.

The world would keep spinning. Life went on. Projects and deadlines loomed. A baby was going to be born soon. And an elevator needed to be fixed—again.

So much to do. So much to keep busy with. What an adult life she led.

Max raced across the lobby when she spied the bus loitering at the stop in front of her building, only to curse loudly when it pulled away just as she breached the outdoors. The icy fall air of late October gripped her immediately, and she dropped her backpack, glaring at the back of the bus as she yanked her jacket on.

Some cities had a morning rush, an afternoon rush, and the occasional early evening traffic jam. Masonville barely had any of the three, and Manhattan always displayed the trio in full force. Head bowed against the wind, Max made her way to another bus stop a few blocks over, then hopped on a bus that would get her close to the tower. She could have taken a cab, but with S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer hiring her for random—and sometimes fun—jobs, her accounts were getting tight financially again. Why she'd chosen to live in one of the most expensive cities on Earth while working in a profession that did not pay well escaped her.

She smiled at the doorman who propped open the Plexiglas for her, then blitzed through the lobby of the pristine building at her usual speed. It occurred to her as she stepped into the elevator that this might be the last time she could move around so freely in the space, and she really ought to take advantage of it. Maybe she and Loki could take a dip in Stark's ridiculous pool—if only she could remember what floor it was on.

Rather than going straight to his room, Max made a pit stop at the kitchen area. She'd texted him on the bus to avoid searching the whole tower for his whereabouts, and after hopping off the elevator, she followed the sounds of chatter toward the kitchen. Sure enough, her usual fellows were all crowded around the central island, two enormous boxes of pizzas split between them. It didn't surprise her in the slightest that Johnny was there, his arm thrown over Darcy's shoulder while his free hand shoveled pizza in his mouth.

He waved at her with the floppy, bite-ridden triangle, mouth full and a smear of tomato sauce on his cheek. Loki was Johnny's polar opposite in that moment, and Max found her throat dry again when she looked to him—so dry that she almost gagged. It hurt. She inhaled deeply, hoping the scent of their take-out lunch would sort out her problem.

He was standing at the far end of the granite island next to Thor, his pizza on a plate, his mouth and face free from sauce and cheese and grease. He smiled when he saw her, setting down his plate and wiping his hands on a napkin. Max, meanwhile, felt like her feet were glued to the floor. Even when she tried to lift them, they stayed firm, grounding her in place.

Mature. Adult. Don't be silly or dramatic about this. She glanced at Thor and Jane. They both seemed in relatively good spirits, with Thor addressing the group with one of his thousands of stories, while Jane watched him, holding her pizza with both hands and grinning.

Max let out a slow exhale as Loki approached, and the smile that graced her features was almost bright. He ducked down to kiss her, his lips pressed softly to her cheek, and his hand sprawled across her back.

"Pizza?"

"Sure," she said, snuggling in close to him as they strolled back to the island. She exchanged quick greetings with the rest of the group, then pulled herself up on the barstool that Loki ignored and grabbed a slice. It may have been before noon on a Thursday, but it was never too early for pizza. It was a little cold, yeah, but she barely tasted it when she bit down anyway, so that didn't matter. Her overnight bag sat at her feet, and she listened to the conversations starting and ending around her, quiet.

For some reason, she just couldn't bring herself to be her usual bubbly social butterfly self—in fact, Loki did a better job at adding to the talk than Max did. After finishing her second slice, the doughy base creating a thick weight in the pit of her stomach, Loki ducked his head down, lips by her ear, and asked if she was alright.

"I'm fine," she murmured back, nodding with a smile. "Great."

His brow furrowed slightly, and he stacked their plates on top of one another. "Let's go upstairs."

"Okay."

Neither of them made any excuse as they pulled away from the group, and Loki carried her bag over his shoulder, their hands clasped. Silence enshrouded them in the elevator, and in the foyer, and in the hall. Once they were in his bedroom, Max pounced, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself up for a kiss. He smiled against her lips, tossing her bag aside and kicking the door shut behind them. From there, the routine was easy, carefree. She preferred this, the flurry of movements, hands everywhere, lips parted and hungry—there was no thinking about anything like this.

His fingers yanked at the button on her jeans, and she winced at how roughly he pulled down the zipper. Sometimes she thought he'd rip her clothes without even realizing he'd done it. After dragging the tight fabric down her legs, Loki hoisted her up and carried her to his cushy bed, the covers drawn and wrinkle-free—but not after he tossed her on. She crawled back as he climbed between her legs, inching up her body with his cool lips and wandering hands.

Before he could cover her completely, Max scrambled out from under him and urged him onto his back. She straddled his hips, her hands going to his hair, and kissed him as hard as she dared. A part of her always wondered if it wasn't as good for him because he had to hold her so carefully, because the most pressure she could apply to him was one-tenth of his strength. Sometimes it made her self-conscious, hyperaware that this might not be as enjoyable for him as it was for her, but he never said otherwise.

They peeled off one another's clothes hastily, leaving them equally bare to the other's lusty gaze. Max wasn't in the mood for teasing, for slowness. She watched his eyes flutter closed when she gripped his solid length with both hands, a soft puff of air slipping through his parted lips. How could he look so relaxed? Didn't he feel the same sense of urgency in his gut, the same one that spurred her onward?

Max nipped at his lower lip, pumping her hands up and down a few times, before lifting her body and impaling herself on him. A breathy moan escaped her, and she clenched her eyes closed. The urgency may have made her skip a few steps in their routine, and she slid down his entire length slowly, twinges of pain biting at her.

Her eyes were watery when she opened them, but there was also a determined look about them. Bracing herself on his shoulders, Max started to move her hips, only to still them when Loki's arms wrapped around her. He kept her there, unmoving, as he captured her lips with his, and they stayed like that for some time. Kissing. Touching. His mouth wandered down to her breasts at one point, his tongue swirling around her nipple, using just enough teeth to make her squirm.

Her heart wasn't beating quite as fast anymore. The pain between her thighs where they joined had dissipated, swept away by his caress, his gentle coaxing for intimacy. Max pressed her forehead to his, her arms wrapping snugly around his neck, and hoped she could express her appreciation for what he'd done through her kiss. Gentle but firm, their lips worked against one another as he started to move her hips. Slowly at first, he rocked them back and forth, and she whimpered as a jolt of pleasure shot through her.

The gentle rocking turned to raising and lowering, his strong arms more than capable of dictating the speed. She eventually started to move on her own, sliding up and down, her fingers wrapped around his hair, her face buried in his neck. Her breathing quickened. By the time she came, tumbling over the edge with a cry, her body was coated in a layer of perspiration. Loki kissed her all the same. His hands roamed her body, not once flinching away from the warm sheen of sweat, and she collapsed against him as she eased down from that glorious high.

Loki drew them down, his back to the comforter, and thrust into her slowly. The pressure grew steadily, her body ready and able to make the climb once more, and sometime later she came undone in his arms again. She was practically shaking then, and he rolled her onto her side, her thighs aching, and pushed into her from behind. His arm sat securely across her chest, his hand barely gripping her neck as he found his own pleasurable end. His groan, accompanied shortly after by a soft hiss, made the hairs on her arms stand up, and she turned toward him to curl into his chest, not caring for the mess they'd made.

They stayed there until her bladder wouldn't let her be still anymore. Max popped out of bed quickly, and when she returned, Loki was half-dressed and running his hand through his hair.

"What would you like to do today?"

She licked her lips, then strolled toward him with a bit of a sway in her hips. "You."

His grin made her heart flutter, and he drew her back onto his lap once she was close enough.

"Naughty girl," he breathed, his lips resting by her ear. "I'm afraid we can't do this all day."

"Why not?" She ground herself against him, then laughed when he pinched her side. After hearing no real answer from him, she trailed her lips over his skin and stole a few quick kisses. "I just want to spend my time with you."

He nodded, his voice soft. "As do I."

And that was just what they did. For the most part, Max and Loki spent the day in bed, their intermittent conversations interrupted by heated kisses and wandering hands. By early evening, she was exhausted, her body limp and relaxed as she curled up beside him. Unfortunately, thoughts of eating takeout in bed were foiled when Thor invited them out to a dinner with the others, and while Loki seemed unwilling, Max initially figured it would be a pleasant time.

She was woefully underdressed for the restaurant that Johnny chose, and she spent most of the two hours there checking the time. Each minute that passed meant she was closer to the end, to the finale of a relationship that had occupied her mind since May. In retrospect, it wasn't that long of a time period, but it seemed like an eternity to her. Throughout the meal, her hand had kept wandering to Loki's thigh, her expression innocent, and at one point he'd dragged her to the bathroom and fucked her in one of the stalls, neither caring if they were seen or heard.

She'd raised her eyes to Johnny's when they'd returned to the table, daring him to make a comment, but he kept his thoughts to himself. After dinner ended, they veered off together, strolling through the city arm-in-arm, taking a longer route back to the tower. From there, it was straight back to bed until sleep took her.

Hours later, after much tossing and turning, Max found herself awake. Loki dozed beside her, his arm thrown across her body, its weight heavy on her midsection. Max extracted herself with a slight wince, then lay on her back next to him. Mature. Adult. No drama. This was all happening for a reason—a logical, reasonable reason. Yup. Her heart started to race, and she clamped a hand over her mouth when her lips wobbled.

She couldn't do this.

Taking a few deep breaths, she crawled to the edge of the bed and checked the time. Early. Even if Jane wanted to get going at the crack of dawn, she still had another three hours with him—but she couldn't bring herself to wake him up. Instead, Max settled by his side once more, her hands knitted together, her face crinkled.

Don't cry. Don't make a scene. These final few hours were the last she'd get, and she wouldn't allow herself to ruin them by going backward. She was mature. So grown up. So… devastated. Utterly, utterly devastated.

She pushed her palms against her clenched eyes, willing away the breakdown.

Loki wasn't sure why he bothered to pack a bag. After all, the clothing he wore on Earth would be useless in Asgard—the style and climate differences alone were enough to make him forsake all the material he'd magically enhanced to blend in with humanity. Most of the technology was outdated by Asgardian standards, and it wasn't like he'd get a cell phone reception in the palace.

If he was welcome in the palace, that is. Thor made him believe that all was well, that Odin had forgiven Loki once he endured his punishment the first time around, but he couldn't be sure. So, rather than get his hopes up about returning to his old room in the tower that belonged to him, he got it into his mind that he may, in fact, be sleeping somewhere far from the luxury of the royal palace once he returned.

He'd given his decision a great deal of thought over the last week—always to himself, of course, and never with Max. In fact, they'd barely talked about it at all, aside from the vague plans they made to spend the day and night before he left Manhattan together. Sure, they'd talked. Her work was always a topic he entertained, and her dramas with her roommate were endless. But they'd steered clear of Asgard and his departure, perhaps purposefully, and he regretted it. Loki wished they'd talked more about it, but Max had seemed so nonchalant about the whole ordeal these last few days.

In fact, they'd spent most of yesterday together in a physical manner, and Loki briefly wondered if that aspect of the relationship was all she'd miss about him. It was a silly, passing thought, of course, but he couldn't stop it from appearing. She wasn't herself these last twenty-four hours—not by Loki's standards, anyway. Max had been quiet, sexually aggressive, and distant. Perhaps she was just preparing herself for his absence. Perhaps she'd checked out of their union already. He couldn't be sure of anything because she hadn't said a word about it.

In fact, since he'd awoken an hour ago, Max had been sitting in his bed, her knees drawn to her chest, silent. Her eyes occasionally followed him around the room. He'd feel their presence on his back, but rarely on his face—she always looked away when his gaze darted to hers. Her easy smile hadn't graced her lips once since they awoke, and for the first time in a long time, he found the atmosphere slightly uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable, yes, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave. He knew he ought to check with Thor about their exact time of departure. After all, Jane had been quite testy over the last few days about everything, and he knew that she'd be intolerable if they left the tower later than she wanted. How Thor put up with her was beyond him, but he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt: the little human was stressed about her new endeavor. Thor was there to comfort her, and would be for the next two days, but then they'd be gone.

A part of him wondered if he should have stayed in Manhattan another two days. Yes, it would be easier for Heimdall to open the bridge between the two worlds for both Loki and Thor in one location, but it wasn't inconceivable that he take Thor from one place and Loki another.

He paused before reaching for the stack of black sweaters he'd been wearing recently. It was done. The plans were set, the plot in motion, and he couldn't put Max through another "final day" together. She might have put on a pleasant façade for the others, but Loki could see her crumbling beneath—he knew her well enough by now.

Exhaling softly, he dragged the shirt he'd slept in over his head and tossed it on the floor, then grabbed one of those black sweaters. The rest could stay here, and the shirt would remain on the floor. He had every intention of leaving a disaster behind for Stark to clean up, and he only wished he had more things to leave around the room. Smoothing his hair down, he slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, a habit he'd picked up rather unnecessarily after living with humans for so long. Once he was finished, he leaned down, his hands spread flat across the marble countertop, and frowned. There was nothing left for him to do, to busy himself with.

To prolong the inevitable, he straightened a few things up in the bathroom, his hands hovering briefly over Max's things. Her purple toothbrush. Her rolled up, almost empty tube of toothpaste. Her hairbrush, stringy pieces of brown hair hanging off it. How strange that he felt a pang of longing when he looked at them, realizing it would be quite some time, if ever, that he'd see them again. He withdrew then, turning off the light and wandering into the bedroom. She was just where he left her, wrapped up in the blankets, her stare miles away.

Loki grabbed his phone to check the time, then shut it off.

"I suspect the others will be loading their belongings into the car," he noted, his voice cutting through the tense air between them. "Let's go down, shall we?"

Loki moved toward the door, then paused when he heard no shuffling of sheets, no bare feet on the tile floor. Over his shoulder, he spied her sitting still, and his eyes honed in on the whiteness of her knuckles. He said her name softly, hoping to rouse her, and she finally shook her head, her face wrinkling. His hands—and heart—tightened as she covered her face, muffling the sobs he'd half expected since she arrived.

"I c-can't do this," she stuttered as he approached, her hands in her hair. "I k-keep saying I'm f-fine and I'm not."

He nodded, kneeling at the edge of the bed and reaching for her. She flinched back, and he exhaled shakily.

"I know." He wanted to touch her, to draw her into his arms and hold her just a moment longer. "Please don't cry."

Because she was breaking his heart. His eyes prickled as he watched her, wet streams running down her flushed cheeks, and it suddenly became very difficult to swallow.

"Please," he whispered, his hands resting on her feet beneath the sheets. "Please know that this hurts me too—"

"I know," she said as her lips quivered. She quickly wiped under her nose and eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I'm not upset with you, but I c-can't… do this…"

He clenched his jaw, then batted away the one tear that slipped free. Did she think he could do this so easily? Did she think he liked splitting his heart in two?

"Max…" She gulped down some air, her eyes everywhere but his face. "Do you wish to remain up here?"

Perhaps it would be easier than watching him drive away. It seemed unlikely she'd be able to climb out of bed anytime soon, and carrying her would have been too much. She considered the question briefly, then nodded. Loki closed his eyes slowly. Was this to be their end? Tears and heartbreak?

Had he expected anything less?

No.

Sniffing, he opened his eyes and reached for her again, but still she moved back. "I can't keep them waiting. Jane will have my head."

He'd hoped that might make her smile, if only a little, but the joke proved fruitless. Enough. He couldn't take this anymore. Swallowing down all the emotions that threatened to spill out of his mouth, he leaned forward for a kiss. Max turned her head to the side, but he pressed his lips to her cheek nonetheless. She shook under his touch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered when he pulled away. He should have said it: he was the reason they were in this predicament. It was his fault—and hers, for making him love her. He rose slowly and moved toward the door, hoping she'd call for him, or run to him. Something. Anything.

But she remained on the bed, knees to her chest, head turned away. With a wrinkled brow and a heavy heart, Loki opened the door and stepped into the hall, then shut it gently behind him. Her sobs started up again in full force, and he leaned against the wood, eyes closed and hand clenched around the knob. As much as he wanted to go back inside, he knew it would only prolong the agony. It wasn't fair to her to do this all over again, to see him and then not.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the door and forced himself down the hall toward the elevator. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Each moment without her more difficult than the last.

One of her few coherent thoughts that afternoon stemmed from her want to steal Loki's pillow—would Stark object to pillow theft? It smelled like him, and Max had been wrapped around it for hours now, listlessly drifting in and out of sleep, the skin around her eyes puffy and sore. Alone.

Her phone chirped noisily from the edge of the bed, and she let it ring through completely. Loki wouldn't call her. He'd left his phone here. When the noise stopped, she closed her eyes, her thoughts a jumbled mess, and then glared when the phone started up again. Sighing, she reached for it, squinting at the screen's brightness. Johnny's name flashed as her ringtone played out its tune over and over again, and she finally swiped her thumb across the screen. He'd keep calling until he reached her, anyway.

She grunted into the receiver, sinking back under the covers to avoid the hazy sky's glow from the nearby windows.

"How ya doing, kid?"

On cue, her nose and eyes started to drip liquid again.

"I fucked it up," she whimpered, dissolving into a fit of tears that she'd only just conquered recently. "I fucked everything up."

He sighed on the other end as she sobbed, and she vaguely heard something that sounded like, "Jesus Christ, Max."

"I just s-sat here." Her entire body cringed at the memory. Sure, she'd been utterly devastated at the thought of him leaving, but there was no excuse for her behaviour. In the heat of the moment, she just couldn't move. She couldn't think—her whole brain had been covered in darkness, and it was like she couldn't push through the fog to react. He must have had the lowest opinion of her… He probably thought she was being cruel, callous. "I sat here and cried and I didn't even go down to the car to see him off."

"Max—"

"I didn't even kiss him goodbye," she wailed, sniffling obnoxiously as she wiped her palm across her nose. "I didn't do anything. He probably hates me now."

"Okay, that's… One, that's taking a huge leap," he said, and she could practically see him rolling his eyes. "Those kinds of assumptions are just going to bring you down. Two, you're allowed to be upset."

"I know, but I was so pathetic about it." Max shook her head at the thought. Once he'd left her, she crawled out of bed and checked the hallway, her entire being a mess when she found it empty. Thor and Jane's room was empty too, and she'd moped back to bed and collapsed, and there she'd been ever since. "I had this whole speech prepared, and I…"

She trailed off, leaping out of bed suddenly and yanking her backpack open. Her vision misted over after she spotted the letter she'd written for him.

"And I forgot to g-give him the l-letter I wrote," she sobbed, plopping down on the floor. "I'm such a mess."

"That's to be expected." He cleared his throat as she cried. "Hey, focus!"

"You're not a mess." Darcy was gone too, after all. "You lost someone today too!"

"Well, that's not… It isn't…" His sigh gave her some pause, but she settled right back to crying moments later. "I'm not in the same situation as you. I'm sad, of course, but… It's not the same thing. Don't compare us."

She let the phone fall from her ear, her face buried in her hands. She felt pathetic. She hadn't just been pathetic, she was living it, right now, at this very moment. She'd never expected such a huge reaction from her. After all, she'd spent the whole week gearing herself up for this moment. She'd prepared. She'd told herself that she was a fucking mature adult who could handle a break-up.

Apparently she was wrong.

And pathetic.

"Max!"

It sounded like he was screaming into his phone, and she grabbed her cell and stuck it to her ear with her shoulder.

"W-What?"

"Where are you?"

"Avengers Tower."

"Get dressed and meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

She groaned. The thought of going outside, even if it was just to a different floor in the tower, was immensely unappealing. Shaking her head, Max cleared her throat. "No, I just want to stay in bed."

"Get your fucking ass in a pair of pants, then drag it downstairs," he snapped. "Ten minutes."

"I don't want to, Johnny."

"See you in ten!"

Her hand clenched around her phone as the dial-tone hummed in her ear. It ended the call seconds later, and she threw the device across the room.

"Fuck!" Her voice bounced off the walls, her throat aching at the exertion. She didn't want to go anywhere. She didn't want to do anything. Sure, she'd be happy to get drunk tonight with Pat. She'd go for ice cream and eat her sorrows away. Right now, however, she just wanted to wallow in her misery, mentally kicking herself for how she'd acted that morning.

Pathetic. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

She was glad to have Johnny Storm as a friend, no matter what other people said about him. Today was a day she wished he wasn't her friend—just temporarily. He was a persistent kind of guy, and if she wasn't downstairs and outside when he was, he'd probably come kick the door down to find her. She bit down hard on the insides of her cheeks, wondering if she should tell him to mind his own business—politely, of course.

Max eased her body up, feeling lightheaded from all the movement. She hadn't eaten anything all day, and getting to the bathroom took more out of her than it should of.

And she looked wretched. Her hair was a poufy, knotty mess. Her eyes were red, the skin around them swollen. She looked pale, withdrawn—pathetic. Taking a deep breath, she splashed her face with some warm water, then, as if on autopilot, changed into a fresh pair of clothes. Style hadn't exactly been on her mind yesterday. She'd packed for comfort, and her black fall jacket looked totally out of place with the grey sweatpants she wore down below. Hair up in a messy bun, she trudged out of the room to the elevator, phone in hand and a permanent frown on her lips. He'd already texted her twice to tell her that he was coming, and when she hit the lobby, another text arrived to tell her he was waiting by the curb.

She didn't care that the security officers gawked at her on her march through the lobby. Men and women in suits did a double-take as she passed, but she was focused on telling Johnny to fuck off so that she could go back to bed—no one else really mattered right now.

He was just where he said he'd be: waiting for her on the curb, straddling his expensive motorcycle. What she hadn't expected was the helmet he held out to her as she approached.

"Put it on," he said, thrusting it toward her. Max's frown grew.

"Why?"

"Because you clearly fucked up this morning," he told her, climbing off the bike and forcing the massive round thing into her hands, "by letting him go. You both fucked up by calling it quits."

"W-What—"

"I know where the lab is in Jersey," Johnny continued as he opened up a little hatch at the back of the bike, pulling out a huge leather jacket. "You should have a chance to say goodbye properly… or not at all."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, still trying to process his words. "Johnny…"

"Don't make this your goodbye," he insisted. "You'll always regret it."

She already did. Biting her lip, Max pushed the helmet back into his hands, and before he could argue with her, she snatched the jacket and slipped her arms into it. Johnny grinned, then shoved the helmet down on her head.

"Get on." He hopped on the bike and scooted forward. "Hold tight. Hit me if you need to stop."

"I need breakfast," she said, a giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach making her want to vomit again. It was a good feeling this time—a good nausea, apparently.

Johnny laughed. "You need lunch."

"Whatever."

"We'll hit a drive-thru," he said, chuckling as she clambered on awkwardly behind him. "And don't say I never did nothing for you."

She rubbed her head through the helmet in an attempt to move her bun around. "What?"

"Never mind." The bike hummed to life beneath them, rumbling and vibrating, the exhaust tickling her nose. He said something, his arm raised with a triumphant fist, and even though she didn't quite hear him, she pulled her visor up and raised a fist too. Nodding, he merged the bike into the busy afternoon traffic, then lurched away from the tower. She held tight, her arms wrapped around his waist, then popped the visor down to shield her watery eyes.

And for the first time all week, she couldn't stop smiling. She wasn't going to let this be her goodbye—it wouldn't be.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I know there has been a lot of drama in this story. I'm sure your nerves are shot—mine definitely are. But there's one more chapter to go, and then an epilogue! Max and Loki's story will continue in the sequel, The Long Winter, and it's going to be interesting to say the least!

I based a lot of the emotions in this chapter after a break-up I had… in a sort of similar situation. We broke up because we were moving to different countries for university, and our last day together was amazing, then awful. My dad picked me up from my ex's house and I sobbed the whole way home, despite putting on a brave face while we were hanging out. It was probably my first real heartbreak, and it definitely broke me for a long time.

But there's always some sort of happiness on the other end of that dark, awful place you find yourself in. Sometimes, like Max, you need to buck up and take the situation into your own hands.

I'm super excited to write the next chapter, and even more so to write the epilogue. I officially have three ghostwriting projects on the go (my last client finally sent all my outlines and whatnot to me), so this updating every two weeks works. My schedule should be easy to follow: next week won't have an update, the following one will, then won't, then will, etc. It'll stay like that until I only have one project on the go and I'm not working on any of my own books. Until then, I think I'm going to stick to this.

Anyway. I hope you enjoyed the update, as depressing as it was for a bit. Thank you to those that still review, even though this story has been in-progress for well over a year and counting. You're all lovely, and I'll see you in November!