A/N: Ladies and gentlemen... I am proud to present...

THE ABSOLUTE #$%ING LONGEST CHAPTER I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. I HOPE YOU ALL ARE SATISFIED.

*ANGRY TIRED GRUMBLING*

Sorry. But this is the longest chapter so far, and I really, really, really hope you like it!

Coolcat (Guest): Here it is. *offers up with tired eyes* I'm glad you are always waiting for new chapters. Makes me happy and give me a deadline!

beckywbotsford: That would sort of make sense. Too late now, haha! I prefer the ANGST.

Kate Elizabeth Black: I am glad that this is your reaction. BTW, lovely to see you. I haven't heard from you before, so I'm gonna assume you're new-ish. Hi!

gemma (Guest): Yes. Life. And school. And finals. Blech. I would rather write and give you all lovely updates every other day! But I can't. Glad you liked it. :) Thanks for your constant support.

AND NOW, THE CHAPTER!

(and did I mention it's #$%ing long? 'Cause it is.)

Okay, time for me to sleep. (Apologies for poor grammar. I'm tired.)

AND NOW, THE CHAPTER! ACTUALLY!

EIGHTEEN

Lost in the fog, these hollow hills

Blood running hot, night chills

Without your love I'll be

So long and lost, are you missing me?

Is it too late to come on home?

Are all those bridges now old stone?

Is it too late to come on home?

Can the city forgive? I hear its sad song.

- "Long & Lost," Florence and the Machine

It was past noon before she dared to venture outside.

She doubted that the aliens would care about killing random people, but it would be easier for her to hide in a crowd, and if they valued stealth, they probably wouldn't want to be noticed.

She had spent a sleepless night at the hotel, nerves on edge, hoping that she would see a flash of light through the closed curtains and see his shadow passing by, but there had been nothing.

And with each hour that passed, the little voice inside her head telling her that he was dead grew louder and louder…

She had rinsed out her clothes with cold water and soap, getting out the obvious bloodstains and reducing the others to pale brown. The rips she couldn't do much about, but they weren't too bad and could probably be mistaken as intentional.

The bleeding had mostly stopped, but she could tell that one of the gashes on her arm and the one on her leg would need stitches.

She looked through the peephole, unlocked the deadbolt, and quickly stepped outside her room, her good hand raised in anticipation of aliens and electric knives.

When she was greeted with only silence, she hurried out via a back door.

He was sleeping when the Einherjar arrived to drag him out of his cell again.

As he was brought out of the dungeons and hustled towards the throne room, he wondered what Odin needed him for now. Perhaps there had been another attack?

They walked him into the throne room, and his heart leapt up into his throat when he saw Heimdall standing beside Odin.

The Einherjar shoved him on his knees to the floor, and left quickly after a hasty hand motion of Odin's.

"You told me that they could not have survived," Odin said bluntly.

He looked up at Odin, picking himself up off his knees.

"Has something happened?" he asked, heart racing.

Odin nodded at Heimdall, who stepped towards him and said, "There has been an attack on Midgard."

No… not again.

"When?"

"Last night," Heimdall replied, his golden eyes piercing his. "No one has died… yet."

"Who was attacked?" he asked. "If they managed to defeat the N'itouri…"

Heimdall looked at him but did not answer. Odin's pale eye regarded him closely as he said, "Heimdall could not see them."

It was like a punch in his gut; he dropped his head, trying to conceal his reaction. No. He had come here so that she would be safe! So that she would be out of danger! And while he rotted in a cell, she was fighting for her life against a deadly group that would stop at nothing to finish their job – to finish her.

"Until last night." Odin's voice broke through his tormented thoughts.

He raised his head, wondering if that meant what he thought it did.

"She has called for Heimdall," Odin finished, "called for you."

Alana.

"Is she hurt?" he asked, trying to decipher Heimdall's gaze.

"That is not of concern," Odin replied.

He clenched his hands tightly. How dare he.

"What is of concern is this group of N'itouri that you brought onto Midgard."

He could feel the blood rushing hot through his veins. Will there ever be a time when she does not pay for my actions?

"The matter will be brought before the Council shortly. Until that time, you will be confined to your chambers."

"You will not send me?" he asked, desperately, looking Odin in the eye, the news of his comparative freedom barely leaving an impression. "Father, please, do not make her pay for my errors."

"Errors?" Odin laughed. "Is that what you call the slaughter of hundreds?"

"All that I did, I did it for her!" he shouted. "It is my crime, let me pay for it!"

"If you did it for that mortal, then you are more foolish than I thought," Odin said sternly. "And perhaps it would make you see reason if she suffered for your crimes."

"She has suffered enough on my account, Father, please - " but Odin called the Einherjar back into the room, and they dragged him back, up to his old chambers, leaving him inside and sealing the door.

He pushed at it; it did not move. His magic likewise had no effect. The balcony was much too high to even consider climbing down.

He started for the secret passage he and Thor had discovered as children when the door opened again and two Einherjar walked in.

"What?" he said harshly, whirling on them. "What do you want?"

"We are to watch you."

The rage flooded him again, but he forced it down.

He needed to go to her, needed to help her. She was fighting for her life, possibly injured, and he was expected to wait while the Council chatted and the N'itouri came for her?

He walked out to his balcony, gazing out at the city, at the rainbow bridge that could lead him to her, and wished that he were there with her.

She was quickly gathering her belongings and packing.

Paige and Rebecca were out, which was for the best – she didn't want awkward questions. She would leave them a note and a check to pay off her portion of the lease, which was almost over, anyway.

When she had arrived, she had grabbed her first aid kit (which was equipped with slightly more than the standard bandages and gauze) and had begun the slow process of stitching up her wounds. It wasn't pretty, and the dark thread was very visible against her skin, but at least it would hold until she got… wherever she was going.

She supposed that since they had known about her relationship with Loki, as well as where she lived, they also knew where her house was. So she couldn't go back there.

Wherever she was going, she had to leave quickly.

He paced the floor, back and forth, back and forth.

It had been an entire day and there had been no word from the Council.

And his mind was conjuring up the most horrible images from his nightmares, her cold and pale, and what would he do if she were gone? What could he do?

How could he live if she was dead, and it was his fault?

She winced as she pulled on a loose jacket. She could from the ache in her back that she was going to be black and blue in a couple of days.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder – ow – and grabbed her suitcases, quickly hustling them down to the lobby, her black leather boots almost silent on the stairs.

She could feel the cold metal of her gun pressing against her back from where she had placed it, tucked into the waist of her cargo pants.

It almost felt like his hand, pressed comfortingly against the small of her back.

She shook it off – they weren't going to wait while she mooned after him.

She wasn't sure that he was coming, after all.

"Master."

The word broke into his thoughts; he turned and fixed his eyes on the priest, waiting for a further response.

"There has been a… a complication." The priest bowed his head quickly, as if afraid of his wrath. He smiled grimly. "And?"

"The… the girl, my Lord. She has… resisted them."

His eyes hardened, one huge hand clenched and unclenched.

"How many?" he bit out.

"Five, my Lord – and they are dead."

He stood up, and walked towards the priest – slowly, deadly.

"I want him. And I cannot get him, unless I have her. Do they understand this?"

The priest trembled. "They do, my Lord. They are clamoring – they wish for her blood. I tried to explain - "

He cut him off with a wave of his hand, his mind turning… "Do they have Muspellian poison?"

The priest looked confused. "I believe so, Master."

"Tell them to use it."

She didn't know where to go.

Right now, she was at a large mall in Pennsylvania, her baseball cap pulled low over her eyes as she pretended to peruse a menu in the food court. But her eyes were roving over the patrons – which one of them could be an alien in disguise?

It had been forty-eight hours since she had called for him, and he still hadn't come.

But he couldn't be dead, he couldn't, because she would know, she would feel it.

And if he were… then she had sent him off to his death.

Please, Loki. Please be okay. Come back.

She had stayed at the mall for too long. She stood up and began to walk out of the food court, mingling amongst strangers, touching the minds and releasing them – human, normal, thinking about food and clothes and errands to do.

And then there was one that was not.

She froze and ducked into a store.

It was only one, she could tell, a scout, maybe? Trying to find her? She could feel him crossing to the food court, stopping where she had been, touching the menu.

"Can I help you?" a sales assistant asked. "No, thanks," she said, and left the store, walking quickly.

His head whipped up and around, towards where she was. Damn it! She walked faster, wanting to get out of the mall before a fight happened, if one did occur.

He began to run in her direction. Damn, damn, damn. She broke into a sprint as well, but she could sense him closing in…

People were looking curiously at her, running in the mall, when the screams started.

She chanced a glance back and saw that he had shifted from his human guise to his regular form, and terrified shoppers were screaming in panic, shoving each other to get out of the way, running for the exits.

She ran harder, hoping that he wouldn't target the civilians.

Where's my car? – First floor exit.

She was on the second.

She ran towards the railing and leaped over it, pushing down with her telekinesis as she fell towards the tiled floor. Shoppers on the lower level were looking up at her in horror.

She let herself drop lightly to the floor and ran for the exit.

A thud behind her and renewed screaming told her that the alien had dropped to the first floor as well and had not stopped his pursuit.

She burst out of the doors to the mall, only to run straight into Loki's arms. "Hello, love," he said, smiling wickedly at her. His fingers clenched her arm tightly. She twisted her other arm around, pulling the gun out of her jeans, and aimed it at him.

They were locked in a close embrace now, but she couldn't shoot him – she couldn't. She knew that it wasn't him, but his eyes were the same, and she hesitated. His hand clenched harder around her arm, and she cried out in pain.

This wasn't him. He wouldn't hurt her. This was an alien who was trying to kill her.

She shot him in the head, fingers trembling on the trigger, and ran, looking back only once to see his face melt to gray.

But the one who had been chasing her had caught up to her now, the Not-Loki providing as a distraction, and slashed at her with a strange looking, three-pronged knife. No electricity this time – a small relief – but he slashed at her and she leaped back, the knife barely missing her skin.

She shot at him, but missed – the encounter with Not-Loki must have shaken her more than she had thought.

A woman screamed nearby, and her head turned, only for a second, but it was enough.

The knife slashed its way through her shirt, leaving three deep gashes on her stomach.

She screamed in pain and a small shockwave erupted from her, pushing the alien away from her and smashing him into a car. She curled up in a ball, it hurt like fire, her hands trying to stop the bleeding. She wanted to stay here and die - just let it be over – but then she saw the people.

They were looking on in shock, or screaming and running, but they had no one to protect them. And if the alien turned on them…

He heaved his great gray mass up from the car and came running at her again.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted and thrust her hands at him, a telekinetic spike of energy driving through his armor, crushing his torso.

He fell to the ground and did not move again.

She staggered up, her hand still pressed to her side, and started walking as fast as she could towards her car.

The Einherjar pulled him back down to the throne room at around two in the morning of the third day.

The Council was in session, and had clearly been so for a while. Freyr's hair was sticking up in strange places, marking where he had run his hands through it in frustration, and Tyr looked haggard and annoyed. Odin looked weary, and even Lady Freya looked tired. Only Heimdall's eyes burned with the same fire they always did.

He caught the words powerful and can't be trusted along with murder and it's only a matter of time.

His heart sank as they stopped talking and turned to face him.

They all regarded him for about five seconds, and then went back to arguing. Odin flicked his hand at the Einherjar, who dragged him back out of the room.

"Did you see what he looked like?" Freya argued. "Did you see his eyes?"

Tyr scoffed. "Yes, let's release him because of his eyes."

She ignored him and went on. "He's scared. He's more than scared – he's terrified for this girl. I believe we should let him go."

"A frightened animal is more dangerous than any other," Freyr reminded her. "If we let him go, who's to say what he will do? What if he gets there and the girl is dead?"

They all looked at Heimdall, who shook his head. "She is safe… for now."

Tyr spoke up again. "Send the Einherjar! They would get the job done – kill the N'itouri, leave, and go home. The mortal is safe, but more importantly, Midgard is safe."

"Yes, but how will she know that the Einherjar are there to help?" Freya argued. "The N'itouri are tracking her, which means that the Einherjar must track her as well. Heimdall could see the destruction she wrought upon the N'itouri, even if he could not see her, and if she turns on the Einherjar…"

Tyr interrupted, "Allfather, what is your opinion?"

Odin had been sitting and watching the argument, listening carefully to each point made and each rebuttal, but he himself had said nothing.

He sighed and stood up. "Let us hear from him."

He banged Gungir once on the floor and the Einherjar brought Loki in again.

It was true, what Freya had said. There was a look of haunting desperation in his eyes as the Einherjar pushed him in front of the Council. The old, mischievous gleam was hidden deep, the anger present but controlled – but most of all, Odin saw the pain.

"Loki?" Freya's voice cut in; his eyes flickered to her and stayed there. "We are at an impasse, it seems, and we have need of your council."

Tyr began to make a protest, but Freyr signaled for him to be quiet, watching his sister intently.

"You mock me." His eyes remained fixed on hers as his quiet words reached their ears.

"No."

"If you do not intend to send me - "

"That remains to be seen," Freyr cut in.

Did he see a glimmer of hope rising in Loki's eyes, quickly suppressed?

Freya leaned forwards. "However, what we need is an honest, unbiased opinion. We need the absolute truth."

Tyr scoffed quietly to himself; Loki's eyes flicked to him, then back to Freya.

"What do you require?" The tone was bland, the words unassuming. "Tell us of the mortal," Freya responded. "What is she like?"

Odin saw him hesitate, before he replied, "Strong."

There was silence, and then Freyr asked, "Is that all?"

"All that matters in the nature of this discussion. She will not hesitate to take down the Einherjar along with the N'itouri if she has the slightest cause to believe they are targeting her. And she is capable of it."

Tyr sat up. "You overheard our conversation?"

The look Loki shot him was a familiar one – Odin had often seen him throw it at Thor when he was acting foolishly.

"I know what you argue about. I can guess the points you make, the rebuttals that others will make in response. I can assume that you will have suggested sending the Einherjar instead of me, and I can assure you that it will not work."

Tyr gripped the arm of his chair.

"She is scared," Loki went on. "She has defeated several soldiers, but she will know that more will come. And because she is wary, she will be doubly cautious, she will be on her guard for alien minds, and she may not distinguish between friend and foe when the Einherjar begin to attack the N'itouri."

"Her powers are strong," Heimdall agreed. "I have seen as much."

Odin sat there, just looking at Loki, the desperation and fear in his eyes, and sighed.

"Send him," he said dismissively, and motioned for the Einherjar to take him away. Heimdall followed and the small party left the room.

Tyr shook his head. "That was foolish, your Majesty."

"Yes," he said softly. "Perhaps it was."

She had run out of gas.

She cursed and slammed her hand on the steering wheel. She was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but an industrial warehouse about six hundred feet away.

She had been looking for a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house – she knew that it was somewhere around here, but she wasn't sure if it still existed or not. She rested her head on the steering wheel, exhausted.

Getting out of the car, she grabbed her first aid kit and poured rubbing alcohol over the gashes on her stomach, hissing in pain. She stitched them up and bandaged them. They were deep, but had missed her vital organs. Three more scars.

She pulled out her phone and pulled up the map with the S.H.I.E.L.D. safe houses on it. There was a blue dot not too far away, but it would take at least half an hour to get there.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up the safe houses a long time ago. There were hundreds all over the country. They looked normal on the outside, and oftentimes, neighbors didn't know that anyone lived there. A permanent "For Sale" sign hung outside, but both the phone number and real estate company were fake.

However, the houses were a great help to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, either undercover or looking for a place to hide or to heal. They were fully stocked with weapons and medical supplies, as well as tanks of gas.

She needed a tank of gas.

And a proper bed wouldn't be so bad either…

The screen on her phone went fuzzy and she sighed in exasperation, dropping it back in her pocket.

She had shouldered her backpack and was starting off in the direction of the safe house when she heard a scream from inside the warehouse.

Children's screams.

Had the N'itouri followed her? It was probable. Was it a trap? Likely. But she couldn't walk away, she couldn't, because if there was even the slightest chance that children were in danger and needed help, it was her obligation to do so.

She dropped her backpack and ran towards the building, pulling out her gun as she did so, checking the clip.

No Einherjar rode with him – Odin knew that he would not try to escape.

He urged his horse down the Bifrost, the colors trembling and shimmering beneath him, towards Heimdall, towards her.

He dismounted and rushed towards Heimdall. "Is she safe?" he asked him urgently.

Heimdall nodded. "For now."

He inclined his head in thanks and stood before the sky window.

"Be warned, Loki, son of Laufey," Heimdall said. "The conditions of your release are dependent upon your quick return. The Einherjar will be sent if you try to escape."

"I will not."

Heimdall inserted his sword partially and said, "They will not be sent for you."

He whipped around. "You would use her as bait for me?"

Heimdall only looked at him. "Let us hope that it will not be necessary."

And before he had time to protest, Heimdall inserted his sword and the Bifrost rumbled to life, the light streaming around him.

Please be safe.

Of course it was a trap.

They had been waiting for her, inside. Yes, there were children, but she touched their minds and realized that they were aliens in the guise of children.

She shot them both after they shifted and slashed at her with those strange three-pronged knives, but they didn't cut her, a small relief.

She felt more approaching, three – no, four, coming towards her, but these ones didn't have knives. Instead, they had a sort of gun strapped to their arms.

She ran through the corridors of the warehouse, which was larger than she had imagined from the outside, but she could hear their feet pounding, getting closer.

They turned the corner, and, spotting her, unleashed a hail of bolts towards her. She threw up her hands and the bolts deflected back, some onto the ceiling, which trembled and shook, and some ricocheting off the walls and striking the aliens.

This took out all but one, who followed her into a large room with high rafters, howling some words in his native language that she was glad she could not understand.

She dropped a piece of the roof on him, flicking it to the side as she prepared to strike the killing blow, but she heard the sound of running feet – not more, please - and retreated to a wall of the room where she would not be seen by the door.

The alien had the advantage of seeing who was coming, and it shifted.

He landed on the middle of a highway, the knots searing themselves onto the asphalt. Her car was stopped in the middle of the road, about twenty feet away.

He spun around – where was she?

A crash and a howl came from an abandoned building nearby, which shook visibly, dust rising up from the roof.

He crashed through the doors, running down the hallway, listening for a voice, a scream, and his heart was frantic at the thought of what could have happened to her.

He could hear the sounds of combat coming from further down the hall, and clutched his dagger more firmly in his hand.

He burst into the room, ready for a fight, then stopped short as he saw a figure curled up on the floor next to the wall, dressed in black, her brown hair covering her face.

He ran to her, bending down, heart racing – his nightmares all over again - and gently brushed the hair from her face. His heart sank as he saw her face, battered and bruised and covered in blood. She was struggling to breathe, and her eyes fluttered open, finally focusing on him. "You came," she whispered hoarsely, her fingers trying to reach for him. "You came..."

"Shhh, don't try to talk. You're going to be all right, understand?" His fingers clutched hers. "Hold on, Alana."

She tried to smile, then coughed. "You came… too late."

"No." He held her hand tighter, struggling not to cry. "No, Alana, I couldn't – I tried - "

"This is your fault," she whispered. "Your fault." And then there was a crack, and her head jerked, a circle of blood in the center of her forehead showing the path of the bullet, and she slumped to the floor.

"No!" he shouted. "No!" Her sightless eyes stared up at him, the gray of the clouds before a storm, now blank and empty. My fault.

And then the cold metal of the gun dug into the back of his neck. "Stand up," a voice ordered. "Get away from it."

That voice… "Alana?" he croaked. He looked back down at her body, which was graying and changing. He stood up in horror as her face changed, her eyes turned a dim yellow, as her skin grew scaly. N'itouri.

"Let down your barriers, or I'll shoot you in the head," the voice continued. "Don't try to trick me again."

He let out a deep breath, relaxing his mind. "Alana - "

"Nod if you understand."

He nodded.

"Good." And then he was flipped around and shoved up against the wall, the muzzle of the gun pressed to his forehead, and he was looking into her eyes again, hardened gray, her hair coated with dust and her face streaked with dirt.

"Barriers down. Now."

He stared into her eyes – thank the gods - and did as she asked, pulling down his walls, letting her into his mind.

He saw her eyes flash green as she touched his mind briefly, for a few seconds, and then withdrew.

She lowered the gun. "Loki?" she asked tentatively. He touched his fingers to her face, running them down her cheeks, then into her hair, and he pulled her to him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, pressing his lips to her hair, a feeling he had missed – oh, how he had missed her.

He released her, holding her at arms' length, and she punched him in the chest. "Where the hell have you been? I was waiting for three days."

His eyes roved over her, hardening as he caught the jagged stitches in her arm, the slashes in her shirt that showed the white bandages beneath. "What happened?"

She glared at him. "What do you think happens when you're fighting off aliens for three days, Loki?"

"They hurt you?" he snarled, his fingers clenching the dagger.

"At least I can count on them to show up!" she snapped, then paused, tiredly running a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just…" she inhaled sharply and he saw the tears sparkling in her eyes. "I thought you were dead," she whispered. "I thought I would never see you again."

He pulled her to him again, feeling her shaking in his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Alana."

She stiffened suddenly. "There are more of them."

He let go of her and turned, facing the door, dagger ready and bloodlust in his heart. They had hurt her, they had hunted her, and for that, they were going to die.

They were coming in waves, pouring through the door that was the only entrance. And she was weary, and bleeding, and hurt, but he was with her again, standing at her side, and she could not let him get hurt.

The aliens let loose with a barrage of energy bolts, but she had thrust up a shield and they couldn't break it. They were smart, however, and instead of continuing to fire, they began to press on the barrier, making it harder and harder for her to keep it up.

"Loki," she gasped, "I can't keep them out for much longer."

He nodded grimly and the barrier collapsed.

When it collapsed, many of the aliens that had been leaning hard on it fell to the ground. She took them out with one swift stroke, firing her gun before they hit the ground and guiding the bullet, which curved, entering and exiting the aliens in quick succession.

The aliens immediately concentrated their firepower on Loki, but it was of a different sort than the type they had focused on her. These bolts of energy were blue, instead of purple, and she shuddered to think what they would do.

He thrust his hand out; the green light flashed and the bolts dissipated.

She shot six more and dropped another rafter on another two.

The chaos and the noise was supreme, but she never dared to lose sight of him for a second – he would not be taken from her again.

Not again.

And then she was occupied with eight more, surrounding her and concentrating their fire, she pulled up a bubble to protect herself but it would not take them long to penetrate it.

Loki's dagger flashed and three fell over dead; she nodded in thanks and he decapitated another.

His face was hard and his features were cold as he whirled through the ranks, green light strangling some to death and his dagger slashing and stabbing others.

And then a flash of blue light enveloped him and he fell to the floor.

"NO!" she screamed, and pushed her hands towards him; the aliens went flying into the walls and she stood protectively in front of him, destroying all who tried to get past her.

They would not touch him.

He hurt all over. His muscles were paralyzed – it must have been a stun blast, and he could do nothing but watch as she defended him, there on the ground.

There were so many coming towards her, though, and he tried to clench his muscles, to stagger to his feet and fight for her until he died, but he was frozen, helpless, on the ground.

One of the soldiers slipped by Alana's guard and came up, right in front of him, holding a silver-bladed knife to his throat. He tried to move his hand again, in which his dagger was still clenched, but he couldn't.

And he could hear the beat of his heart, slower, slower, becoming paralyzed too, and he couldn't leave her here, he couldn't.

I'm sorry, Alana.

Alana stabbed three soldiers at once with their own knives, but more were coming towards her, twenty at the least. She could not hold them off forever, but she had to keep them away from Loki. She didn't know if he was alive or not, but they would not get any closer to him.

She chanced a glance back at him and saw the soldier above him, the lines of blood trickling down his neck and she screamed, pure fury and rage, the noise ringing throughout the room, and as she thrust out her hands, a shockwave erupted from her body, blasting all of the aliens through the walls.

The sound abruptly stopped and she crooked one finger and one of them flew towards her, and she held him up in the air. He dangled in the air, gasping and hissing, and she walked closer to him, speaking in a low, deadly voice.

"You don't touch him. Ever."

It hissed at her. "We shall do what we wish with that traitor. You will not stop us."

She cocked her head. "I already have."

She released him, and he fell to the ground, gasping. Those pale, reptile-like eyes found hers, and she smiled. "Go back to your leader. Tell him of the woman you failed to stop. Beg him to let you live. You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I destroy you. Go."

The words rang, and the alien scuttled, hurrying out of the room.

She ran to his side, kneeling down beside him. "Loki? Loki. Look at me." One hand pressed against his wrist, searching for a pulse, the other wiped a trickle of blood from his neck. There was a thin cut there from the N'itouri's nail, but she had pushed him away before he could do any real damage.

I'm all right, he tried to say, but his mouth didn't seem to be working, either.

His eyes looked blankly up at her. "No. No, no, no, no, stop it, Loki! Wake up!" A tear fell onto his cheek as she shook him. "Wake up!"

Don't cry, Alana.

"You are not leaving me here alone again. Loki! Loki, look at me."

Her hand pressed against his cheek. I love you, he tried to say, but no noise passed his lips.

"All right," she said, breathing heavily, "all right. It's okay. You're gonna be okay, Loki, don't give up."

She looked down at her hands, stained with his blood. Her eyes widened and she started to fumble with the straps of his armor. "You think this would be easier to get off," she panted. "How do you do this every day? Hey! Loki, look at me, okay? You're all right. You're gonna be all right."

She stripped his chest plate off of him, and grabbed the dagger still clutched in his hand. She sliced through the layers of leather and cloth, exposing his chest. "Loki? Listen to me. This is going to hurt."

She placed her hands on his chest, over his heart, and he screamed, wordlessly, she was tearing through his chest, he could feel her grip around his heart and squeeze.

"Breathe," she ordered, "Loki, come on! Fight!"

She tightened her grip around his heart and let go, again, again. "Please," she whispered. "Please, Loki."

He gasped, his back arching, as his heart restarted, and her hands flew up, away from him.

He rolled over, coughing, and she was there, her hands on his cheeks, her forehead pressed to his. "Loki! Loki, talk to me."

"Hello, love," he said, a little raspily. She enveloped him in a crushing hug that knocked the wind out of him. "Gently, please, I think I cracked a rib." He winced. "Or two."

"Sorry, sorry…" She let go of him and peered into his eyes. "Are you hurt?" he asked, seeing a scratch down her cheek, reaching up to touch it. "No, no, I'm fine, Loki, don't worry about me."

She sat back on her knees, wiping her forehead. He tried to sit up, but winced, and she pushed him back down. "Lie down. You basically just died, okay? You need to rest."

He smiled wearily at her. "I missed you."

She smiled back faintly. "I missed you, too." She let out a little laugh. "Some reunion."

He rested his head on the floor. "Not quite what I expected."

She nodded in agreement. "Not exactly, no."

She took his hand in hers, lacing her warm fingers through his, studying the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry, Alana."

She looked up at him. "It's all right." He tried to protest; she cut him off. "We're both okay. That's all that matters."

"You should never have been hurt at all. It was my fault, all of this." He touched the stitches on her arm. "All of this."

She was silent, then asked, "Can you stand? I think we should get out of here."

With her help, he was able to struggle to his feet.

Once he was standing, his hands traced their way down her warm cheeks again, studying her face.

She let out a sound of exasperation and pulled him close, kissing him fiercely, her hot lips pressed against his, her hands in his hair. He inhaled her scent and kissed her back, his hands falling down to her waist and pulling her close to him. She flinched and recoiled from him, and he looked at her in concern. "Alana?"

She looked pale, all of a sudden, an unhealthy sheen on her face.

"Alana?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

She nodded slowly. "It's just – a scratch." She winced again, pressing a hand to her side. "Well, three. They're just burning a bit. It's probably the alcohol, it's fine."

"Let me see," he insisted.

She pulled up her shirt and he gently peeled the bandages aside. He inhaled sharply. "Alana, when did this happen?" He touched the skin around the wounds; it was burning hot.

"I… can't remember," she murmured. "This morning?"

She swayed a little. "I don't feel so good," she said.

He steadied her in his arms. "Alana. Alana. Listen to me. Is there anywhere with medical supplies nearby? Do you know?"

"Safe house," she murmured, leaning against him. "Half an hour. Check my… phone."

He rested a hand on the back of her forehead; it was hot and clammy. He looked hard at her eyes, and inhaled again when he noted the slight reddening around the iris. Muspellian poison.

He eased her to the floor, heart racing – this wasn't the type of illness he could treat with magic. The poison was rare and the cure only legend.

"No…" Alana muttered. "Loki… they're coming. S.H.I.E.L.D. They're coming."

His head snapped up. "Which way?" he asked. "Alana! Which way?"

His question was quickly answered when a section of the wall dropped away and he saw the shapes of two people, a man and a woman, standing there.

The man immediately drew his gun and fired. "You!" he yelled. He stepped into the light and fired again and Loki's heart grew cold. "You," he breathed, and hurled his dagger at the figure.

Alana threw up a hand and cried "No!" The dagger and the bullet froze in midair and dropped to the floor.

"You should be dead," Loki snarled.

Coulson, his face full of the same hardness, replied with, "I could say the same about you."

A/N: DUN DUN DUN...

Going to bed now. Night.