A/N: Hi, everyone!

I really do want to apologize - these chapters have been coming in so late, and I'm really sorry about that. With previous chapters, I've had bits of following chapters written, which help speed things up a bit, but the next bits I've written are pretty far ahead. I'll try to get them out faster.

Allicat (Guest): I'm honored to be the subject of your first review! I'm so glad you like the story (sorry about the wait) and I'm amazed and honored that I've managed to change the way you look at the movies. Hugs!

gemma (Guest): My stalwart reviewer/friend. (Can I call you that?) I'm glad you liked May and Skye - there's more Coulson and Skye in this chapter for you!

I've just become obsessed with this song. Luckily the chapter fit it.

TWENTY

Run, boy, run! This world is not made for you
Run, boy, run! They're trying to catch you
Run, boy, run! Running is a victory
Run, boy, run! Beauty lays behind the hills

Run, boy, run! The sun will be guiding you
Run, boy, run! They're dying to stop you
Run, boy, run! This race is a prophecy
Run, boy, run! Break out from society

- "Run Boy Run," Woodkid

"Not alone," Loki scowled. "I am not leaving you alone with him again."

She sighed in exasperation. "I can take care of myself, Loki. And he's not going to hurt me."

"You said that before he wiped your mind, too."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, grimacing slightly. "He's changed, Loki. We all have."

He ran a hand through his hair. "How can you be sure?"

Her eyes reached up to his. "He's come back from the dead. He's had his memories rewritten, too. And there's something different about him, Loki, something wrong with his mind."

He paced back and forth. "Even more reason to stay."

She stood up slowly, a hand pressed to her side. "I need to talk with him, Loki. And," she paused, "I'm sorry, but you're not going to help."

He walked nearer to her, cupping her face. "I can't trust him. Not with you." His hand wrapped around her arm. She winced and he let go immediately. "Did I hurt you?"

She smiled wryly. "Not you, exactly…" She rolled up her sleeve, revealing five livid bruises, darkening to purple. He inhaled sharply. "Who did this?"

She took his hand and gently wrapped it around her arm again – he barely touched her, not wishing to cause any more pain. The tips of his fingers fit perfectly onto the bruises.

His eyes found hers. She smiled a bit sadly. "They got to you through me, and they got to me through you."

He closed his eyes.

"And then I shot you in the head. And I shot myself in the head, too," she said, her hand lacing though his. "It's been a weird day." She kissed him on the cheek. "We'll catch up later. But I need to talk to Coulson, alone."

He sighed. "Very well."

"I know you don't trust him. But you have to trust me, Loki. You can't interfere. No matter what I say, no matter what he says. Even if we get into a shouting match. Okay?"

He touched her cheek. "I only want to keep you safe," he whispered.

She smiled. "You're a bit overprotective, to be perfectly honest. And I swear, Loki… he won't hurt me."

There was a pause, and then he nodded, albeit grudgingly.

She tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "Thank you."

"Are you feeling all right?" Coulson asked.

She smiled slightly. "I've been better."

"You should sit down."

"I'm fine, thank you."

A bit of an awkward pause filled the air. She studied his face, noted the lines, the weariness, remembered the glimpse of his mind that she had seen.

"I'm so sorry," she said in a rush. "None of this should have happened. Your mind, your death… it's my fault."

"You know what happened to me, then." It was a statement, and she tried to read his eyes.

"Are you okay? No, that's stupid, of course you're not okay, don't pretend!" She held up a hand, she could practically see the "I'm fine" forming on his lips. "You're not okay." And then, more softly, "Is it happening more often now?"

His lips tightened and he nodded.

She sighed. "I'm sorry."

Another pause filled the air.

"You wanted to recruit me, didn't you?" she asked.

He shrugged. "We need all the help we can get. We're short on agents and we could use you."

She shook her head. "I can't, Coulson, I just can't."

"Why?" he asked sharply. "Because of him?" His eyes darted outside the room where Loki was standing (and probably listening to every word). "Again?"

She shook her head again, saying, "Coulson, you can't – you don't trust me. You never have, and… I trusted you. For so long, and I can't… I can't…" She sighed. "When I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., you assessed me, remember? Put me on the Index. And I'm always going to be seen as a threat. To you, to your team… and you'll always be thinking of ways to take me down. And… you did once. You hurt me. Stole my memories – and I don't blame you, I don't. You did what you thought you had to do. But I could never work with you again."

He stood there in silence.

"And with my powers… you could never keep a secret from me, Coulson, you could never hide a thing. Confidentiality, classified information, they all go out the window with me. Nothing is safe, nothing is secret…" She looked down at the floor, the white tiles.

"I understand," he said. Then, "But you're still not safe. HYDRA's looking for agents, too, and… they're not quite as accepting of refusal as I am. You'll have two options – join HYDRA or die."

She raised her eyes to meet his. Danger all around her, and where could she go? Aliens attacking her, and HYDRA coming after her, and all she wanted to do was live, live out her life with Loki by her side, and it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair.

"Alana?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and focused on him again, his eyes meeting hers, a touch of the old gleam there.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too."

She smiled faintly. "You're a good man, Coulson. And I want to thank you. For letting me – us – on your plane. For helping me."

She held out her hand, and he shook it. She smiled one last time, and he left.

Loki slipped back into the room, silently. He wrapped her in his arms, careful not to brush against her slowly healing wounds. "That was brave," he said, his lips pressing briefly to the top of her head. "Brave to speak to him."

She sighed deeply, resting her head against his chest. There was a silence between them for a few minutes, peaceful and secure, and if she could freeze this moment and live in it forever, she would.

"We need to leave," she said finally. "And I don't know where to go."

She looked up at him and caught a glimpse of his old mischievous smirk. "Not to worry," he said. "I know just the place."

They bumped into the dark-haired young woman again as they were leaving the plane – no fuss, just quietly slipping out when Alana had gauged that they had landed.

The young woman looked first at him, wariness still filling her eyes, then glanced at Alana. "Feeling better?" she asked, her eyes flicking back to him again, as if she thought he might try and kill them all if she took her eyes off of him.

Alana said lightly, "Much." Of course, this wasn't the truth, even if she wouldn't tell him what was wrong (he sighed internally) he could see her moving more slowly, wincing more frequently. It would be time to treat her wounds again soon, and find out what else the N'itouri had done to her.

The bruises on her arm, and her explanation that had followed, had changed much in his mind. The N'itouri must have shifted into him and… hurt her.

"And then I shot you in the head," she had said. And had she thought it was him, for a moment? Thought that it was he, back on Midgard, his hand latched tight around her forearm, his fingers digging into her skin?

He wrenched his thoughts back to the present, to Alana and the agent. Alana was looking at him a little strangely, and he realized his hands were clenched into tight fists, his nails leaving marks on his skin.

He released his hands and Alana turned back to the agent. "I just wanted to thank you," she said. "For helping me."

"Thank your boyfriend," the agent said, eyes flicking back to him again. "He did most of the work."

Alana just looked at her. "Skye…" she said, and her eyes were brown. "Pretty name. But you do help. More than you think. But you want to do more. Prove yourself. And I've seen Coulson and I've seen you and you're more alike than you think. And…" she trailed off, her eyes fading back to gray.

The agent – Skye – was now watching Alana with the same wariness that she had watched him with. "You don't know anything about me."

Alana smiled sadly. "But what do you know about yourself?"

With that, she turned, and began walking towards the ramp of the plane. He shouldered his bag – mainly medical supplies, but the contents of her backpack as well – and began to follow her, but he looked back at Skye and gave her a small nod, and it was not grudging but his own thank you to her for her assistance.

She stood there behind him as he followed Alana out of the plane.

She sighed deeply once they were out of the plane. "That probably was not a good 'thank you for helping to save my life' gift."

Only footsteps behind her, not a sound.

She turned around. "I can carry that," she said, gesturing to his backpack.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

She nodded and he laughed. "Love, you look like you're about to topple over as it is. And this is not exactly light."

"It looks funny with your armor," she said firmly. "And it's my stuff anyway."

He just looked at her and kept walking, passing her and her outstretched hand. She growled, "Loki…" and tramped behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. "Give me my bag."

"Sorry, darling, you're wounded. I get to carry the burden for a while."

She stared daggers into his back, but he didn't turn around.

She let out a sigh and hurried to catch up with him. Once she had, his hand found hers, his fingers winding through hers, the comfortable, natural feeling that she had yearned for.

They walked for a while in silence, through the wide yellow field where Coulson's plane had landed.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No," he responded. "But I'm guessing that whoever lives there will."

He pointed ahead, to a small cabin. "And if no one's there, well. We need somewhere to spend the night. The sun's already going down."

"Breaking and entering? Really?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "No breaking. Just entering. Although I seem to remember you were very good at lock-picking, so you've probably done this before."

She sighed again and he laughed. "Are you wishing that I was gone again?"

"No," she said, glaring at him. "But I wish you wouldn't be so infuriating."

He smiled at her again and said, quite suddenly, "You know that I love you, Alana?"

A question, and it caught her off guard. "Of course I do."

"I never want you to forget that," he said softly and they had stopped in the middle of the field, his hand still wrapped in hers and her eyes fixed on his. "Ever." His hand touched her cheek lightly.

He kissed her lightly at first, as though he was wary of her collapsing again, his hand barely touching her face, but she pressed closer to him, ignoring the sharp ache in her side.

The feel of his hands, of his lips, after waiting and waiting and waiting for so long was almost more than she could bear, and she wanted to cry with relief, because after aliens and battles he was here, with her, not a Not-Loki that would hurt her and hunt her, but her Loki, who would barely dare to touch her for fear that it would cause her pain.

He rested his forehead against hers. "I missed you," he whispered.

She could feel herself trembling, whether from his touch or the ache in her side or what had transpired since he had left her.

A rustle behind them, and she flinched and whipped her head around: just the wind in the grass.

She turned back to him and pressed her face into his chest, her fingers shaking against his armor. He wrapped his arms around her. "You're safe," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You're safe."

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and tried to blink them away.

He kissed the top of her head. "I swear, Alana. They will not hurt you again."

She did not know if he meant Coulson and S.H.I.E.L.D. or the N'itouri, but she tried to believe his words, if not for her sake, then for his.

The cabin was unoccupied, and after a flash of green in the now-dark air, the door swung open.

He placed the backpack down on a chair, surveying the furnished room. "Someone definitely lives here," he said, turning back to her.

She nodded and walked further into the house, fingertips trailing across a table.

He watched her carefully. She was much more wary now than she had been when he had left; the incident with Coulson and her reaction in the field had proved that. She was constantly on guard, and he could see how much the N'itouri had shaken her.

She pressed a hand to her side as she peeked around a corner and down a hallway. He rummaged through the backpack and found a bottle of painkillers. "Here," he said, walking up to her and placing two pills in her hand. "These will help."

She smiled wearily up at him. "Thanks." She popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed them dry. She winced as she pulled off her jacket. "So, what took you so long to get here?"

He lowered his eyes. "Alana, I'm sorry - "

"No, no, that's not what I meant." She sat down on a couch. "How did you convince them?"

He sighed. "I very nearly didn't." He sat down next to her and took her hand in his. "Odin had agreed to send me if necessary, but then the N'itouri attacked Midgard – attacked you – and he blamed me. The Council deliberated for a long time, and I thought I would go mad with waiting." His voice cracked and he fell silent.

"Why did they want me?" she asked quietly. He smiled bitterly. "Thanos," he said. "He promised me pain, suffering… I imagine they would have used you to get to me."

"They almost did," she replied, removing her hand from his. "I shouldn't have called for you, Loki – you're in danger here."

"I would much rather be in danger than remain in that cell," he said. She frowned. "But Loki… don't you need to go back?" Her eyes sought out his. "Won't they come looking for you?"

"They will not be sent for you," he remembered. And now the clock was ticking down, and Heimdall was watching, and the Einherjar would be coming. He had promised to return, but how could he leave her alone again, defenseless, wounded?

He forced a smile. "Trust me, love." He kissed her forehead. "You should get some sleep."

She yawned. "There's a couple of bedrooms down there," she said, pointing down the hallway. "Wake me up if you need to."

She walked down the hallway and closed the door.

He waited for ten minutes, and then noiselessly slipped into the room.

She was fast asleep, curled up on the middle of the bed, on top of the covers. The way she was lying looked rather uncomfortable, but it did not require her to lie on her wounds.

He let the necklace slip further through his fingers, and unfastened the clasp.

He placed the necklace around her neck, securing the clasp, and touched her cheek lightly.

Be safe.

He cast the magic over himself, shielding himself from Heimdall.

Let us be safe.

She woke up once in the middle of the night, her stomach growling.

She got out of the bed, grimacing slightly – the painkillers had worn off. She walked down the hallway and into the small kitchen, passing Loki sprawled out on the couch, breathing deeply and evenly.

She smiled a bit and opened the refrigerator, but apparently the occupants had taken all their perishables with them when they had left.

She opened a cabinet and found boxes of cereal. After some searching, she found a bowl and a spoon, and poured herself a bowl.

She leaned over the counter and watched Loki sleep. He turned over and almost fell off the couch, but she thrust out a hand and he lay there, half on the couch, half off, her telekinesis like an invisible platform on which he lay.

He mumbled a little, and she smiled and flicked her fingers so he was pushed fully onto the couch.

She stood there, eating her dry cereal and watching him, his face peaceful. It reminded her of that time long ago, watching him sleep in her desk chair, the shadows falling across his face.

His breathing changed slightly, becoming more rapid. He turned his head. "No…" he said, quite clearly. "I can't… don't want to…"

She set down the cereal bowl and crossed to him. "Loki?" she asked softly.

"No… no… stop…" he said. A muscle was twitching in his jaw. "Stop… stop it. Don't hurt her…"

She sat down on the edge of the couch and touched his shoulder. "Wake up, Loki."

He tossed his head, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "No… no… take me…"

"Loki, wake up!" She shook him. "It's all right, everything's all right."

"Please!" he cried out, making her jump. "Take me instead!"

"Loki!" she said urgently, and he awoke, sitting up, panting, inches from her face, his chest heaving, his hand still wrapped around her wrist.

"You had a nightmare," she said softly. "It's okay."

He was breathing fast, his eyes fixed on her. "It's okay," she repeated.

His hands came up to her face, fast as lightning, and he pulled her to him, his lips rough and desperate on hers. She let out a small noise that was quickly lost in the ferocity of his kiss. Her hands pressed against his chest, and she kissed him back, remembering the taste of metal and ice and the feel of his hands in her hair.

He pulled away from her and fell back onto the couch; she fell with him, landing with a grunt on his chest. His arms wrapped around her. "Stay with me," he whispered. "Please."

She closed her eyes. "Loki - " she began, but he was tracing his thumbs down her cheeks and then his lips touched hers again, a caress, light and soft and warm and sweet.

She broke the kiss and looked at him, but his eyes were closed – he had fallen asleep again, his arms clasped around her, his breathing once more slow and even.

She moved his arms off of her and stood up slowly, wincing slightly, pressing a hand to her side. She pulled up her shirt and stared at the white bandage.

She peeled it off slowly, looking at the black lines on her skin, left by his fingers, tracing across her stomach, burning her, freezing her, saving her. Three scars, like a claw mark.

She touched them carefully, one by one.

They were cold.

She sighed and walked over to the backpack, finding new bandages to replace the old ones and grabbing two more painkillers.

When that was done, she walked over to him again, sitting down near his head, stroking his hair. She tugged on her necklace absentmindedly, ice cold against her skin.

Her necklace. She froze. She had taken off her necklace when she had called Heimdall, had dropped it in her backpack and all but forgotten about it. So now… now she was hidden again.

Her eyes fell down to Loki. "What did you do?" she whispered.

Heimdall's gaze snapped down to Midgard, and he could not see Loki or the girl.

He was not surprised. It is hard for him to leave her, he thought. But leave her he must.

He made the journey to the palace and told Odin of their disappearance; the Allfather shook his head wearily (Heimdall could see that he was not surprised either) and ordered Heimdall back to his post.

When he asked if the Einherjar should be sent, Odin said, "There are a handful of warriors ready for battle. Send them."

Heimdall bowed and left his king.

In the morning, Loki awoke and found his head on Alana's lap – she was propped up on the couch, feet curled under his back, fast asleep.

He sat up and stretched, then smiled and tucked a stay hair behind her ear. She shifted a little bit but did not awaken.

"Back to bed," he said softly and gathered her up in his arms, being careful not to touch her wounded side.

Once he had placed her back in the room, he opened the front door of the small cabin and stood outside for a minute or two, breathing in the fresh air – so different from his cell, sterile and white and always clean, recycled air circulating in and out – relishing in the open air all around him, and the smell of the grass.

He walked back inside and found another bedroom upstairs with clothes that fit him relatively well – the shirt was a bit small, but it would do – and changed.

He perched on the couch in his newly found clothes, his legs tucked under him, and contemplated his armor.

There was a large gash down the center from where Alana had sliced it open with his dagger – he rubbed the area over his heart absentmindedly – and the leather was looking rather worn down. He sighed and passed his hand over the gash, but, unlike other small rips and tears that he had mended with magic, this one would not seal and close.

He frowned and passed his hand over the fabric again: a flash of green light, but the rip stayed there, stubbornly.

He touched the fabric, and then recoiled suddenly as a face flashed through his mind.

I am waiting, Trickster.

He warily touched the rip again.

You heard me the first time. And bring that Midgardian who ripped up my armor.

He sighed. "It wasn't on purpose - "

Midgardians. Primitives, the whole lot of them. Think that people fighting to be the best chef is entertainment.

He furrowed his brow. "How do you know about - "

Never mind! No appreciation for art is what I'm saying. And what about your brother? Has he ripped up his cape yet? He's not still fighting with that thing on, is he? I told him, first time he came, I told him, capes are fine for ceremonies, but when you're fighting, there should be absolutely no –

"Enough," he said, his voice hardening. "He is not my brother."

Of course I know that. I know everything, remember?

"Loki?" a soft voice cut in. Alana was standing in the hallway, looking concerned. "Are you… talking to your armor?"

So that's the Midgardian. Tell her she ruined my artwork.

He sighed deeply. Alana's eyes flashed green and she looked even more confused. "Um, there's someone in your head. Other than me, I mean. And you."

Well, maybe she's not so primitive after all. I must say, Trickster, that there must be something other than a splatter of telepathy to have endeared her to you so much. Otherwise you would have fallen in love with me. Ha! Hello, Midgardian! Tell me, what do you see in this tall idiot who can't even keep his armor safe?

Alana's eyes widened in shock, and faded back to gray. "Loki… who was that?"

He sighed again. "I promise I'll explain, Alana – just give me a minute."

She nodded slightly and retreated.

"Get out of my head," he hissed once she was back inside the room.

You didn't seem to mind when she was doing it. Ha!

He rubbed his forehead.

You'd better come here quickly. I can't stand the sight of that armor.

"Kvasir," he hissed, "It's not like I have easy access to the Bifrost these days. I can't just pack up and come have my armor repaired. Alana is injured."

Well, so much for knowing the passages between worlds. Did I teach you nothing? And the Midgardian will be fine, even though they're a relatively weak breed. Can you imagine, living for a hundred years?

"I have no idea where I am, Kvasir. The passages between worlds aren't helpful if I don't know where I am."

Actually, there's one relatively close to you. Go find it. Come and see me. And bring that Midgardian, too. I'm interested.

"Kvasir - " he said, but the presence in his mind had disappeared.

He ran a hand through his hair. He needed to keep them moving, he knew that. Odin would be sending the Einherjar for her soon.

He cast a spell and saw that Kvasir had been right – there was a passage nearby leading to Vanaheim.

Alana came cautiously out of the room and sat down next to him.

"Who was that?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Alana straightened up suddenly. "There are aliens coming," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "Twenty at the least. On the other end of the field."

He was already moving, gathering their things and rolling up his armor and shoving it in the backpack.

She furrowed her brow. "But they're not N'itouri."

He looked out the window and sucked in a breath.

The Einherjar were here.

They burst out of the back door and took off running.

She pressed a hand to her side, hoping the ache wouldn't affect her too much.

Loki sprinted across the field with her at his side, arms pumping, legs flashing.

He grabbed her hand. "Don't look back," he yelled.

She heard a war cry from behind them and turned her head, but Loki's hand tightened in hers. "Don't look back," he said again.

She ran harder. "Loki, where are we going?" she shouted.

He looked at her for a split second. "Alana, do you trust me?"

She nodded breathlessly, the ache in her side beginning to burn.

"Then don't stop running and don't look back," he said fervently.

He released her hand and they ran harder, but she could feel the beat of twenty pairs of feet on the ground and the clanging of armor, and she could practically hear the noise of twenty swords unsheathing.

She could smell salt on the air now, could hear the crashing of the waves far below. Her eyes widened in horror as, a ways in front of them, the field ended and open air began. "Loki?" she cried. He merely took her hand again and ran harder; she could feel the sweat on his fingers and her side was hurting her now.

His eyes fell down to her hand pressed against her side - he nodded grimly and she saw a flash of green magic tracking in front of Loki as he ran. He moved his fingers and then suddenly swore. He veered off to the side, and now they were running parallel to the side of the cliff. His fingers grasped hers tighter, and his eyes found hers for a second before he turned them again and they were running towards the edge of the cliff, closer and closer and closer.

"Trust me," he said to her. She clutched his hand.

They ran off the edge of the cliff and plummeted towards the gray waves breaking around sharp rocks, hundreds of feet below. She screamed as she fell towards the water, closer and closer, and Loki wrapped her in his arms as they fell, and – was that a streak of rainbow light around them? – and then the light increased and she was still falling, still tightly held in his arms, and then the ground came up to meet them at an odd angle and they skidded on the dirt, limbs flailing, tangled with each other, rolling and rolling over the hard ground and finally coming to a stop.

She lay there, exhausted, her body covered with dirt and dust and sweat. Loki stood up next to her, wincing slightly. "Alana?" he asked softly. She opened her eyes a crack and looked up at him in complete disbelief. "You know, when you said, 'Trust me,' I didn't think we were actually going to run off the cliff."

A smile spread across his face, and he held out his hand to help her up. "Welcome to Vanaheim," he said.

A/N: I'm imagining Kvasir as sort of a combination of Miracle Max and Edna Mode.

(Did you get the Edna reference? Hint: It involves Thor.)

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