It's all about the Family you make

[ereptus]

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Not everything that is lost stays that way

[ereptus]

Head wounds were fucking frustrating. They were healed, enough so that Loki didn't need to keep bandages on it, but the healing skin itched in a way that was almost painful. Itched in a way that he had to be careful to not scratch at it so much that he had to worry about reopening. Itched in a way that made him wish that the guy he was watching would walk the hell out of the run down place Loki had watched him walk into a half hour before. Anything that wasn't stuck in a car by himself with only the phantom ache and itch he couldn't stop thinking about to focus on.

It was a new case. There wasn't any hesitation in his chief clearing him for another case, not after watching the way he hyperfixated on the last one, not after the chief figured they should take advantage of Loki's solve rate. He was a good detective. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke, and he worked hard. The Chief didn't see the in between parts, the way the hyperfixation consumed more of him than most traditional 'hard workers'. Work was the only thing that Loki had. It was the only thing he wanted.

Purpose.

Finally, the guy walks out with a duffle bag in hand. Loki breathes out hard in relief, more than tired of waiting. He'd been tagged as a possible suspect in a child trafficking ring, so the money (no doubt it was money, it was always money) didn't matter nearly as much as finding out where he lived. Where his friends lived. What kind of friends he had.

"Okay okay," he mutters to himself, thumb tapping idly on the wheel as he watches the guy get into a car. "Where are we going?"

The Honda starts up and pulls off. Loki follows, keeping his car several lengths back. It might have been unnecessary, but Loki wasn't going to take a chance and by the way the guy drove, he had no idea. Loki figured the guy would head to an apartment. A seedy hotel, maybe.

Instead, he was parking in a derelict lot, swapping cars. Loki made note of it and continued his pursuit, only to be rewarded with that seedy motel he'd been thinking of. The guy parks out front of a room and hustles out of his car, into a motel room where things were about to get ugly.

Midnight Mass

[ereptus]

Loki didn't go to Church regularly. He didn't go at all. Between his job, his tattoos, his deviancy, his guilt, to say nothing of everything under that, it didn't feel right. It didn't feel deserved, to take in the refilling of his proverbial cup. But Christmas was different. Loki didn't celebrate as such, not any holiday, putting on a polite smile and hummed along when he was forced to, and otherwise avoided anything resembling 'cheer'.

What he did allow himself was one Mass a year. Christmas Eve, Midnight Mass.

He told Paul, told him he didn't have to come along - he knew how much easier it was to just stay away from their past then look at it, than sit in it's pews and listen to the rhythmic repetition of words that were pressed in Loki's soul and some that were pressed into his skin. But he was dressed in his best suit and tie, shiny black shoes unfit for the snowy weather outside, and pulling on his jacket and hat.

"It'll only be about an hour. They keep it shorter here, past couple of years. Weather and all."

an actual date;

[nightcallings]

Paul spends most of the week worried about Loki in the vaguest of senses, a low hum constantly reverberating through him with each twist of a wrench during his 10 hour work days at the Garage. Little things: is Loki's headwound fully healed? Is he drinking enough water? Has he slept for more than three hours a night?

There's big things, too of course. Those are less of a hum and more of a focused point, things that give Paul a mild headache when he mulls them over too much in his mind. Is Loki blaming himself every second there's a kid missing? How hard can he push himself before he tears himself inside out? Is Paul compromising him?

(That last one is selfish, Paul knows, but it's a worry that sets his teeth on edge.)

But Paul knows Loki as well as Loki knows Paul. Hell, maybe Paul knows Loki better than Loki himself. Loki sure as hell can see through Paul when he can't. And the fact of the matter is this: Loki needs a fucking break and Paul needs some goddamn Mexican food and it's more than just a date, because Paul had been on maybe four of those in his life total. It's also rare time with Loki.

That's more important to him than anything. It's an event. It's a celebration. Sometimes Paul thinks it's a miracle both of them are alive at all.

Paul arrives at Loki's house at exactly the designated time, knocking at 6 o'clock sharp, scorpion jacket and gloves on, toothpick in lieu of cigarette. He likes Loki's little place. It’s small, efficient. Practical. He likes staying over, too, when he can. Most times he doesn't want to leave.

The door opens. Paul's leaning against the door frame and can't help but smile as he nods his hello.

He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing Loki's face when that door opens.