The oppressive heat that had plagued him throughout the entire day finally broke with the coming of midnight, the promised rain coming down with the intensity of a summer storm, far out of season--even under the partial shelter of trees, he had been soaked to the skin within moments, hair plastering to his face despite his attempts to keep it brushed back. 

	The sky was painted a deep pastel purple, somehow seeming lighter than it did during clear nights, even though he could hardly see the ground he was standing on. Loki held a hand out to the rain and shivered slightly from cold--he should sleep, he knew. Yamino had already gone to bed, the heat completely and utterly failing to affect him in any way, but if Yamino woke up and saw him standing in the rain, he would worry. He didn't want Yamino to worry. But he still didn't want to go inside, because...

	A painful twinge in his right eye was the only warning he got, and he instinctively took the two steps required to put his back against a tree--one hand reaching up to cover his eye, the other pressing against treebark, rough and wet under his touch. Peering into the night got him nothing but shadows within shadows, but he had never been good with the dark--that was more /his/ purview. 

	"Don't you /ever/ give up?" he called out, half-exasperated. 

	"What's the fun in that?" 

	Loki turned towards the source of the voice, and as he did, the lights on his porch snapped on, almost blinding him. Heimdall was leaning against his front door, completely dry, somehow. He waved at Loki, smiling, in what might have been friendly greeting--if he hadn't tugged a glove off, claws catching the light, long and sharp and curved. Tree branches, whipped around by the wind, cast shadows like wings against him.

	"Very dramatic," Loki said after a while, not moving closer to the light. It was not a compliment. "What are you doing here?"

	Heimdall shrugged. "It's a free world."

	"It's private property," he countered.

	"Yes, and you're fully qualified to be talking about respecting private property, right," the Watcher said. "What are /you/ doing here?"

	Loki ignored his first statement. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

	"Looks like you're standing in the rain like an idiot."

	He rolled his eyes, but didn't retort. "There's your answer right there, then," he said mildly. Heimdall was unimpressed.

	"What's so special about the rain?" he asked. "It's just... wet. It's not even like you can swim."

	"Which makes me so likely to drown when a large volume of water is thrown on top of men instead of the other way around," Loki snorted. "You're sure it was your /eye/ I dug out back then, Heimdall?"

	The Watcher's hair was not in its customary fall, and the disfiguration that was usually hidden was now in full view, the scar marring his face thin and pale. Heimdall smiled sweetly, an expression that reminded Loki of honey and venom.

	"Quite sure."

	Lightning flashed overhead; it hadn't seemed possible before, but the rain intensified then, cold and stinging against his skin. 

	"You'll catch pneumonia standing out there like that," Heimdall said, pressing a finger against his lips thoughtfully. 

	"Your concern touches me."

	"...and that's not /nearly/ painful enough," the Watcher continued, voice cheerful. 

	Loki sighed. "Don't you ever get tired of doing that?" 

	"You have something of mine," Heimdall replied. "Maybe when you give it back, /then/ I'll get tired of doing that." 

	It was Loki's turn to smile, then, slow and dark, as he looked at Heimdall through half-lidded eyes. "I told you," he said, walking slowly towards the porch, as gracefully as he could over the rain-soaked grass. "I don't have it."

	He stopped just short of the shelter and light, and held his arms out. "Feel free to search me for it if you want."

	Heimdall glared, claws scraping absently at the door, leaving shallow gouges in the wood. "I'll have to pass on that, trickster, but somehow... why don't I believe you anyway?"

	Loki shrugged, a casual, careless gesture, and the smile on his face widened. "Your loss, Watcher. I told you who I took it for, and who has it not."

	"Again, trickster... why don't I believe you?"

	"You wound me," he said, tilting his head to the side, as if considering something. "You could always check with Odin," he suggested brightly, giving Heimdall a sly look. "But, oh wait, I forgot, you /can't/, can you?"

	"Shut up."

	"You can't go back to Aasgard, can you?" Loki said, leaning forward. His hair fell into his eyes, obscuring his vision, but he ignored it. It had always been natural for him to smile, but now the expression felt forced and alien on his face, and it was all he could do to keep it from faltering. "Not until you kill me. And then, it's a moot point, /isn't/ it, Heimdall?"

...

	He watched the other leave, a dim shape through the shadows and the rain. The water that dripped through the shelter of the leaves above was cool, but there was something stuck in his chest, hot and thick and choking. It made him feel like throwing up, and if he thought it would have helped in any way, he /would/ have. Just gone to his knees right where he was in the garden, and retched until it was gone. 

	The thought came, dim and unbidden, that Heimdall must have felt the same way he did now, so many years ago. 

	The thing lodged in his chest tasted like betrayal. 

	He hated it.