Rachel discovered she could feel the connection to Loki from time to time over the months that followed. There would be moments when, walking down the street, she would be struck with blind panic, and know Loki was in the midst of battle.

There would be pulses. Frustration. Pride. Longing. Triumph.

The war, she knew, would be won, but Loki's role was involved and difficult. He was struggling. Missing her.

She loved the faint vibration in the back of her mind that told her he was there. That made her heart beat hard when he thought of her.

But all at once, nearly a year after his departure, the feelings vanished.

And Rachel became sick. Nauseous, weak-legged, sweaty and shaky.

She didn't leave the apartment for days, and could eat only plain rice.

She came to suspect Loki had died. The sensations, she reasoned, must be a result of the connection they shared. The piece of broken soul she carried inside her must be searching for its owner, and fading away, carrying part of her with it.

The thought was so overwhelming, she could hardly allow herself to feel it. What if she was right - but, worst thought of all, spent the rest of her life unsure?

Only a few tears came. She cried them onto Loki's pillow, and passed out in the middle of his enormous bed, wondering where she would go from here.

When she woke up, there was a child beside her.

A baby. Whole and healthy, not much larger than a newborn, staring at her with her own large brown eyes.

It was a girl. She had Loki's black hair and the beginnings of his sharp, intelligent features.

Her skin was cerulean blue.

Rachel held the baby to her chest and laughed and wept out loud in joy.

The End

A/N: Thank you for reading. Always review.