The tunnel beyond the emergency lighting of ADUO’s basement level has gone dark. The bullets have stopped. Steve’s knee is sore and cold where he half kneels between the giant Asgardian beside him and the wall.
Thor sends a burst of lightning northward, and Steve raises his pistol and fires in the direction of some darting shadows. Spinning, Thor does the same in a southerly direction and Brett and Bryant fire, too.
Over his headset, set to the secure channel, a voice cracks. “They’re sending arrows with green flame in this direction!”
There are screams southward where Cera is and then someone shouts, “There is a wall of green flame around the Promethean Sphere!”
Steve’s about to order Brett, Bryant, and Thor to race in the direction of the sphere, but then more gunfire rings in his ears, fast and insistent. A bullet lands in the corner of the wall by Steve and a piece of debris hits his face with a sharp sting. “Hold your position!” he shouts.
There is more screaming from the direction of the Promethean sphere. His headset crackles with, “The fire is turning blue … now white!”
For a few minutes there is nothing but gunfire and Thor releasing lightning blasts down the narrow tunnels, and then everything is suddenly silent.
Steve’s headset crackles to life. “What’s happening?”
“The sphere is secure!”
“They’re retreating!”
Steve sees nothing but hears running footsteps behind and in front of him.
Thor bellows, “Leave the ones that are north of us, try to grab the ones trying to escape past us from the south!”
The wisdom of it hits Steve instantly. To the south is Cera, and more agents. To the north are just more tunnels—they have no real chance of catching them, but they might be able to corner some between themselves and Cera and haul them in for questioning. Gunfire comes from behind and in front. Steve turns; he sees nothing beyond the few feet of space he stands in, but shouts rise around him, echoing in a strange language.
Suddenly, out of the blackness come shadows. Brett fires and one of the shadows buckles at the knees. Another raises a pistol but Thor’s hammer is there. Still another shape tries to bolt past the large golden man, but Steve catches it by the collar. Pinning with too much ease what turns out to be a man of light build and moderate height, Steve grits his teeth. He’s amped with anger from this pointless attack, and the thought of men down that they haven’t even begun to count. He shoves the man against the wall so hard he hears the clack of teeth. Taking a breath, Steve wills his temper to cool. And then he catches his breath. The man’s skin is Caucasian, with a long scar across his cheek that is rapidly fading, his eyes are brown, his hair is golden … but what draws Steve’s attention are his ears. They’re growing upward, forming delicate points.
Behind Steve comes the sound of more scuffling, and a loud bellow by Thor. “We have them!”
Steve is barely listening. In front of him, the man’s features are morphing, changing, becoming painfully … perfect. “I will die an elf!” the man says.
Steve’s eyes widen. The man raises a leg, trying to kick Steve’s body away. Steve’s instincts take over quickly. Hands still on the man’s shirt collar, Steve pivots away from the kick and uses his momentum, and his assailant’s imbalance, to slam the man onto the floor face first. He has the elf’s arm behind his back a moment later. It takes all his self-control to keep from breaking it.
He blinks down as the elf lets out a cry of pain. “This man isn’t combat trained,” he says, almost to himself. Also, the guy doesn’t seem to be clawing out his eyes in an effort to get to Cera. The elf Brett shot is whimpering on the ground, knee bent at an impossible angle. An AK-47 that looks heavy and ancient lies just out of reach.
“No, he is not,” Thor rumbles. The big man has two elves, one with skin dark brown, another golden, dead or unconscious, at his feet. “It will make them easier to break.”
The elf beneath Steve shudders. In frustration, Steve yanks up on his arm just a little. The elf makes a wail that’s so plaintive Steve looks down. He wants to say something derisive … but doesn’t. Steve has caught insurgents before, he expects a look of insolence, and maybe pride. The man below him shows neither of these emotions, he just looks terrified.
Over his headset someone says, “They’re retreating from headquarters—fires are receding!”
And then Jameson’s voice comes over the line. “Rogers, I’ll need you for debriefing. Bring Thor.”
Cursing, Steve taps his headset. “Yes, sir. On my way.” Turning to Brett and Bryant he says, “I’ll call for medical. Thor, my superior wants a word with you.”
Thor snorts. “Superior how?”
Steve runs his tongue over his teeth. He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls the elf beneath him up by the back of the collar. “You’re with me, too.” Ducking his head, the elf scrambles to his feet, staying as far away from Thor as possible.
A few minutes later, the three of them step through the security door that leads into ADUO’s office, blinking in the bright light of blown-out windows. Outside Steve hears the sound of fire trucks and choppers. Around them cubicles are smoking, but there are no more flames.
Rounding a corner, Hernandez catches Steve’s eyes. His pistol is still drawn, but he looks calm. “Sir! We’re setting up an emergency conference. You’re wanted immediately in the cafeteria.”
“Why not meet in one of the magically shielded rooms?” Steve asks.
Hernandez shakes his head. “The Promethean wire wasn’t affected by the flames, but there was structural damage in the rooms where we had the wire set up. It isn’t working anymore, and the rooms aren’t safe.”
Beside him the elf starts to breathe heavily.
“Gerðr?” says Steve.
“Sedated and being taken to the special aircraft built for Loki.”
A chopper passing low drowns out nearly all the sound in the room. “What’s going on?” Steve asks. In the distance Steve hears the wail of fire engines.
Hernandez’s jaw tightens. “The flames here just all of a sudden snuffed out, but before they did they managed to create real fires in the surrounding block—and panic. People saw the green flames, and CNN speculated it was a chemical attack. The governor called in the National Guard—and somehow the press decided that there was an official pronouncement to evacuate the Loop. The mayor is furious, so is Jameson.”
So is Steve. Grabbing the elf by the collar, he steers him to the window and forces the man to look out with him. People are streaming out of buildings, walking on the sidewalks, and between cars stuck in the middle of the street, honking their horns.
Still … Steve’s head tilts. It is not as bad as he imagined. He sees people helping people; the crowd is a slow-moving river, not a furious torrent. He glances down at his watch. It’s been an hour since the fighting began. He’s read that the longer a crisis goes on, the more likely humans are to be civilized—but he’s never seen it.
The elf beside Steve lets out a sharp breath. Steve looks at him. His eyes are wide and fearful as he stares at the crowd below. His mouth opens as though he might say something, but then Thor grunts and the elf’s mouth closes with a snap.
“Come on,” Steve says, and the four of them, Thor, Hernandez, the elf and Steve head towards the cafeteria. They’re just about to go in when they run into Laura Stodgill, talking hurriedly on her phone. She looks alright, though she’s holding her shoes in her hand. She isn’t combat trained. Steve’s jaw tightens as he meets her eyes. Before he has a chance to ask the question on his mind, Stodgill answers it for him. Putting the phone down, she says, “I can’t find Lewis. I’m trying to see if some of the security footage is still intact.”
Beneath Steve’s hand, he feels the elf tremble. He hasn’t made a move to escape since they’ve dragged him up out of the tunnels. To Hernandez Steve says, “Watch him.” To Stodgill he says, “Find out what you can.”
She nods and Steve turns to Thor. He is watching Stodgill thoughtfully. With a raised eyebrow he meets Steve’s gaze. Together they walk into the cafeteria. Jameson is standing beside a righted table. On it sits a cell phone. Around him are some of the his guys from D.C.
“Steve Rogers reporting, Sir,” Steve says.
“And I am Thor Odinson,” says Thor in deep bellowing tones. “Son of Odin, King of Asgard and official emissary from that realm.”
Steve scowls. Didn’t Steve’s two feathered minders, official envoys of Odin, berate Thor for being here? He casts a speculative glance at Thor. The big man pointedly ignores him.
“Agent Steve Rogers and...Thor...Odinson,” says a voice over the phone which Steve recognizes instantly as the Director of the FBI. “We’ve been waiting to speak with you. The president is on the line. As are the joint chiefs of staff.”
Steve freezes.
Someone, voice garbled, says, “I want to cut to the chase. Belarus, Ukraine, and Russia are all pushing us to give these guys the full rights accorded to the Geneva convention. Any idea why?”
“No, sir,” says Jameson.
Steve knows instantly. “They were armed with AK-47s, ancient ones. They’re buying old Soviet tech.”
There is a moment of silence. Steve thinks he hears whispers on the other end. And then someone says, “We’ve known that based on the ballistics reports from the vehicle the girl took to Alfheim. The question is, what are they offering these countries in exchange that’s so valuable?”
Steve tenses at mention of the ballistics report he hadn’t had access to.
Beside him, he hears Jameson shuffle nervously. Jameson had access to the reports and he hadn’t answered the damn question. Steve shifts on his feet, too, and his nails bite into his fists in frustration.
Steve is asked a few more questions. It’s just a dry recitation of what Steve has and has not seen until someone on the other end of the line says, “Agent Rogers, you’ve gone on record publicly saying that attempting to capture Loki was a waste of resources and bound to be unsuccessful.”
Another voice says dryly, “Apparently you were right. Those were resources we could have used to predict this attack.”
Steve restrains a grim smile, but then Jameson steps forward. “Mr. President, we know that Loki has associated with the Dark Elves before. He told Miss Lewis as much during their trip to Alfheim. He’s behind this attack!”
Steve rubs his jaw. It isn’t a bad theory. It doesn’t feel quite right, though …
Thor snorts. “Loki wouldn’t have anything to offer them in exchange for their cooperation.”
Steve feels himself straighten.
“But it is possible?” someone else says.
“It’s unlikely,” says Thor.
“But right now it’s the only scenario we have to go on,” someone else says.
A woman’s voice snaps, “Yes, and attitudes like that had us chasing Osama Bin Laden in caves!”
There’s a moment of silence so deep it’s obvious they’ve been put on mute, and then the woman’s voice comes over the line again, “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, Mr. Odinson, but are the Dark Elves from Svartálfaheim or Alfheim?”
Thor tilts his head. “Svartálfaheim is the land of the dwarfs. Although, in some of your mythologies I believe you’ve confused Dark Elves and the dwarfs. It is understandable. Both are dishonorable creatures.”
“Dishonorable? How precisely?” says the woman.
Thor snorts. “The elves of the Dark Lands are there because they’ve betrayed their queen. They fight among themselves in a perpetual state of war. Svartálfaheim is practically run by merchants … if it weren’t for Asgard’s protection, the Svartálfaheim nobility would be overrun.”
Steve can almost hear the questioner sucking in a breath. “I see,” she says, and even over the crackling line Steve can hear the woman’s tightened jaw.
“This line of questioning is taking us nowhere,” says another voice on the line.
There are some more questions directed at Steve. Besides the insight into where the elves are getting weapons, Steve notes they don’t discuss anything Thor could not have picked up from direct observation. The president thanks Thor and says something about “continued cooperation between our realms” and then Thor and Steve are dismissed—Steve’s given no clear direction beyond “get some sleep.”
Steve bristles as he leaves Jameson behind. Is Steve not trusted because he suggested the FBI work with Loki? Is he Thor’s babysitter? He’s glad they’re not trying to arrest Thor—but very curious as to why not. What do they know that Steve doesn’t?
With these thoughts in mind, he heads down the hall towards his office. Steve and Thor round a corner. Just before they reach their destination they nearly plow into Hernandez. The agent has the elf Steve captured in handcuffs and is guiding him none-too-gently towards the exit.
“Where are you taking him?” Steve asks.
“All captured insurgents not in medical are being rounded up and put on the same flight as Gerðr,” Hernandez says.
At just that moment Stodgill steps out of her office. “Agent Rogers, I got word from the surveillance guys. Lewis headed into the service hallway just as the attack began. There was a fire in the stairwell, she would have been trapped … ” She swallows. “There’s nothing on the tapes of her ever coming out.”
“Amy,” says the elf.
All eyes shoot to their captive. “What did you just say?” Steve says.
The elf swallows. “I met her in Alfheim, with my wife. She took pity on us and offered to bring us to earth.”
“And now she’s dead,” says Hernandez.
Steve finds himself taking a step closer to the elf, his hands balling into fists at his side. He isn’t sure who he is angrier at —the elf, or himself. Steve put Amy in the line of fire, didn’t he? His chin dips, and he can feel the side of his lip drawing up in a sneer … of course it was the elves that fired.
The elf draws back.
A heavy hand falls on Steve’s shoulder. “Easy, Rogers. Do not punish this man for a death that you do not know has happened,” says Thor.
Steve blinks and exhales a breath, his rational mind kicking in.
“What are you talking about?” says Hernandez, eyes on Thor, shaking the elf roughly. “You heard what Agent Stodgill said! There was no way for Amy to escape.”
Steve swears he can see a vein in Thor’s forehead throb. “Loki heard her. And Loki achieves impossible things,” Thor says, his voice between a snarl and a whisper.
At that moment, Steve’s, Stodgill’s and Hernandez’s phones buzz simultaneously. Phone already out, Stodgill taps a button. “It’s an email from Amy.”
Steve holds out a hand; without being asked, Stodgill hands over her phone. He looks down at the email. It says simply, Loki got me out. Am okay. Amy
She sent it to just about everyone in the office she associates with.
Thor’s hand thumps Steve’s shoulders. “See!”
Handing Stodgill’s phone back, Steve says, “Have Brett and Bryant trace the IP address.”
“Yes, sir!” she says.
Steve scowls. In human myths Loki was able to accomplish what even Odin couldn’t pull off—but he wasn’t just the “god of lost causes,” he was the god of treachery as well. He remembers Jameson’s theory about Loki being behind the attacks. Loki’s excellent at computer programming. Hacking Amy’s personal account would probably take him all of a few minutes. But would he make the effort to lie about something like this?
From down the hall come shouts. Steve’s phone starts buzzing.
Picking up, he says, “Rogers here.” His jaw tenses as he listens. “I’m on it.”
Turning to the elf he says, “There are trolls on Lower Wacker Drive. Know anything about it?”
Eyes wide, the elf shakes his head. “We have nothing to do with it!”
Glaring at the elf, Steve says, “We still are going to talk.” But for now Steve has a green killing machine with re-attachable limbs and a bullet proof hide to deal with. ADUOs dealt with plenty of trolls in the past, but never when the city was in such a state of chaos.
Turning, Steve heads down the hallway. Behind him Thor laughs. “Ah, where Loki is there is always fine adventure!”
The glee in the giant man’s laugh makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end.
x x x x
“How can you restrict our access to Midgard on pretense that the Aesir do the same? Your own son is there on a regular basis!” The dwarven delegate draws himself up to his full height. He comes to just below Loki’s chest, but his girth is formidable. “I hear he is there even now.” The dwarf looks pointedly at the empty throne beside Frigga and Odin.
There are murmurs through the great hall.
Standing behind the royal family, Loki raises an eyebrow. At last someone says it.
Odin’s voice takes on the distant tone it does when he speaks of Baldur. “My son is there on official business, he hears prayers.”
Loki’s hands tighten into fists. Lately, Baldur’s presence has been requested on Earth more and more. Christianity has been on the rise in the places where the Aesir were once the only gods. Where the religions intersect, Baldur is often summoned. Although Baldur is not the god who turns the other cheek, he is confused with him. Perhaps because the Christ the Christians speak of is also the son of an all-father figure?
Snapping him from his reverie, the dwarf says, “Official business? Is that what you call it?” Loki snorts quietly. Baldur uses his time on Midgard to do other things beyond answer prayers.
Around the room the Aesir tilt their heads. Loki hears someone whisper, “The dwarf king covets Baldur for his daughter’s hand.”
The dwarfs in the retinue behind the delegate bristle. One of the delegate’s eyebrows shoot up. Loki knows there have been no official overtures for a union between the dwarf princess and Asgard’s heir. The dwarfs know an offer would be scorned. They are viewed as lesser beings.
Odin waves a weary hand in Loki’s direction. Odin has been weary a lot of late, and if Loki tries to bring up Niflheim, he just grows wearier. As Loki leans down, Odin says, “Loki, show our distinguished guests to their quarters in the East Wing.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Loki says, delivering the honorific with a smirk. Lately Odin has been insisting on more respect in public. Loki steps off the dais where the throne stands and walks towards the dwarfs still glaring at Odin.
Bowing, Loki says, “Your distinguished—”
And then he hears a feminine voice that is a whisper, and yet carries above all the murmurs in the great hall. “Help me! If any of you have any mercy, help me!” The desperation in the plea is so obvious, Loki feels breathless.
“Are we under attack?” Loki shouts, spinning around.
In the corner of his eye he sees Thor pull out Mjolnir. Voices rise in the great hall. Odin’s voice rings out, “Silence! Heimdall?”
The gatekeeper steps forward. “We are under no attack, my Lord.”
But the woman’s voice rises again. “I have pledged my heart to Hothur!”
A man’s voice rises with the woman’s. “If there be justice between gods and men, call off your Golden Son or give me the means to fight him honorably!”
Loki looks around the room. Everyone is staring at him, no one appears to hear the voices. And then it hits Loki. “Prayers,” he whispers. “I hear prayers.”
Gasping, Loki’s eyes go wide. His legs fall out from under him. He feels like laughing.
Someone in the great hall shouts. “And what are the prayers requesting, fool?”
“Loki’s so pretty in women’s clothing; maybe someone wants him as their wife!” says someone else in the hall. Normally, Loki would have a witty rejoinder at the tip of his tongue but all he can do is sit on the floor, biting back his smile.
“He is not lying!” says the dwarf, holding a small, glowing, circular amulet in his hands. The laughter becomes more subdued snickers. “There is magic in the air.” The dwarf lifts his eyes to Odin. “If prayers are the reason you allow your son to go to Midgard, you must send your fool, too.”
“No!” says Frigga.
For a long moment there is silence in the great hall. And then on the throne, Odin sighs heavily. “Loki, you may go.”
As Loki gets shakily to his feet, Heimdall says, “I shall go with him.”
“As shall I,” says Thor.
“No,” says Odin as Loki staggers to the door. “This is Loki’s task. Thor and Heimdall, the good dwarf and I have been discussing instability among Svartheimer’s merchant class. Now would be a good time to turn Heimdall’s eyes and Thor’s strategies to avoiding such an unfortunate development.”
Loki doesn’t question the sudden change in schedule, he just makes a break for the door.
Not an hour later, the Bifrost deposits Loki on one of Midgard’s Northern continents. It is night time, but the moon is full. As soon as his feet touch earth he hears the woman’s prayers again. “I know my father has promised me to your Golden Son, please forgive me.”
Loki turns at the sound. In the distance he sees campfires, and he knows without knowing how that is his destination. He’s brought Frigga’s falcon cloak in case the distance between him and the humans is great, but the journey is so short, he takes it on foot. He soon finds himself at the camp of what Loki can only speculate is a warlord. Sentries line the perimeter, and he counts at least 50 tents in the moonlight. Narrowing his eyes, Loki makes himself invisible and heads to the tent at the center. Slipping through the front opening he finds a woman kneeling on a skin rug before a smoldering metal bowl. To one side is a low bed and a table laden with scrolls made out of hides.
He’s just taking in the scene when he hears the flap of the tent open behind him.
“Nanna,” says a voice Loki recognizes from the prayers in Odin’s hall, that he assumes belongs to Hothur. Turning, he sees a human man with broad shoulders, a long scar down one side of his face, and armor that is well-made but unadorned. Loki smiles. A warrior interested in results, not show—the very opposite of the golden prince! This is looking better and better.
“We shouldn’t waste what little we have of our mortal lives seeking deliverance from fickle gods,” the man says, going to lay a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Loki takes that to be a rather nice way of saying, ‘Let’s have sex before we die.’ He’d be all for watching, but he has a purpose, and that seems like as good an opening as any.
Making himself visible, Loki clears his throat. “Normally, I’d agree with your sentiment, but this time, deliverance is here.”
Hothur’s sword is out in less than a heartbeat. Loki holds up his hands and smirks. “Don’t kill me. Save it for Baldur.”
Hothur narrows his eyes. “And I’m supposed to listen to a man who wears a woman’s feather cloak?”
Loki rolls his eyes. “It lets me fly, you idiot. If I had to I’d wear Frigga’s dress as well.”
Behind him Nanna rises to her feet. “It’s Loki! He wore a feather cloak in the tale of Thor and his lost hammer, too!”
Hothur’s eyes widen, but only a fraction. “I don’t believe it.”
Loki snaps his fingers on both hands and lets little bursts of flame rise. Both humans gasp. Bowing to Nanna, he says, “At your service.”
“We should trust our lives to the God of Lies?” says Hothur.
Rising, Loki tilts his head. Where had that come from? He always, always, keeps his oaths. “God of Mischief, thank you,” he says tightly.
Hothur scowls at him.
Rolling his eyes, Loki says, “Your lives are already forfeit if you’ve somehow managed to upset His Royal Highness.” Crossing his arms, he raises an eyebrow at them.
Nanna steps forward. “Baldur asked my father for my hand in marriage.” She smiles wryly. “And my father gave it even though I’d told Baldur that I am promised to Hothur.”
Loki blinks. That is a lot more concern for formality than he would have expected from Baldur. Not that marriage to a human would be considered legal and binding in Asgard. Still, slightly disbelieving, Loki says, “And you dislike his proposal because?”
“Because he intends to use me and cast me aside!” Nanna says, fists forming at her side.
Loki shrugs. “True.” He takes a step forward. “But how do you know this? Most people can’t see … ”
Nanna’s voice wavers. “I love Hothur. I promised myself to him … ”
Loki stares at her, willing his mouth not to gape. This simple human saw the truth?
Shaking her head, Nanna says, “Baldur just wants me because I said no.”
Loki snorts. “That sounds like him.” He looks Nanna up and down. She is beautiful, if a little short. But on Asgard she’d hardly stand out. He feels his smirk fading and his eyes go soft. She has Aggie’s perceptiveness and Sigyn’s strength of will.
The gleam of a blade near his chin snaps Loki to the present. “What are you offering, and what do you want, Trickster?” Hothur says.
Realizing the direction of his gaze, Loki smirks. “Relax, your intended is lovely, but my wife would kill me. I want nothing more than to answer your prayers. As for what I am offering … ” He shrugs. “Mistletoe. It’s the only thing that can kill the Golden Prince.”
Tilting his head, Hothur steps back. “That’s it?”
Looking around the tent, Loki says, “Well, you must make sure an ample amount enters his bloodstream. Rubbing the extract upon the blades of your weapons would probably do the trick.”
“It shall be done this very night,” says Hothur.
Nodding absently, Loki keeps scanning the room. Something is off. He feels magic.
Nanna whispers something. Hothur shuffles on his feet and then says tightly, “If this works, we will honor you for all of our days. I will hire bards to sing your praises.”
Eyes snapping back to the couple, Loki shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Oh, no! No! That would get me in more trouble than you can imagine.” Not least of which with Sigyn.
Hothur’s brow furrows. “But how will I explain how I killed him?”
Waving a hand, Loki says, “Make up some tale of a magic sword and an epic quest! Be creative.”
“It will be done,” says Hothur, but Loki is looking at the table. One of the scrolls is glowing faintly. Magic devices aren’t allowed on Earth anymore. Loki takes quick steps towards the table. “What is this?” Loki asks, picking up the scroll.
Behind him, Hothur says, “It’s a map to an enchanted spear, called Gungnir, given to me by a wandering mage. He said if I recover it and take it to the circle of stones on the southeasterly island, he will use it to open a pathway to Jotunheim and summon an army.” Hothur smiles tightly. “And he says he could send the army straight from the stone circle to Asgard to fight the Aesir on my behalf.”
Loki turns his head quickly to Hothur. “And you trust him?”
Hothur glares at Loki. “I’m not an idiot, Trickster. If the map is of interest, as you seem to think it is, I’m sure the spear will do as he says. However, the army summoned would not be at my command.” Hothur’s jaw tightens. “But if Baldur stole Nanna from me … I might do such a thing knowing that at least Heaven would burn.”
Loki tilts his head. He’s wanted to see Asgard shamed and brought low on occasion. If it weren’t for Sigyn, Nari and Valli...Turning his eyes back to the scroll he carefully unrolls it. For an instant he sees the location of the staff Gungnir, but then the scroll bursts into flames—and not by his hands.
Vexed by the magic scroll and tale of Gungnir, Loki returns to Asgard that night.
A few days later Baldur goes to Midgard with a host of warriors and attempts to take Nanna from Hothur. He returns only hours later, carried by his warriors. He is wounded and in excruciating pain. He holds on for three days before he dies. Odin and Frigga never leave his side.
x x x x
“Go away!”
Loki’s shout awakens Amy like a thunderclap from a dreamless sleep. It takes a moment, but she realizes she’s lying at the edge of his bed and it’s well into the night. The sound of helicopters, still a little too close, reverberate through the dark room.
Sitting up with a start, she turns to Loki. He’s sitting, too, not looking in her direction, rubbing his temple and gritting his teeth. His hair is still ginger, his skin pale.
“I’m sorry,” she stammers. “There was nowhere else to sleep.” His home doesn’t have a couch or even chairs beyond the one in front of his computer.
Loki lifts his head and looks at her, his face a mask of unconcealed ire.
“I’ll get up,” Amy says hastily.
His hand flies to her knee. “No.”
Amy freezes in place, even as her body suddenly gets very warm.
Closing his eyes and then opening them, he looks around the room. “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Cera.” His lip curls. “She knew about the Dark Elves; she collaborated with them, thinking they would free her.”
“Uhhhh … ” says Amy, looking at his hand, bone white in the faint light that creeps through the blinds.
Loki shouts into the darkness. “Get out and I might accept your apology!”
There is silence for a beat. And then Loki’s body relaxes. Hand still on her knee, he turns back to Amy. He’s awoken several times, but this is the first time he’s seemed truly conscious, even if he is yelling at invisible monsters in the dark. The look in his gray eyes is impossible to read.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, for lack of anything better to say.
Loki blinks at her, a slight smile on his lips. He opens his mouth and his stomach growls audibly. Clutching both hands on his middle, he stammers, “Y-y-yes.”
Scampering up, Amy runs to his side of the bed. He has a little night stand there with a small light that she flicks on. There is a little white book by the light, a plate of food she’s prepared, and a single serving box of chocolate UHT milk she found in his cupboard.
“A quadruple decker Nutella and peanut butter sandwich!” Loki says, his voice ringing with delight. “My favorite, how did you know?”
Picking up the plate, Amy turns to him and raises an eyebrow. “You asked me to make one the first time you woke up.”
Snatching the plate, Loki stuffs a quarter of the sandwich into his mouth. Amy’s brow lifts in bemusement. It’s the most physical activity she’s seen from him since they arrived.
Looking up at her, he garbles, “Iwazawake?”
Amy barely contains a snort. “Apparently, not really.”
His forehead creases in confusion.
“This is the fifth time you’ve woken. The first time you told me how to make the sandwich.” Tilting her head she remembers his half closed eyes and slurred words. “You did seem a little out of it.”
Chewing the sandwich he looks up at her contemplatively and then his eyes drift from her neckline to her bare feet. Amy looks down. Oh. Right. She’s wearing a pair of Loki’s pajamas rolled ridiculously high at her wrists and ankles, and his robe. Feeling her cheeks heat, she says, “You have a washer but no detergent, I hope you don’t mind.” Her own clothes smell like death.
“Of course I mind, take them off right now!” he says, ripping off a piece of sandwich.
Amy’s eyes widen in horror and she takes a step back. Before she’s even formulated a response, he breaks down in peals of laughter.
“Nice,” she grumbles.
It feels good when he suddenly starts coughing on his sandwich. Technically, when a person is coughing they’re not really choking per se and don’t need help. Amy brings her fist down hard on his back anyway.
Loki snickers, and then sputters a bit more.
With an exasperated sigh, Amy picks up the milk, spears it with a straw and hands it in his direction. Loki doesn’t take it from her hand; instead he just sips from the straw. Finished, he leans back and starts eating again, plate on his lap. Instead of a thank you, he gives Amy a cheeky grin. She narrows her eyes at him.
Raising an eyebrow, he glances to the space beside him on the bed. “Sit down. It makes me feel tired just watching you stand there.”
Amy pauses for a moment but then she sits down and watches him eat, occasionally holding up the milk for him to sip. Despite his tactless joke, she’s happy and relieved. She lets out a sigh.
“What?” says Loki, setting the sandwich down.
A helicopter passes very close again, and Amy waits until it’s gone to answer his question.
“I was so worried about you,” she says. “They gave the order to evacuate the Loop. But every time I roused you, all you would say was how hungry you were, and then I would give you a sandwich and some milk and you would pass out again.” Just saying the words out loud makes the gnawing feeling in her stomach that has haunted her since they arrived in his home come back.
Loki takes another bite of the sandwich and swallows it fast. “The Loop is being evacuated?”
Amy nods. “When I last checked the Internet, even though the fighting and fires have been contained.” With a shaky little breath, she adds, “And they’ve killed all the trolls.”
His body goes stiff. “The Internet—on your phone! We’ll be traced!”
“No,” she says quickly, putting a hand on his leg without thinking. Loki follows the motion with his eyes. Realizing how inappropriate the gesture is she lifts the hand fast and says, “I lost my phone in the fire. The Internet on your computer.”
Loki blinks, and then scowls. “How did you log onto onto my computer? It’s unhackable!”
Amy smirks and stifles a laugh. “Remember that lecture you gave me about humans being stupid because we use passwords instead of pass phrases?”
His eyes narrow and she barely stifles a snicker. “You’re right,” she says. “‘The pink hadrosaur jumps over 13 purple griffins in the icebox’ is impossible to forget.” Though she’d been surprised that he’d used proper grammar.
“Clever girl.” Loki says. He says it like ‘I hate you’ and she can’t help grinning. Sinking back into the pillows, he puts the plate aside and rubs his stomach. “I’m still so hungry.”
Remembering his nearly barren kitchen, Amy shifts uncomfortably. “That was the last of the bread … ”
Tilting his head to the side Loki says, “In the drawer in the nightstand there are some chocolate Lindt balls.”
Nodding, Amy slides off the bed and pulls a bag of the candies from the drawer. She hands him one of the little foil wrapped balls, but Loki fumbles with it helplessly. “I don’t seem to be recovering as quickly as I thought,” he says softly.
“Hold on, I’ll help,” she says, feeling concern rise again. Unwrapping the candy, she leans very close and holds the chocolate to his mouth.
As Loki takes it from her he just barely brushes her fingers with his lips. They’re soft and warm—and make her go ridiculously warm.
Swallowing, he smiles softly. “Thank you, Amy.” With a deep breath, he says,“May I have more?”
Amy quickly offers him another and looks away when his lips brush her fingers, again. Hopefully, he can’t see her blush.
“So,” she says, pulling her hand away too fast. “You lied when you said you can’t teleport.”
Chewing his chocolate, Loki gives her a smirk and raises an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” she adds hastily.
Licking his lips, Loki opens his mouth and looks at the bag. Taking the hint, she retrieves another chocolate, talking to distract herself from how close he is and how soft his lips are. “Where did we go, when we were in between here-and-there?”
Loki tilts his head. “We were nowhere. We call it the In-Between. It is beyond the universe.”
Amy tilts her head, her mind spinning with every Star Trek episode she’s ever watched, her embarrassment blessedly melting away as her curiosity increases. “If it is beyond the universe, how do we get there? I mean, the universe is billions of light years wide. Or is it a sort of other dimension of some kind? Or a parallel universe without … stuff?”
Loki stares at her a moment. “That is one theory,” he says.
“Why did I hear Beatrice’s voice?” she asks, her heart catching a little at the memory.
Loki’s face gets hard. “Because you were hallucinating—starved for oxygen. And you were about a quarter second from death in the vacuum.” He rubs his eyes, and Amy doesn’t think she’s imagining it when she sees him shiver.
“We both were,” he whispers.
He sounds so tired and so old.
Amy swallows. He may have lied to her, but when it counted he’d been there for her. Wasn’t that always the case with him? “Would you like another chocolate?” she asks weakly.
He smiles, and it goes all the way to his eyes. “Yes, please.”
Amy unwraps a chocolate with unsteady hands. As she reaches to him, it falls from her fingers.
Before she can react, Loki catches it mid-air, puts it back in her hand, and then guides her hand to his mouth. This time he wraps his mouth around her fingers, sucking the chocolate off with a slow warm, wet pop, and then gives her a leering grin. She gasps, uncomfortably aroused and embarrassed. She stares at her fingers in a daze for a moment. And then her lips curl, and her skin goes hot. Anger washes through her. Lifting her hand she smacks him across the jaw. “You jerk!” she hisses. “I was worried about you!”
Sitting up and rubbing his chin, Loki smiles. “Well, now you don’t have to.”
Amy shoves him so hard, he almost falls down. “My city is under attack! Do you hear the helicopters?” She punches his shoulder. “The Loop has been on fire, trolls are popping up under bridges, and I’ve stayed here with you!”
Smirking, Loki catches her fist—so she hits him with the other. “I’ve been scared to stay and scared to leave!”
Smile fading, Loki catches her other wrist, but she keeps yelling. “Scared that if I called for help ADUO would get you … Do you know what ADUO … what Jameson would do to you?” She trembles, imagining Loki in a dark cell, being shoved under water again and again. “I don’t even know … maybe water-boarding, or experiments, or … or … ”
Before she knows what is happening, Loki’s pulls her wrists to his chest so hard her body follows. “Shhhhh … shhhhh … ” He says. With a snarl, she twists in his arms, her eyes prickling but no tears falling.
“I am sorry,” he whispers. “Forgive me.” Dropping her wrists, his arms reach around her back. Pulling her close, he drops his chin to the top of her head.
With an angry yell, she butts her head against his shoulder. The arms around her back tighten. “I always push too far,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
He sounds so sincere. Amy huffs out a breath and Loki’s hands make small circles on her back. She’d been so afraid, in the fire, in the In-Between, and waiting for him to wake up. She swallows and remembers the fear in his voice when he found her, the shiver when he said they almost died.
It suddenly feels so good just to be held. Almost against her volition, her body relaxes against him. His body isn’t bulky like Thor’s, but he isn’t soft; beneath her she feels nothing but muscle, and sinew and bone. And Frost Giant or not, he’s warm. Murmuring something, Loki runs a hand gently through her hair.
Closing her eyes, she takes a sharp breath and then sneaks her hands under his arms to his back and squeezes tight. Loki kisses the crown of her head and heat rushes from where his lips touched to the tips of her toes.
Pulling back from her, just a little, he meets her eyes. His lips are quirked in a half smile.
Kissing her brow he says softly, “Thank you.” Pressing another kiss to her forehead he says, “ … for staying.”
He pulls back again, and she meets his gaze. She can feel her heart beating in her chest. The air between them feels denser. There is still a quirk to his lips but his eyes are very serious. He traces a finger from her forehead down her nose. She doesn’t know why she does it, but when he reaches her lips she closes her eyes and kisses his fingertip.
When she opens her eyes the quirk on his lips is gone. He’s going to kiss her. She’s sitting in Loki’s apartment, in his bed, and she’s not naive enough to think that it will just end in kissing. She should get up right now.
She doesn’t move. She can’t move.
Loki leans forward and presses his lips to hers, and she freezes in shock—not at the kiss, but at how soft the kiss is. For some reason she just thought he’d be all teeth and tongue.
He pulls away and her eyes open; she hadn’t realized she’d closed them.
“And thank you for making me sandwiches,” Loki says, a smile in his voice. Amy’s mouth drops in a small ‘o’. He kisses her lightly again. And then once more. On the third time Amy finds herself responding. She closes her eyes and feels his tongue dart over her lips, gently as if asking for permission. His hands dart over her shoulders, and his fingers graze the neck of the robe, a silent request to pull the barrier away.
She should get up, she should back away and stammer excuses …
One of his hands drops from her neckline and smoothes down her side and she shivers.
Maybe she should just do it, have sex with Loki and get it out of her system. Sex is all anticipation and then inevitable let down. On the plus side, when it’s over, she won’t be tempted again, her curiosity will be quelled.
Slipping his hands down and around her backside, Loki pulls her onto his lap.
She gasps, feeling him beneath her, warm and solid, alive and real.
He looks at her for just a moment, his face very serious, his eyes dark.
“Yes?” she whispers, an answer or a question, or just a gasp, she’s not really sure. They should talk about this, about the fact that she’s on the pill and—
Loki’s lips are on hers a moment later and she forgets everything else.