Chapter 14

Steve’s door is open and the office is humming despite the late hour. He has a weather map open on his computer. The freak storm that arose in Iowa is moving toward Chicago. Steve is one of the few privy to the knowledge that there are fighter jets scrambling above and around the storm’s epicenter as close as they dare.

“We traced the car,” says Bryant, knocking on the door but not bothering to stop.

Steve meets his eyes.

Bryant shakes his head. “The Second City Exotic Car Rental is owned by a Frank Galuzzo.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at the name.

Bryant nods smugly. “Yeah, of the Galuzzo family. He’s got mafia connections...but seems relatively clean himself. Frank borrowed the car from his business for the week; apparently he likes to do that. He’s out of town, though — spending a few days in Paris with his girlfriend.”

Steve snorts. “Must be nice.”

Nodding, tiredly, Bryant says, “Yeah, near as we can tell, Loki must have stolen it from his garage. No alarms or anything went off, though...technically he could have borrowed it from Frank — we haven’t been able to contact him yet. Anyway, it hasn’t been reported stolen.”

Rubbing his eyes, Steve sighs. “Frank’s going to be real happy when he gets home.”

“Yeah, Loki’s probably endeared himself to some very unsavory characters,” says Bryant.

“He’s good at that,” says Steve. Just at that moment, Steve’s cell buzzes with Jameson’s phone number.

Meeting Bryant’s eyes, he says, “Rogers here.”

“Got word he’s out with Lewis again,” Jameson says without preamble. “Where are they now? What are they doing?”

Amy dropped her phone on the way out of her apartment — or Loki dropped it for her. The tail Steve had on them lost them on the freeway after the accident.

Steve scowls. “I have no idea.”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Jameson. “When he brings her home he’ll head off to get a late night snack.”

“If he follows his standard routine, yes, Sir,” says Steve. He knows where this conversation is going. He doesn’t agree with it, but his opinion has been discounted long ago.

“Are our operatives in place?” says Jameson.

“Yes, Sir,” says Steve, looking at the computer monitor showing the storm’s progress.

The smile is audible in Jameson’s voice over the phone when he says, “Loki will be in our custody by the end of night, Agent Rogers.”

Steve’s hand tightens into a fist as the line goes dead.

Bryant is still in his office.

“What?” snaps Steve.

“I don’t like that we don’t know where Amy is,” says Bryant.

Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, but his nostrils flare. He has an idiot boss to contend with and Jiminy Cricket here trying to be his conscience. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

Bryant glares at him. Narrowing his eyes, Steve says, “Pranks aside, have we ever had reason to believe that Miss Lewis isn’t safe in Loki’s company?” And even if she wasn’t completely safe, who else is going to talk to Loki?

“He’s going to take advantage of her,” says Bryant.

Steve sits back in his chair. “Your fears to the contrary aside, Miss Lewis has so far been very adept at keeping her head on her shoulders when it comes to Loki.”

Bryant snorts. “Yeah, right.”

Steve steeples his fingers. “I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.”

Rolling his eyes, Bryant turns and leaves the office.

x  x  x  x

The pub is very loud. And very crowded. Amy leans on the large round table James, Katherine and a half dozen of their very close friends managed to commandeer. She stares into her empty glass. “How many of these have I drunk?”

The chair she’s sitting on shifts beneath her — because it’s not really a chair, it’s Loki’s knee. And that’s okay. It’s just friendly. And practical. The place is packed and there aren’t enough chairs. Across the table April is sitting on Mark’s lap, Samantha is sitting on Todd’s, and Katherine is sitting on James’s lap — okay, maybe the last isn’t the best example.

A warm hand settles on Amy’s hip, and Loki speaks into her ear. “Only your second, I think.” She absolutely doesn’t shiver at the warmth of the hand. She squints at her empty glass. Lust is just a biological joke played by evolution to get her to participate in an awkward disappointing activity that has the added disadvantage of the potential for unplanned pregnancy and disease.

Loki rubs his hand absentmindedly on her hip, and she closes her eyes. It feels nice. Very nice.

Just an evolutionary joke. Remember that Lewis.

“Can I trust you?” she asks, and she’s not sure if she’s talking about the number of drinks she’s had.

“No,” says Loki, and she can hear the grin in his voice.

Amy tilts her head and turns to him. His face is very close, but that’s okay. She is absolutely not attracted to car thieves — although his explanation, that with ADUO chasing him he can’t legally rent or buy a car without being traced, is compelling.

Scowling, lips quirked, she says, “But if you say I can’t trust you, does that really mean I can trust you?”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says. Smiling, glowing almost, he tightens his hand on her hip and leans close to her ear. “I’m very nearly drunk.” There’s a few baskets with the remnants of chicken wings next to him, and a glass of Guinness is in front of him, brand new and foamy. He’s idly tapping a spoon on the table with his free hand.

“You look soo ‘appy,” she says. She can’t tell if she’s slurred the words or if it’s just too loud.

His grin widens, if that’s possible. “I just got in an argument with a philosophy major and a physicist about the Quantum Zeno effect.”

Amy blinks. Oh, yeah, April and Mark. Giggling, she summarizes the argument. “If a photon hits a tree in the forest and no one’s around, does it make any sound?”

He drops the spoon and she can barely hear it hit the table over the din in the room. Before she knows what’s happened, he’s scooped up her hand and is kissing her knuckles.

Warmth shoots through her and Amy laughs. It’s just a kiss. On her hand. She’s too buzzed to bother to pull away. He drops the hand from his lips but doesn’t release her fingers.

“So flirty and not even blue!” she says before she’s really thought about it. For once he doesn’t seem mad, but he lets go of her hand and picks up the spoon.

“It’s been happening, but I keep watch on the back of the spoon,” says Loki. Oddly, he’s still smiling.

Amy pulls closer. “Do you know what’s causing it?” Gerðr doesn’t turn blue, it’s definitely not a Frost Giant thing...and since he’s in a good mood about it...

Leaning back on his chair, he shrugs and smiles. There's something genuine and open about it. “I think I’m dying,” he says.

Her face drops and the air rushes out of her lungs.

Loki straightens so he’s close to her again. “Don’t worry, Darling. It feels good, better than good.” As he says it, he runs his fingers down her spine, and heat and urgency shoots through her. She wants to grab him by the head and hold on to him, press her forehead to his, and not let go. She wants to protect him, from what she’s not sure.

Amy meets his eyes. They’re very close to her own. He has the barest hint of a smile on his lips. It strikes her that failing to protect him from the vagaries of the universe, kissing him would be a really nice second. Jokes of evolution be damned.

Loki pushes his forehead against hers. Their noses are just centimeters apart. Around them the collective clamor of conversation, silverware and glassware clinking, and bodies and chairs moving rises around them like a wall.

She’s going to kiss him. She’s as sure of it as the taste of Guinness on her tongue, or the feeling of rain-heavy air in her lungs.

“Hey, Loki!” someone shouts. “How do you feel about American Gods?”

The wall falls. Amy and Loki both turn dazedly to Thomas, the classics major sitting to Amy’s left.

“You have gods?” Loki asks loudly, taking a sip of his drink. Several people at the table laugh.

“No,” says Thomas. “You know, the book, where you and the other gods are figments of our collective imaginations.”

Loki snorts and chokes on his drink. Smiling, he thumps his chest and says, “You humans think highly of yourselves, don’t you?”

Everyone in earshot laughs. Loki has been ‘in character’ all night, ‘pretending’ to be himself, and everyone thinks it’s hilarious.

Holding up his drink Loki says, “You don’t have that much power over us. Now figments of the universe’s consciousness as it tries to understand itself....” He tilts his head. “Yes, maybe. All of us, Frost Giants and humans alike!”

“Hear, hear!” someone shouts. Around the table everyone takes a drink — well, not Katherine and James, they’re making out. Amy stares wistfully down at her empty glass. Loki pushes his own into her hand. Amy grins at him, takes a long sip. As she puts the glass down he wipes some foam off her upper lip away with his thumb.

She laughs. The world seems really bright and beautiful.

“So, Amy,” someone says, “The Rhodes Scholar over there says you did better in comparative anatomy than he did and that you’d make a great researcher. What are you doing becoming a veterinarian?”

Turning to her questioner, Amy shouts back, “Someone has to do the real work.”

Half the table groans, and the other half laughs. Loki’s hand tightens around her and the world gets even brighter.

x  x  x  x

“You take the first cab,” says Loki to James and Katherine.

Arm around his wife’s waist, James looks up at the rain. “But you ordered them...and are you sure? You two have further to go —”

Loki laughs and shakes his head. The way James and Katherine have been at each other for the past hour, he sees make-up-us-against-the-universe sex in their futures — far be it from him to stand in the way of that.

“Get in!” says Amy, swaying dangerously under Loki’s arm. He grins down at her and then feels Katherine’s lips on his cheek. “Thank you for the drinks,” she says.

Loki nods and blinks as James shakes his hand. The two get in the cab, and the cab driver is just about to pull away when Loki knocks on the window.

Looking puzzled, and maybe a little annoyed, James rolls it down. “What?”

“May your aim be true, James!” Loki says.

James blinks and then laughs aloud, and so does Katherine. They wave at Amy and Loki as their cab pulls from the curb. Loki stumbles back — or Amy pulls him back, he’s not sure. The second cab Loki called screeches to a halt at the curb.

He doesn’t get in so much as fall in after Amy. As he shuts the door he lifts his head and barks “Downtown!”

The cab veers onto the street so fast Amy topples over, her head falling in his lap. She laughs, and so does Loki. They’re both drunk. And it feels wonderful.

“You had a great time!” she says.

Loki shrugs noncommittally, but he can’t keep from grinning.

“Youknow,” she slurs. “In some of the ancient myths you’re the god of the hearth fire...” She takes a deep dramatic breath. “...and unrestrained intellect. Youfitrightin.” She grins back at him.

He smiles too as the driver hits the gas. The lights of Chicago’s downtown skyline glitter in the rain. In the daytime the city’s rough edges show, the garbage and pollution. But by night, the human metropolis looks more like a city built by gods than any city in the nine realms.

He’s had a grand night — he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt so comfortable, since he’s laughed so much, had such good conversations, or felt so much like he belongs. He feels....content. Cera hasn’t made a peep in hours, and he’s not even worried. Looking down at Amy, he knows that if he wishes, he won’t have to sleep alone.

He wishes.

Amy’s wearing her coat, and beneath it a heavy sweater. He imagines peeling both away and falling between crisp white sheets. ADUO will be furious — there will be repercussions. But when has that ever stopped him before?

Eyes half lidded, her mouth opens as though to make a silent oh. Finding one of her hands, he brings it to his lips. Smirking, he says, “What?”

She smiles. “You’re blue again.”

Loki looks up and catches the faint reflection of his blue face, black eyes and black hair in the bulletproof glass between the backseat and the driver.

Putting a hand to his cheek, Amy whispers, “If it feels good, don’t change. Just tell him it’s for Halloween.”

Raising an eyebrow, he leans into her hand. “It does feel good.” He doesn’t want to bother with maintaining an illusion of looking normal...because his ginger hair and pale skin, those are the lie now, aren’t they?

He drops her hand; the girl smiles up at him.

“What address?” barks the cab driver.

Loki looks down at Amy, her head pillowed in his lap, and gives the address of a hotel.

“That’s not my address,” Amy slurs, her eyes going wide. “We can’t go to your house — they’ll find out where you live!”

She’s trying to protect him. How touching. Running his free, very blue hand through her hair, Loki whispers, “It’s not my home address.”

“Mmmmmm....” Her eyes close. “Where is it then?”

“Someplace we can be alone and unwatched.” An address that he won’t mind being revealed to ADUO. “Would you like that?”

Eyes still closed, she smiles. Loki would kiss her, but the angle makes it impossible. And her head on his lap isn’t unpleasant in the least. He lifts her knuckles to his lips again instead. Smile still on her lips, her head lolls to the side.

Loki runs his hands through her hair. She makes no sound. He kisses her knuckles again, and there is no reaction. Loki tilts his head and stares at her a long moment. Gently he disengages his hand from hers. Taking her chin, he rolls her head back toward him.

Amy doesn’t respond at all.

“Amy?” Loki whispers. “Amy?”

Her eyelids don’t even flutter.

With a groan, Loki leans his head against the window.

“Are you okay, man?” says the cab driver.

“Yes,” says Loki, head against the glass.

“Please don’t throw up in my cab,” says the driver in another language.

“I’ll do my best,” says Loki in whatever tongue it is. He’s more frustrated at the moment than drunk. He considers pushing Amy off of him, the state of semi-arousal suddenly no longer enjoyable.

“You understand Polish?” says the driver.

Loki makes a non-committal, “Mrrrmmmmffff.”

“Cool Halloween costume,” says the man.

Ignoring him, Loki starts gently shaking the girl. She doesn’t rouse.

By the time they get to the hotel’s driveway, Amy still hasn’t so much as snored. With a sigh, Loki gives the driver Amy’s address.

As they pull past the not cleverly-concealed ADUO agents, Amy is still ‘dead as a door moose.’ Or something. Poking her, Loki says, “Up, Miss Lewis.”

She doesn’t respond to that. Or when he shakes her again.

In the front seat the driver coughs.

Loki stares down at the sleeping girl. There is a faint smile on her lips, as though she is in a happy dream. He, on the other hand, has sobered up enough to contemplate his marvelously bad luck.

“Do you need some help?” says the driver.

Grumbling, Loki throws some money into the front seat and opens the door. Putting his hands underneath Amy’s shoulders and knees, he awkwardly maneuvers her out of the cab. “No!” he huffs belatedly. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he stumbles down the steps to her apartment — not because he’s drunk, but because the leg she was sleeping on is numb.

Or maybe he is still a little drunk.

The cab screeches away and Loki opens Amy’s door with a flamboyant puff of green magic. Fenrir starts yapping excitedly and runs happily between Loki’s feet — nearly knocking Loki over, but he manages to drop Amy on her bed unharmed.

He scowls around the room and feels the presence of new surveillance devices. Closing his eyes he concentrates...from every corner come little pops and sparks as he blows their circuits. A few light bulbs also explode. He’s almost sure they aren’t bugged, but his aim is apparently a bit off. Fenrir gives a yip and runs around in a little circle. Bowing to the animal, Loki says, “Let me know if any of them start a real fire.” And then with a happy sigh he flops down beside Amy and puts his blue hands over his eyes.

Beside the bed Fenrir starts to whine.

Amy suddenly sits bolt upright. “I have to let Fenrir out!”

Loki peeks between his fingers and watches in a sort of horrified bemusement as she takes the animal to the door, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Without as much as a, “Hello, why are you in my bed?” Amy lets the dog back in, shuts the door, and falls down beside him, her eyes instantly shut.

Rolling onto his side beside Amy, Loki gives her a poke. “You know, I am very dangerous.” There is no response.

He sighs. “You really know how to stoke a man’s ego.”

Amy does not even have the decency to snore, but across the room Fenrir cocks her head.

Loki rolls his eyes at the dog. “Okay, it’s true. We had a lovely evening.” He looks down at Amy. She’s curled in fetal position, her face away from him. She isn’t as tall as a typical Asgardian woman. She looks very small and vulnerable in the dark.

If a photon hits a tree in a forest and no one’s around, does it make any sound? He finds himself smiling. With a disgusted sigh he sits up, moves down the bed, and slips off her shoes. Fenrir sits up and makes a little noise that sounds almost like a growl.

“Relax,” says Loki. “Only her shoes. I will not dishonor your mistress.”

Fenrir lies back down.

“If I had any sense at all, Fenrir, I’d stay here with her.” He takes the blanket that’s at the bottom of the bed and pulls it up over Amy. “I would give up my hunt for Cera, I’d start over, make more babies.” He runs his hand over the curve of Amy’s hip, covered now by the blanket. His blue hand should be a shadow, but he thinks it’s almost glowing. Dropping down onto the bed, he curls up behind Amy. She is soft, and warm — even through the blanket.

A good long fuck would have been very nice. But this isn’t horrible.

Tracing a hand up her side he whispers, “I’d stay here on this beautiful world with your charming mistress...convince some university to give me a degree, become a professor...” His eyes widen. “Or maybe become a professional poker player!”

For a moment he can almost imagine it, and then he scowls, skin crawling at his own lie. There is no future for him here. Even without Idunn’s apples, as a magical creature, Loki has at least a few hundred good years before him. But all the humans around him are going to wither and die — because Odin is selfish with his apples, and because Hoenir never gave them magic.

“Fenrir, don’t listen to me, I’m drunk.” Loki says bitterly.

Closing his eyes he inhales the scent of apple shampoo. Hoenir is dead, and Odin will pay. He pulls himself closer to the girl. He knows enough to claim what comfort he can while he can.