Disclaimer: I own neither Marvel nor Doctor Who

Raised as royalty, brought up to be a king should Thor find himself unable to be so himself; there had never been any question of what Loki was doing with his life. He'd had hobbies of course, things to capture his interest and keep him occupied; trained in magic, with more time to spare and perfect his talents, the thought of what he actually wanted to do with his life had never really been a question. What he wanted had never been something that he thought about. Not until he met Rose Tyler.

She hadn't demanded a change, or pushed him towards a new walk of life. No, Rose had appeared like a blessing; she was feisty, rough around the edges, and yet so sweet, with eyes that softened and keened at the most insignificant stimulus. She had offered a soothing balm after the dark, cold fall from the Bifrost, provided protection in the midst of the suspicious, gaining him acceptance among the people of Torchwood, even allowing him sanctuary in her home that was too large for one, but almost too cosy for two.

Yes, Loki was an outsider still; Torchwood treated him as a captive guest, monitoring his every move, working on a way to return him to his own realm, yet withholding the privilege of knowledge or access to the device. The people, even those that had become familiar, Pete, Jackie, the Doctor…they all watched him from the corners of their eyes, perched on the edge of their seats as if he might pounce at any second. True…the small spark of joy that mischief produced hadn't faded, but he hadn't the energy to fight anyone, temper aside.

From all of this arose the biggest problem; Loki was forced to remain indefinitely on a mortal realm, to live a mortal life, with only shallow hope of moving forward or returning home. Anything that he had been raised for was a moot point now. There was no throne to prepare for, no…the way that this world worked was nothing like that of Asgard. There was no clear hierarchy, nothing that he should be doing; people worked up a desire and they did it, or they took on roles of responsibility.

That was what Rose was doing every day; filling a role of responsibility. She knew about aliens, about space and the universe, so she had been acquired by Torchwood, and every day she ran studies, she took on small missions, tracking down anomalies and monsters, and when she stopped she directed her attention to the Dimension Cannon. She had made it work before, there was no reason that it should take so long to reconfigure to suit Loki's needs.

So the mortals ticked on around him; infuriating, wasteful, pitiful, he would think to himself as he whiled away the harsh hours of day strewn across the cushions on the sofa, before shaking his head and brushing away thoughts that would do no good, and definitely upset his hostess.

It was one of those days; Loki wasn't welcome or needed at Torchwood, so had taken to lurking around the flat, sometimes sneaking through Rose's things to try and decipher some more of her life, other times pulling books from the far too sparse shelves and poring through them, soon growing bored, and other times just lying in a state near comatose just to wear down the day, too miserable and bored to get up. Without Asgard, there was no purpose.

Rose had told him time and time again to just get up and do something, to entertain himself while she was gone; she didn't understand. He had never had to so that before. He had never realised how strictly his life had been laid out. Training to be king (or advisor to the king), taught princely behaviour (royalty was an important responsibility- learned through proximity to his parents), hours spent with Thor and the Warriors Three (It would do no good to wallow on his own, and sociability was expected), a study of his choice (Thor had wanted to be a soldier, but magic was a far greater and more useful art), and finally 'entertainment'. To Thor that had meant more foolery with his hammer, to Loki, it had meant hobbies; magic (of course), mischief (there was always a peasant to trick, or a playful trap to set), and whatever other trifle that had come his way. He had never had to think about it; it was always the same.

He couldn't do that anymore. Pete had pulled him aside last time Loki had been at the Torchwood base, spotting him by chance as he wandered alone in the corridor.

"We need to talk." He had said, his hand never leaving Loki's upper arm after he pulled him to the side to speak in an undertone. Loki raised an eyebrow and looked down at the man impassively.

"I assure you the dutiful father speech is unnecessary, and I believe I've already been subjected to it." He drawled, his eyes sweeping the corridor, which was empty (the one time he actually desired large numbers of humans, and there were none to be seen; typical).

Pete rolled his eyes and huffed in the put upon way that Loki had come to associate with the man.

"You know how I feel about you staying with Rose, so no, that's not what I want." He replied exasperatedly, and Loki couldn't be sure, but there might even have been a strange sort of smile on his face, as if Pete were trying to be 'matey', "I wanted to talk about you moping around the house like a miserable git all the time."

That had caught Loki off guard, and his eyebrows had come together in confusion.

"I don't see how that is any of your concern." He questioned, wondering if Rose had put her father up to it; probably not. She was surprisingly private, despite the evidence to the contrary.

"It's my concern because Rose can't afford to pay for two people living in her flat." Pete explained, "Especially if one of those people is making themselves useless. She's been driving herself to exhaustion working to get some extra cash, and you're not helping."

"I don't see how I can change that." Loki stated, his attention shared between Pete and the hand still wrapped around his arm. Confusion and nervousness had made its presence even more irritating.
"I'm not saying get a job…yet." Pete assured him, slipping into the tone of a businessman, "I can't see you doing a job at all…but start doing things, anything, just to get into the habit of doing things…and then maybe try and get a job; pay your way."

Loki opened and closed his mouth a few times; he wasn't sure what to make of it. Pete cut in before Loki could reply, seeing his opportunity.

"Face it, you might be here for a while, and you can't spend the rest of your life on the sofa." He said kindly, "Just start doing things."

So that was how Loki found himself in his current predicament, treading slow laps around the flat, trying to find things to do. Rose had left that morning, dropping an always unexpected kiss on the cheek, congratulating him for being out of bed before twelve. Loki knew it would make her happy if he found something he could do to keep himself entertained, something that might later on help contribute to his upkeep.

That was where the problem lay. It always came back to the fact that he didn't know what to do, had never had to think of it. He had never once in his life spared a thought to what he might do with his life if he weren't preparing for kingship, or enjoying the luxuries and schedules of royalty. He had never considered, though he should have, what he wanted in his life.

He liked mischief; that had always been something unexpected, and entirely his own, that he could enjoy at his leisure. He still could take enjoyment from causing a stir at Torchwood, or around the flat, but what was the point? It was nothing to build a life on, merely a passing fancy to keep him company when nothing else would.

He liked words. Reading them; his library had been stocked haphazardly with every Aesir novel, every classic that the scouts salvaged from Midgard, every word worth reading was there. And there were books here; but he was already reading every day and going nowhere.

He could write; the manipulation of language had always been a fascination. 'Silver Tongue'. Oh, the pleasure he gained from weaving his words into an intricate tapestry worthy of Penelope. He had written on Asgard; it was one of the few pleasures that he kept just for him. The only person he had shown his poems, his short stories, his hand crafted fables, was his mother; she had doted on them, told him what a clever little craftsman he was. But there was no life to be gained, to lead, with the written word.

But maybe…there was something attractive, alluring about the idea of spending his life writing. Spending his life wherever he so pleased, with whomever he pleased, doing whatever mischief and games he pleased, all while letting his words take the reins and litter as many pages as they wished. He had so loved his mother's praise; would Rose love his words as much if she were to return home to a discarded sheet, upon which a soliloquy, or a ballad laced with passion were written, singing her praises and capturing her imagination.

That might even satisfy Pete; when Rose raved about this or that celebrity, the names of writers would often nose their way into the conversation. With words like his, there would be no worries about money.

Loki felt more alive than he had in months; he had found himself seated at the kitchen table, his chin rested in his hands as he plotted. For the first time in his life Loki was imagining doing something that he wanted, not just a deviation before he returned to the norm (make no mistake, the Doctor was without a doubt going to return to his home with a head full of less than friendly hair tomorrow), but an actual plan that centred around him, rather than the throne. This was new. This was good; Rose might actually find herself swayed by some pretty words (she was not immune to his perfunctory charm).

Loki glanced at the clock on the wall. There were a few hours left before Rose returned; as Pete had instructed, Loki was going to do something. He wasn't going to waste that time; no, that time would give birth to a charming, witty, small sample of Loki's skills, and Rose was going to fall faster than her heart would warm when she read it.

Only really Roski in the abstract, but hope not too boring.

As you can probably see, the thread of the fic got away from me a bit.