He didn't recognise her at first.
But something about the shape of her nose, the line of her jaw, even under the soot that covered her face, was familiar to him.
Curiosity got the better of him and he bent down, lifting the twisted remnants of the collapsed ceiling off her unconscious body.
No, it was definitely her.
Doctor Jane Foster.
Lying broken before him.
Though what she was doing in the top floor of a battered building in the middle of a war zone, he had no clue. Didn't his brother know better than to bring his human pet, weak and fragile as she was, into the heart of battle?
It was idiotic, even for him.
She woke as he dragged her out from the rubble. A sharp cry of pain and a wet gasp. Her brown eyes flashed, then fluttered closed again as she struggled to breathe.
He straightened, letting her fall back to the floor of the once-was office building. A distant explosion caught his attention, and he turned to gaze out the shattered windows as a plume of black smoke suddenly thickened and rose a few blocks away.
The battle had reached a natural pause, each side gathering themselves for another attack.
He turned to go, but a grip, surprisingly strong on the edge of his tunic, held him back.
It was the mortal woman, looking up at him with desperate, pain-filled eyes. He thought of his staff, hanging limply from his fingers.
"Please" she begged, her voice pitched with agony.
It would not take much to finish her off.
"I don't want to die alone."
He glanced over her, assessing her injuries. They were not immediately life-threatening, she would have hours yet before she succumbed to them. There was, however, a fire raging through the lower floors of the building, and it had suffered significant structural damage when the Tin Man had seen fit to fly into it headfirst.
It would likely collapse soon, making the severity of her injuries a moot point.
He was unsure why he did it. But he suddenly found himself dropping to a crouch behind her, placing his staff on the floor beside his feet, and gently pulling her into his arms so that her back rested comfortably against his chest.
She stiffened with pain at being moved, her breathing increasing both in rate and effort. When he had settled her in his grasp, she let her head fall back, coming to rest on his shoulder with her forehead gently touching his neck.
"Thank you" she breathed, and he felt some of the tension slowly leave her body.
He was the man who would take over her planet, and she was taking comfort from his presence.
They sat like that for some time, her breathing evening out somewhat, but still occasionally hitching with pain. He watched the slow curl of smoke rising in the distance. A dim shudder reverberated through the floor. The fire had done its part, the structural steel of the building was weakening.
He would have to move soon.
Slowly, even more so than before, he lowered her back to the floor and regained his feet. Her eyes remained closed, brow pulled tight with pain.
There was a rumble, far off in the distance, but growing closer. The Tin Man. He imagined that the ridiculously named 'Avengers' had regrouped, and after some discussion, found that no single one of them had actually defeated him, meaning he was still loose in the city.
And now they were searching for him.
He considered the woman at his feet. She was a tiny thing, her brown hair, tangled and dirty, was strewn behind her, some of it sticking to her sweaty and soot streaked face. Her clothes were torn and dirty, and even slightly burned in places. She was a mess.
He surmised he looked the same.
He looked from her to his staff, which lay small and unassuming beside her head. The gentle blue glow the only indication of its power.
He could not carry both.
He knelt beside her and picked up his staff, feeling the cool surface against his palm was strangely reassuring. The woman had opened her eyes, and her gaze was one of understanding.
She didn't blame him for leaving her to die.
Her look rapidly changed to one of surprise as he pressed his staff into her hands. Her mouth opened, a question forthcoming, but he stalled it by sliding his hands under her knees and around her back, lifting her.
She gasped with pain and he felt her fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, breathing hard. He walked to the windows, boots crunching on broken glass. He stood at the edge, a cool wind whipping back his hair. He looked down to ensure his staff was safe, to see it in her white-knuckled grip, held tight to her chest.
He leaned out over the edge, judging the dozen or so stories to the pavement. Jane saw it too, the first tendrils of panic gripping her.
She stared up into his eyes, wide and terrified. He met the gaze calmly and stepped off the edge.
To land lightly on the ground below, with barely a jostle.
He waited, listening to the frantic pounding of her heart against his chest. As the reality of what had occurred sank in, she pulled her face out from where it had been buried, pressed close to his neck with eyes squeezed tightly shut, and looked down at the ground as though it had simply appeared out of nowhere.
She looked at him with such complete and utter surprise, eyes wide and eyebrows disappearing into her hairline, that he just had to chuckle.
Humans were such deplorably simple creatures.
The sound of his chuckle brought her eyebrows furrowing back down, and she watched him, studied him, curious.
He rearranged his grip, shifting her slightly, his staff and his collar remaining firmly in a death grip.
He turned and walked towards the edge of the destruction, being careful not to jolt his cargo, who was watching him with interest. He could see the questions lining up behind her eyes, her curiosity was formidable.
But she remained quiet, for the moment satisfied to merely observe him.
He kept one eye on her and the other on their surroundings, navigating the burnt debris and keeping an eye out for any foolish 'superheroes' that might halt his progress. He surprised himself when he spoke.
"In future" he said coolly "You might wish to avoid the scene of battles, given that you are mortal and completely incapable of defending yourself."
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion, her lips twitched up in undisguised amusement. It was an odd combination. When she spoke, her voice was carefully controlled, but strained with the effort required to keep it that way. Regardless of his delicate care, he was hurting her.
"Forgive me," she replied wryly "I didn't get the memo that downtown was closed for demolition by two alien princes, two science projects and a man in a tin suit."
He laughed at that. A strange sound that bubbled up into the air, to mingle with the distant wail of sirens and the crackle of spot fires burning around them. He found himself smiling down at her. He felt her hand on his collar relax, sliding to press flat against his chest, heat seeped through the material to warm him.
She smiled back.
Two blocks ahead there was a flurry of activity. An assortment of vehicles with flashing lights had moved into the area, and various uniformed officials milled about, putting out fires and pulling people from the rubble.
The walk was silent as they slowly approached, neither willing to speak.
He strode past the police unmolested, even ignored, and moved towards one of the white wheeled beds they were loading the injured on, before taking them away in shrieking white vans.
He lowered her onto an empty one, cupping her head gently as she slowly laid back on the stark white sheets. The hand that had been pressed flat to his chest fell away, and he felt the loss of it keenly.
All around was the sound of fear-filled voices, harsh commands and even hysterical sobbing, through it all, she smiled gently up at him. Strangely, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
"Thank you" she murmured, with deep gratitude.
"You're welcome" he replied, his voice dropping low so that only she could hear.
She lifted his staff from where she'd carried it, cradled safely against her chest. She studied it closely, admired it, knowing she would never have such an opportunity again. He allowed it, knowing that of all the wretched mortals on this planet, she was one that had the intelligence to appreciate it. She held it out towards him, with gentle reverence.
He took it, letting his fingers settle over hers on the cool surface, feeling it thrumming with energy.
"Be careful, Loki" she told him, and he was surprised to hear genuine concern.
Her, an injured mortal, he, a powerful immortal. And she was worried for him.
"And you, Jane Foster" he replied with a gentle smirk.
He stepped away as a man approached and began badgering her, asking her questions, touching her to assess her injuries.
She ignored him, her eyes still fixed on Loki.
The paramedic glanced up to ask him a question, then, upon recognising him, his mouth dropped open comically and his eyes grew wide with terror.
He brought his hand holding the staff up to his chest and bowed to her gracefully. Then he straightened, even as the paramedic raised a shaking hand to point at him, a shout on his lips.
He winked at her.
And abruptly disappeared.
Jane would lie awake that night in the hospital, as Thor sat by her bedside regaling her with the tale of his epic battle. When he got to the part where his brother had narrowly escaped, she made sure to be appropriately sympathetic.
Inside, she was immensely relieved.