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A/N: Here's my crack at a Loki fic. I tried to come up with something that hadn't been too overdone. For the sake of reference, this is based on the movies Thor and The Avengers. It is set just after The Avengers. I haven't ever really read the comics so I have filled in the gaps with Norse mythology. That said, you won't need to know anything about mythology to read this and enjoy it. I hope you like it.

Chapter One: Drifting

Odin stared down at his youngest son, a deep frown creasing his brow. The crimes against Midgard were great and they had been lucky to reclaim the traitor Loki with as little struggle as they had, thanks to Thor. Now the child that he had raised stood before him in dishonor and the All Father wondered if it had, in fact, been wise to take the Jotun child into the house of Asgard. His instinct was to bring down the full force of justice upon Loki but the silent misery of his wife Frigga to his right, stayed his hand. From the moment he had brought the infant back from the war-torn battlefield of Jotunheim, Frigga had taken to the child as her own, even more than Odin himself. He was their son, though he did them no credit at times like these. Odin lowered his head wearily, to rest upon his upturned palm and rubbed his eyes in thought.

Loki's crimes had been worse than Thor's against the Jotun and yet, not so much worse. Odin had always favored Thor; his first, his own. He knew this. But that did not make it right. Looking down upon his two sons; Thor looking worried for his brother despite his anger and Loki trying his best to look insolent despite his fear, Odin saw with absolute clarity that neither one was yet fit to rule Asgard. They were still so much younger than they appeared to be. Their race and station gave them unrestrained power long before they were fit to wield it. Perhaps, then, the best course was to remove temptation. Perhaps a lesson, more than a punishment, was in order. Odin raised his hand to call for silence, though the gesture was unnecessary as the gathered crowd waited with baited breath. At last, he spoke.

"Loki…Odinson," he paused here and caught Loki's eye with a significant look.

Though Jotun he may be, he was raised in the house of Asgard and claimed as Odinson and would remain so. Loki looked right back at him, his expression betraying little. Perhaps he understood that the title was hardly beneficial in this situation. Odinson held connotations and responsibilities that Laufeyson did not and Loki would be judged all the more harshly for his status.

"You stand before me guilty of treason against the realm of Asgard, unwarranted acts of war against the people of Midgard, and the attempted disruption of order across the Nine Realms. What am I to do with you, Son of the House of Odin? How am I to treat this vicious betrayal?"

Loki stared up at him; half his face hidden behind the muzzle he still wore to keep him silent. He had the decency to look ashamed of himself and dropped his gaze to the ground before him, unable to look his father in the eye and even less inclined to face his mother who now wept silently.

"Were I to judge you as a man, your journey would end here today. Luckily for you, I will not. You are a boy, Loki, playing at power; childish and arrogant. You have shamed your house, your family, and yourself. For this, you will be punished as a child. I strip you of your title, your station, your strength, and your magic. You are banished to the realm of Midgard as a mortal. You will live as one of them, until you respect what it is to be one of them. You will be left to suffer and struggle as they do until you see it as the privilege that it is. Regardless of your behavior, you will not return here before a year has passed. If you do not learn well, then you will never return at all."

Loki's eyes narrowed and he seemed inclined to say something that the All Father would have made him regret. Odin knew that his words had cut to the core of Loki's pride and so much the better. He needed to learn that he was not better than anyone by simply being more powerful. A powerful man could destroy whole worlds if power was all he knew. Thor was learning rapidly from his contact with Midgard though he was often still childish and boastful. Loki, however, seemed determined not to change his mind. His lesson would come much harsher and it would be his own doing. But so be it.

Odin stood and stepped forward, placing his hand upon Loki's head. A light glowed brightly between them, then flickered and died. It was clear that Loki could sense an immediate change and he looked sick with grief at the loss of his most prized abilities. Odin shook his head in mild disapproval and spoke so only Loki could hear.

"There are more important things, my son. When you know this, you may return to us."

He removed his hand and raised his voice a fraction, beckoning to the guards.

"It is done. Remove him from my hall and bid Heimdall remove him from my realm."

With that, Odin turned his back upon his son.

4 Months Later…

Alice drifted through the mass of people, navigating the city sidewalks with practiced ease. Not so long ago, everything about this city had threatened to overwhelm her but now that seemed like another life. This was home, even if home wasn't always where her heart was. The night shift was getting to her but she refused to let it show. There was just something about the bright lights that made a person want to be strong. That and she couldn't admit to the people back home that they were right. The sun appeared through a gap in the buildings ahead and painted the skyscrapers golden but her eyes felt foggy in the early morning light. She'd have five hours to sleep when she got home and then it would be time to head out again. Cashier by day, waitress by night. Not nearly as exciting as being Iron Man, she guessed, but it paid the bills.

From the corner of her eye, Alice noticed a man sitting on a low wall near the entrance to the park. Normally, her eyes remained neutrally disinterested in such things at least since her second month here. By that point she had learned that you couldn't save every homeless person that you passed and if you tried to help them all you would be bankrupt. But there was something about this man that caught her eye and she couldn't quite describe what it was. She studied him surreptitiously as she approached and noticed that he looked to be about her age. He had probably been very handsome at some point but now he was painfully thin. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his bright green eyes and his long black hair looked tangled and damp. But there was something wild and proud about him, a certain way that he looked out at the world, as though he knew more than anyone could guess, that caused her to halt a few feet from him and stare. Someone behind her knocked into her back with a grunt and a mumbled curse but she ignored them.

He noticed her and their eyes locked. He stared right back. Alice realized that he had no coin jar or anything else. He wasn't begging. He was just standing there as if the world around him couldn't touch him. There was a cold look in his vibrant eyes and a hard set to his jaw as he stared her down, like an animal, wounded, but refusing to back down from a fight. But behind those eyes there was a weariness that Alice recognized because it lived inside of her as well. There was loss and loneliness and even fear mirrored back at her in those strange eyes and she realized that they were what set him apart. This was a man who couldn't see a way to live but a part of him refused to die. And so here he was. And here she was. His cheekbones stood out at alarming angles and Alice could tell it had been some time since he'd last eaten. Her fingers tightened on the paper bag that held her breakfast and she sighed. Stepping forward, she noticed he refused to drop his gaze, but there was uncertainty and curiosity in his expression now. She held out the bag to him in offering with the most sincere smile she could muster in her exhaustion.

"Here…you look like you could use this more than me."

His eyes left her face a moment and glanced down at the bag with misgiving.

"It's…food," she explained, extending it out further toward him.

"Is it not your food?" he asked.

His accent was peculiar; similar to British but somehow strange and he spoke with a stiffly cultured tone that matched his eyes but spoke nothing to his current situation. It did, however, fit his bearing which only served to fluster Alice further.

"It is. But you can have it. You look like you could use a good meal."

Those electric eyes flashed as if in offense and he seemed on the verge of refusing but he glanced down at the bag again in longing and nodded. He took the bag from her with a defeated sigh.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Alice answered with a smile, though it was a haunted smile.

As she walked away she could not shake the feeling that this encounter had been more than it appeared. She just couldn't bring herself to believe that this man wasn't somehow more than he seemed to be. With a shake of her head, Alice chalked it up to sleep deprivation and continued on her way home.