"ENOUGH!" Loki screamed at the green beast before him, apparently startling it. He took a breath, and the moment seemed to stretch before him endlessly. Enough. It was enough. He was exhausted, the staff was lost, and he'd seen the measures the Midgardians had taken out of fear of their mindless 'ally'. Pride or sense? He had a choice. Thor had pride, Thor was very nearly the incarnation of pride itself. It made him a fool. No, Loki would not have pride. It was not useful. Better to embrace his own reputation as a snake, was it not? If the Chitauri won, well and good. He'd take his place as king. But if they failed-and these lost souls did seem to be putting up rather more of a fight than expected-then Loki still would have the last laugh. He rather liked the idea. As the ravening beast moved towards him, he called to hand the last dregs of his magic...and left.
Norway. They might as well have sent him an invitation.
Darcy hadn't stuck around for long after finding the news feed for Jane. The bit of smugness she'd felt after seeing the S.H.I.E.L.D. drones' faces had worn off quickly, and watching Manhattan was terrifying. But it was Jane that was really hard to watch. She looked so...heartbroken. And terrified, and hopeful. It was too much for Darcy. She'd done her bit, and now she was going to hide in the half-decent hotel room that their fake invitation had at least included. Now was the time for a drink, and despite the unfortunate fact the hotel didn't include a minibar that she could bill to S.H.I.E.L.D., it had taken Darcy all of two minutes upon arriving in Norway to acquire some fancy Norwegian whiskey. Or 'akevitt'. Aquavit. Whatever. It wasn't her normal thing, her normal thing being 'cheap and strong', but it was good ambience when Darcy managed to tear Jane away from staring at stars through a variety of telescopes and got her out into the fresh air.
She'd just gotten up from sulking on the bed to fetch the booze when something very tall and smelling of ozone and acrid smoke popped out from nowhere in front of her. Fingers immediately closed around her neck, hard enough to cut off her scream and almost enough to crush her throat.
The figure was a pale man, Loki, and their vision must have focused at about the same rate because the fingers slackened just in time to save her larynx as he seemed surprised to not recognize her. "You-You're not- You're wrong!" he snarled, dragging Darcy to him to examine her face. Her toes skimmed the floor and she grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, trying to keep herself from choking.
"Where is the woman, where is Foster?! I know she was sent here!" Blue sparks washed across his face, and the hand on her throat tightened as his eyes glazed over. "Always always I tell him he has to learn that he is not ready that he is not worthy and then this stupid pathetic mortal woman has him for a week and it's all better and he's ready to be king and I am ruined and shamed and made fool of again! Again I am the spare brother the child the liar the mischief-maker who can do no right and I am wrong and evil for wanting to destroy those monsters once and for all and I- will- not- have- it-! WHERE IS SHE?!"
Spittle landed on her face as he ranted, and Darcy was momentarily distracted from her own imminent death by deep-seated revulsion. Red spots swam in her vision, and she managed to dig her nails into the exposed skin of his hand.
Loki screamed in her face, blue sparks flaring from his eyes, and the moment Darcy knew she was dying, the blue lights faded and he let go. She shoved herself away from him, landing painfully on her back. There was silence as she gasped for several breaths, and when she finally managed to look up, the asshole was still standing there with one hand stretched out. There was a pulse that drilled straight through her skull and hilariously wrong Mumford & Sons banjo solo that had been coming thinly from her earphones cut out. The life seemed to drain out of him as she watched, and he collapsed into a leathery pile.
Darcy kicked the nearest bit before she moved another muscle, just to make sure he was down. The pile didn't respond, and Darcy scrambled to her knees, feeling almost drunk on relief. With a heave, she rolled him over partially onto his back, and pulled one eyelid up. His pupils were dilated, his eyes spark-free, and he was completely out. Right. That was awesome. Darcy stood up slowly, trying to keep her head from swimming too much. Her cellphone was still on the bed where she'd left it next to her iPod. When she tried to turn it back on the screen only turned white like the last one had when she'd accidentally washed it. Wonderful. At least the lights still seemed to be working, Darcy didn't like to think about being stuck in the dark with Thor's brother. That was a little too horror movie even for her.
There was the requisite hotel landline, but when Darcy tried it, there was only a screeching sound instead of a dial tone. Not good. He'd apparently done something, and she didn't like the thought of leaving him alone in a hotel full of probably innocent people. Darcy sat on the foot of the bed, idly kicking him as she thought. If Loki was here, the scary stuff in New York was probably winding down. That meant Jane would probably be escorted back to the hotel by the S.H.I.E.L.D. goons soon, right? And Thor was back. Jane would be getting into contact with him immediately, and he'd take this gangly problem off Darcy's hands, right?
So it was a good idea to stay here and watch him. Well, probably not, she could admit that, but in her nerdy and reckless heart-of-hearts, Darcy wouldn't mind getting to play the hero for a minute. She tried to believe it would be okay, and not cry, and be practical. She was already failing at the second part, but practical she could do.
He stank, for one. And she couldn't imagine the asshole would appreciate the ungraceful lump he'd landed as. Keeping him happy was probably a good step to keeping her head on her shoulders, just in case he woke up before Jane and the proverbial cavalry came. Probably he should go on the bed, but even with a maid service for the sheets she didn't think the mattress would survive. He was covered in blood and dust and other yuck and blood and who's blood is that? Don't think about it. But she couldn't, and she could feel her heart pounding again and she was getting dizzy and he was sure to wake up any second and she would die and Jane would come back and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would get blindsided and they'd all die and it would be her fault and clean him up. One step. Darcy breathed slowly, counting the seconds.
He was tall but skinny, and she thought she could manage it. She'd started dragging Jane to the gym when she had started getting to obsessive about the science after Thor left, since the gym had showers, which was a step above the lab even if they were both boring as shit. Darcy had decided that Sif was probably a good fitness goal and she hoped that the small amount of muscle mass gained as a result would let her drag around the dickhead on her floor. It was covered in a shit-ton of metalwork, though, and she wasn't about to drag around all that.
Darcy had always kept some type of pocketknife on her ever since in high school when she'd accidentally dated a coke dealer, and it was nice to have a somewhat paranoid backup when her taser wasn't an option. Norway, as it turned out, was pretty much the exact opposite of the weapon-happy United States, but she had gone out and bought a cheap set of cutlery that included steak knives. Which would do just fine on leather, so there was something to be said for Asgardian fashion sense.
They would probably do fine on skin, too, considering. That was one way of fixing the problem. Was it still murder if you killed a freaking supervillain? Probably not, if said villain were awake. Even if she, like, cut his throat now, she probably still wouldn't get convicted. Her fingernails had left a mark, and he seemed drained enough that it would work.
But extrajudicial execution wasn't exactly Darcy's style, not to mention against every reason she'd wanted to go into politics in the first place. Although she was pretty sure that not killing a mass murderer when she had the chance would kill that career choice just as dead. Maybe she could convince Jane to pay her.
It took her almost a half an hour (with frequent breaks to check her communications, nothing) to strip him down to a surprisingly bland undershirt and pants, despite the fact she was just cutting him out. The assface dressed like a puzzle, and if it was possible she hated him even more for it. Finally done, Darcy crouched, hooking her arms under his shoulders, and heaved. She only got halfway to standing, but it was enough she could move him. He was insanely heavy, much more than his height should have accounted for. By the time she'd managed to dump him in the tub she was out of breath, and in revenge she turned on the coldest water possible.
He looked awful, sickly and bluish, his side and back almost entirely one ginormous bruise. There were gashes and scars under his shirt as well, but they all looked older than a day even with Asgardian healing taken into account. She rinsed him off, using the cheap hotel soap to clean the open wounds, and that started some of them bleeding again. Probably better than leaving the dirt in them, and there were plenty of washcloths to be makeshift bandages. She also washed his hair, which might have been a little weird, but he looked like he'd drenched it in a combination of glue and lard and she wasn't going to inflict that on the pillowcase.
It took almost twenty minutes to actually get him back to the bed and then on it after she'd sort-of dried him off. Darcy finally managed it by dumping his upper body onto it, laying on her back on the floor, and kicking the rest of him upwards. She stood, breathing heavily, and took a minute to make he wasn't being smothered before walking to the other side of the bed and sitting down heavily. Her iPod, at least, managed to turn on, and she put on her most energetic playlist to try to counteract the drop from the adrenaline rush she'd had, and leaned tiredly against the headboard. What were Asgardians made of? Something stupid, and stupid heavy.
The music wasn't enough, and Darcy was asleep before she realized her eyes were closing.
Loki came to with his skin feeling like it was on fire and the absence of a headache he'd gotten used to long ago. That was different. He kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep, and took an account of his senses. Most of his regalia had been stripped from him, and he was damp. There was rough cloth on all his wounds, which was unpleasant. He was laying on a bed, less so. Someone was next to him on the bed, breathing deep and evenly. Loki cautiously cracked one eye open.
There was a woman sitting next to him, quite asleep. Not Foster, but definitely still a pathetic Midgardian. Passably fair. His mind struggled for a moment, and he realized she must be the one who'd shucked him of his clothing, which was a bold move to take after nearly having the life wrung from her. And an odd choice. Odd was always interesting; Loki near specialized in odd. The assistant to the good doctor, likely. Truly, the girl would have to learn to be more cautious. Quick as a snake, he wrapped his hand around her throat again and her eyes snapped open. First lesson.
"I think perhaps it was a poor decision on your part to sleep, don't you think?" he sneered. She looked confused, not precisely the reaction he was hoping for. Seeming to realize something, the girl reached towards his hand, and he tightened his grip on her neck. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind. She paused a moment, then, staring at him, reached past his hand to pull something from her ear. Tinny chanting about bees or some such* blared from the object, and Loki realized she couldn't have heard him. The girl reddened and hastily pulled a matching bead from her other ear, and yanked the cord from the little purple rectangle on her lap. She swallowed nervously, her pulse as fast as a rabbit's under his hand.
He sighed. So much for an elegant introduction. "You're not very smart, are you?"
A flash of anger crossed her face, barely a flicker, but Loki was awake enough to see it. He pressed harder a moment, and the fear came back. "I didn't- I didn't kill you!" she squeaked.
Loki chuckled drily. "And as anyone would tell you, that was a very foolish thing to do."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. will be here soon, if they aren't already. Someone will come to check on me." She eyed him, in a rather more calculating fashion than he would have liked.
"As if you forces could intimidate me, mortal. You will be dead before then and I will be gone." Probably. He was tired to the bone.
"Then why didn't you kill me instead of waking me up?" She took as deep a breath as he would allow her. "I don't think you could. You're hurt. I don't think you can even get up. I've helped you." The girl raised her eyebrows in an austere expression, out of place on such a lushly-featured face. "I think you need more help."
He released her neck in favor of cupping her chin and running his thumb lightly down her cheek. He was gratified by her uncertain expression. No need to let himself seem too predictable. "You're not wrong, little mortal, although I doubt you know what you offer. I accept your offer of help."
"It's not an offer. It's a deal. Me and Jane? We're safe, completely. Either one of us gets hurt, you..." She paused, lost. "I want something. Something to keep me safe even when you're better. Or S.H.I.E.L.D. comes. Even if you kill me, you know they'll come."
"You realize limited value when you see it, I suppose?" He was too tired and too hurt to care much for games. Would that he had his staff, then this would be so very simple. "Should the life of you or Jane Foster fall into danger, I shall..." Loki paused, thinking. "Lend you my power, I suppose." Not that the girl would know what do with it. "In return, you will aid me in any way you are able. Until such time as we both agree to be quit of the other." He pulled one of the girl's hands free from it's white-knuckled hold on the sheets and laced their fingers together, gripping hard enough she yelped. "Have we a bargain?"
"Yes," she said quietly, watching him closely. "I don't know if you've done something to the phones, but I need them to work."
Loki dropped her hand and gestured lazily, fighting to hide the fact that bile rose in his throat as he dragged the magic out of his body. "Very well. Keep me hidden, mortal."
She glared. "My name is Darcy-" A hellish screeching emanated from something on the floor on her side, and she scrambled to fetch it. "Yes, Jane, it's me, I'm so sorry, my phone must have died while I was asleep, I'm fine-sometimes I go to bed when I'm stressed, lady! I-" Her words faded as Loki slept again.