I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose…

The flying machine crashed behind him in a ball of fire and magic, and Loki finally allowed his muscles to unclench. To lean against the side of this vehicle his new slaves had stolen and close his eyes. Just for an instant, just long enough to reach for his magic–weak, too weak, too much used in the maelstrom created by the Tesseract, but the journey would've stripped the skin from his bones in ice and fire if he hadn't–and wrap it carefully around the worst of his internal injuries.

Unkind, for the Chitauri to send him off in such a condition. His lips curved in an expression only a fool would take for a smile. The least they could have done after he'd finally been persuaded to agree to their plan was to stop the torments long enough for him to arrive on Midgard battle-ready. It had given him a moment's pause when he'd arrived and seen the number of enemies standing between him and his goal. A solid blow in any of a number of points would have rendered him helpless.

But the mortals guarding the Tesseract had been so weak. Their projectile weapons hadn't even scratched him. Only two were worthy adversaries–one currently piloting this vehicle, fully under Loki's thumb, and the other, the one-eyed warrior who'd reminded him unpleasantly of Odin, now likely dead in the flying contraption's wreck. Perhaps the Chitauri had known Loki wouldn't have to strain himself to defeat such pitiful foes.

Or perhaps they simply hadn't cared. Perhaps his pain, and their power in inflicting it, was its purpose.

"No matter," he whispered, opening his eyes again as the searing, grinding agony within him eased a bit. The night around him was beautiful and cold, the faint Midgard stars like diamond dust on velvet, the wind in his hair tasting of freedom. Headier than Frigga's wine, that. Freedom.

An illusion, but he was a master of illusion, and this one was welcome.

"Sir? Our destination?

The slave who drove–Barton, he'd been called–called back to him. He'd have to teach them his correct address, but for now sir would suffice, especially when said in that submissive way.

Loki focused. He was getting distracted by trivialities, a side effect of pain and fatigue. It was a luxury he couldn't afford. Yes, he had the Tesseract, and that was enough for the Chitauri and their cruel master, but there was one other thing he wished to collect. This one just for him.

"San Diego," he replied loudly enough to be heard over engine and wind. "Take me to the college there."

An explanation for those of you WTFing: Yes, we are in an Alternate Universe from my other Loki stories. Why?

Once upon a time in the far-off land of The Interwebs, a reader reviewed Mirrors and Shadows after seeing Avengers and made a comment like, "Wonder what would've happened if Loki had met Taryn after his fall instead of before it?" And DAMN YOU FOR GETTING MY PLOT BUNNIES ALL EXCITED because you KNOW I had to write that. I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING CLOSE TO DONE WITH THEM! And now I'm so not.

This is eating my brain. (Not enough to make me not finish M&S, don't worry–the happy ending fairy will visit Loki and Taryn over there, I promise!) I'll go through the reviews over there at a later date–seriously, wow, y'all rock because there's so many–and find out who you are, O Reviewer Who Awoke My Plot Bunnies, and out you to the world. But for now, you know who you are, and consider this a gift-fic. Hope you enjoy it!