I watched Thor last week finally. It was the only other summer blockbuster I wanted to see besides Harry Potter. And I loved it. Yes it was a comic book movie. But it nailed it! Of all the comics I'd run off and hide with from my older brothers' collection this was my favorite. I partially blame it for my love of mythology. And my God did Tom Hiddelston nail Loki, not just comic Loki but actual deity. Yes I also did a little dance and frightened my family when I figured out who was playing Loki; my little anglophile heart was thudding in happiness. I'm hoping this fic is enjoyed because I blew off actual research studies to outline it at work. It's a three part story and yes its rated M for a reason!

Marvel owns all rights and the gods and myths associated are far older than me. All music and lyrics belong to the highly respected musicians. I'm just messing around and playing a chess game against my own abilities at portraying them.

Love, Love, Love till you've got enough

Dance, Dance, Dance if you've got no love around you

DNA (The Kills)

He fell. Not just from the broken bridge of the Bifrost. He fell from every comfort and ounce of love he craved and held close to his selfish cold heart. He danced past supernovas and universes at a speed which blended them into miasma behind his eyelids. Burned with cold and froze in the in the grip of failure. He understood now how he failed. So absolute in the drive to please fader, Loki shattered. But still Odin was the only father he knew. In the abyss he willing dropped into he knew Frigg and the Allfather had loved him. Thor, Thor would mourn. Loki smirked at a dying sun, imagine his noble brother would throw him a feast and set a pyre afire for him. He let this thought echo in underneath his eyelids as the pull of Midgard dragged him onwards.

His helm glistened among the embers. His cloak withered in the ashes and she could only think of his eyes and how desperate he looked in those final days. Their brilliance haunted her along with the knowledge they would never gaze across great halls and tables laden for feasts again. Never taunt her with undisclosed desires while she spun and danced away from wicked blades and fools. Would never again narrow when she mocked him across the training yard for his lack of finesse with sword. They would never again gleam when he had her pinned by the throat when he would throw his shorter blades. Or close when she'd brush against him when they danced with other partners during yet again another feast for some hard fought and won battle.

Did he know all of Asgard mourned for him? He brother so cowed by his lose that he was almost half a man. His father pensive and questioning how he could have ever doubted that he loved him most truly. Did he not know was meant to be Thor's rock and breaker, meant to buffer him and give him reason to think.

Sif mourned, wept into her cup and was unashamed for this weakness. Thor was her sun that guided her growth as a warrior. Loki was her moon that pulled her towards him like the tides. Even though she loved Thor her heart was not his, for that she was thankful for her pride would have damned this Jane Foster. Her heart was given away long ago when a boy with mischief in his eyes stepped from the shadows and took her hair. He gave her the ability to move forward on her path and made her always look towards the darker places. He always made her fight harder, if only to try and keep her wit as sharp his knives and chartreuse irises.

She knew this fifth night his funeral would again end with her crawling into his chambers. She would collapse onto his which was already starting to lose his scent. She'd strip herself of all armor and clothing, wrapping his dark sheets around her body. Touching and whimpering as the ghosts of kisses and caresses that she now regrets where filed away so frivolously.

He was always supposed to be here, Stepping from shadows to pull her hair, drag her towards him. His body wry and full of strength most overlooked. She'd laugh hysterically to herself knowing she was the only female in the golden halls that could enter his rooms unharmed, besides his mother at least. She'd start to sob recalling the times when other women discovered him, and he welcomed them to his attention. Laughing at her poorly hidden jealousy. He assured her they were never in this bed, they were only games he played and tricks he mastered. Her tears would bathe her face as she clung to the pillows strewn across the expanse of her private misery. Her arms clutching shadows as if they were going to pull him back from the cosmos that swallowed him.

Heimdall heard her wails and watched her body contort in its torture. Still he stood and watched; amber eyes watching the atmosphere of Midgard spark a little brighter as Odin's youngest burned through. The hardest path was always walked after the fall and before redemption.

He hurt, his lungs gasped for air as the stars blinked before his dazed eyes. He crawled into the shadows, he was protected there. Safe from the thoughts that rode with him in his descent. His throat bleeding from the screams that ripped out from him. His penance in getting too wrapped up in his drive to prove himself to pay attention to her. He cradled his rent heart close. She came to him when she knew he needed her most, called out the sham he was playing and he threw it in her face. He despaired at being pulled here, where his brother found repentance. Why was he not flung to Jotunhiem, there he would sacrificed. Bleed himself at the frost giant's feet and let them finish the task they set out to accomplice when he was placed in that cursed temple as a babe. Let him disappear like the secret shame he is, let him fall into Hel's hall.

Still he burned his shame and guilt building in him. He was Loki Odinson, god of mischief and trickery. He belonged on Asgard, showing them what more there could be. Showing her what more he could be. The Allfather wanted peace between the Jotun and the Aesir; Loki vowed he would bring it. He had nothing more to lose and he could still see her in the shadows. Twisting, writhing and touching. His name on her lips and his hand guiding hers to where it was needed.

Loki would be stronger, he needed to be. He felt the pull of his DNA. The casket whispered his name like his mournful lover. So he would dance in the shadows and haunt the steps of the doctor whose myths and legends so recently sprung to life.

It was so very easy to whisper in the good doctor's ear that, "This," indeed, "could be interesting."

When it came to pass,

Loaded pass me by.

Fate, with a single blow,

Has clustered by me now.

True I had my chance.

-DNA (The Kills)