Author's notes: oh, yes I did. A Once Upon A Time/Avengers fic. It's only taken me a few weeks to actually pick one of the half dozen or so ideas from my head. :S
Warnings: none
Rumplestiltskin looked up from his spinning wheel and smiled, strange-coloured eyes crinkling. "There's no need for illusions, dearie," he said. "I know you're here."
With a chuckle, a young and sly-faced individual appeared, clad in black leather accentuated with green. His bare fingers brushed the handle of the ready teapot Rumplestiltskin had left on the table, for he knew that his visitor had been coming, and with a pleased hum the man poured a cup for himself and another for Rumplestiltskin.
The imp took the cup handed to him and smiled craftily across its edge. "Have you come here for a deal, Loki?"
Loki smirked back, a crafty look to his own visage, and sent his tea down his throat to give a reply. "You know I never come here for business, Rumplestiltskin. I'm not nearly so foolish."
Rumplestiltskin gave a high laugh. "Not so foolish, or perhaps not desperate enough?"
Loki smiled sharply. "Oh, I am far from desperate at this time, Rumplestiltskin."
Rumplestiltskin's lips curled upward. "You're in a good mood today," he observed, a peculiar merriment to his own voice. "What trickery have you performed this time?"
Loki sprawled in Rumplestiltskin's chair and Rumplestiltskin readily perched upon the table. "It is certainly the most dangerous action I have taken thus far," Loki admitted. "If anyone were to learn it was my doing, Father would lock me away many years for my treason."
"Odin's an irritable fellow, isn't he?" Rumplestiltskin remarked, wrinkling his face in disapproval. "Never has an appreciation for a good joke."
"You can say that again," Loki grumbled.
"Anyway," Rumplestiltskin lifted his teacup up to his lips and paused to tilt his head curiously. "What did you do?"
"Today was to be my elder brother's crowning," Loki explained.
"And I take it that's not what happened." Already, Rumplestiltskin seemed amused.
"I arranged… an interruption," Loki said vaguely. Rumplestiltskin didn't press – he would just find out the details for himself later on. "Thor is furious, naturally. And he doesn't suspect me as a part of it at all – probably doesn't believe it to be my style." He grinned, but his eyes were cold. "Oh, there is so much Thor doesn't know about me."
"Are you sure it was a good idea to come here this quickly?" Rumplestiltskin inquired. "Since you want to use Thor's anger to push him into a bad decision, you might want to hurry back before he calms down."
"I have nothing to worry about," Loki said dismissively. "The handy thing with your realm, Rumplestiltskin, and all the magic therein, is that time here isn't so spent as it is in other realms. When I return to Asgard, no one will ever know I was gone."
"Yes, that is fortunate for you," Rumplestiltskin agreed. He hopped off the table and went over to the window, squinting out at the sunlight. "But I would be cautious, Loki – plans made out of spite never fail to go wrong." He lifted a pointed finger for emphasis. "Ever."
"It is not spite," Loki protested. "Thor would be a terrible king. Likely he would reignite the war with Jotunheim and send half the warriors of Asgard to their graves. Who deserves a ruler like that?"
"So you are protecting your people?" Rumplestiltskin sounded somewhat dubious.
"Of course." Loki peered down into his empty teacup, not so content as he had been a moment before. "A mere prince I may be, but my responsibilities are first to my realm and its people." A sudden grin flashed into his face. "And as a prince, naturally, I am at liberty to throw in a little chaos when need be. We wouldn't want bored subjects, would we?"
Rumplestiltskin laughed. "Yes, yes, true indeed," he agreed. "Now, you had best get going and complete your plan. A job half done will never do what you want it to."
Loki set down his teacup and rose from Rumplestiltskin's chair, dipping his head in farewell. "Another time, then, Rumplestiltskin." He strode from the room.
The second his boot cleared the threshold, Rumplestiltskin called, "Do you suppose you'll ever make a deal with me, Loki?"
Loki turned and grinned at Rumplestiltskin. "Never," he promised, and promptly went away.
Rumplestiltskin smiled and sat back down at his spinning wheel.
.
Mary Margaret's head was ducked low as she walked down the street, hands stuffed to pockets and shoulders hunched. Emma knew it wasn't from the cold – it was from the heavily judging looks she received from everyone else. Town harlot was a crushing burden to bear, and for someone like Mary Margaret it was frankly unjust. She may have had an affair with a married man, but unlike Emma, the townspeople didn't know how much the whole thing had frightened and confused her. And now, because of them, she had broken the relationship with David anyway.
"Hey," Emma said as she came up and fell into step alongside Mary Margaret, awkwardly attempting a gentle tone. "How you doing?"
"What do you think?" Mary Margaret said miserably.
"I'm sorry, Mary Margaret," Emma said, her sympathy heartfelt.
"I wish David had never woken up," Mary Margaret said fiercely. She stopped and shook her head sadly. "No, no, I don't."
Emma said nothing. She understood.
"Step aside," an unfamiliar voice broke in, and Emma and Mary Margaret quickly stepped back as a tall and slender man went past them, pushing along a cart of books with a will.
"Oh, good morning, Tom!" Mary Margaret said quickly, trying to push some cheerfulness into her voice. She stepped forward. "Here, do you want help with—?"
"I don't need help," Tom said sharply, and Mary Margaret stepped back, stung. Tom stared at her, and Emma didn't detect any malice in the guy, just general unfriendliness. "Good morning," Tom said flatly, probably just as a way of returning Mary Margaret's comment, and drug the book cart up the steps and wrestled it through the library doors.
"Nice guy," Emma remarked sarcastically.
"Oh, that's… Tom," Mary Margaret said, trying very hard not to take his words personally.
"Doesn't seem to like talking so much," Emma noted.
"Oh no, he's actually very eloquent," Mary Margaret told her as they started to walk again, quickly passing the library. "He just doesn't like people very much. It's the way he is."
"Then how do you know he's eloquent?" Emma asked.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Mary Margaret's face. "Sometimes when I'm in the library and I'm really quiet, I can hear him talking to himself. Soliloquizing. He's very good, but he only does it when he thinks no one else is around."
"Talking to himself." Emma looked back at the library. "Well, that certainly explains a lot about him."
"He's not that bad," Mary Margaret insisted. "At least, compared to some of the people around here." She shivered.
"He's certainly no Regina, I'll give him that," Emma concurred. Mentally she made a note to check out this Tom more thoroughly. A cranky guy who talked to himself could not be safe to have around. Plus the English accent made him seem even creepier.
Emma had to split off from Mary Margaret a ways later and head over to the sheriff's station. Mary Margaret thanked her for coming so far, and kept walking.
Henry was waiting in the station when Emma came in, reading the book. "Hey, kid," Emma greeted him with a slightly puzzled tone. "What're you doing up so early? It's a Saturday."
"My mom's never up early on Saturdays," Henry explained. "She doesn't come out of her room anytime before noon. So I thought maybe we could do some work on Operation Cobra."
"I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, Henry," Emma said reluctantly.
Henry looked disappointed, but immediately he tried to find a way to make it better. "Well, I can help you. Then it'll be done faster."
Emma chuckled. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be doable, Henry," she said. She sat down at her desk and Henry promptly dragged over a chair so he could be next to her. Emma gave him a hint of a smile. "I've gotta say, you're the friendliest person I've seen this morning."
"What about Mary Margaret?" Henry wondered.
"Well, she's been feeling a little low lately, Henry."
"Right." Henry nodded, a displeased expression on his face.
"I was thinking mostly of someone else, though," Emma told him. "You know Tom at the library?"
Henry's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"Tom. He works at the library."
Henry shook his head slowly. "I go to the library all the time, Emma," he said. "There isn't a Tom there."
"Sure there is," Emma said. "Mary Margaret and I ran into him this morning. She told me she knows him."
"There aren't strangers in Storybrooke," Henry murmured worriedly.
"I just said, Henry, Mary Margaret knows him," Emma said, hoping to calm him.
Henry's expression was doubtful. As Emma unhappily went to her paperwork, Henry returned to his book. This time it seemed like he was looking for something.
.
Tom pulled the book cart behind him as he restacked the books in their correct locations, neatly arranging them in even rows. He stopped as he noticed the shrill squeaking of one of the wheels, and immediately disappeared into a room in a nook of the library wherein he stored his things. He grabbed some grease for the wheel and stopped a moment by the mirror to check his appearance.
His shoulder-length black hair was brushed back, exposing two gold earringed ears. He had a well-worn black wool coat over his thin green sweater, and a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. Quickly he made sure that there was nothing in his teeth and centered the stones on his rings. Who knew why Tom had such a seemingly vain ritual – no one was ever looking at him, anyway – but he maintained it all the same.
Grease in hand, he went to mend the squeaky wheel. In a moment the job was done and Tom returned to his previous task of restacking the books. He had about three of these carts to empty of returned or misplaced books, and that wasn't counting the incorrectly stored books he found along the way.
Lillian, as always, was surprised to find Tom already so far into his work when she came in at ten o'clock. "Goodness, Tom, sometimes I wonder if you live here!" she exclaimed.
Tom as a matter of fact did live in the library (that's what the little room was for; what else?), but he made sure no one else ever knew of it. So he merely kept his mouth closed and didn't answer to Lillian's comment. She was long used to his silent ways and chattered on, not pausing for the replies she knew she wouldn't get.
Tom had to give Lillian credit: she did know how to treat him. The cheerful librarian went over to the library's door and turned the "open" sign, and promptly came back to her desk to chat at Tom some more.
The door opened and Mr. Gold came in. Tom felt a peculiar surge of fury at the sight of the man, his fingers threatening to tear into the book he held, and quickly he turned and left. Tom didn't know why Mr. Gold's appearances always gave him such rage, but they did. It was like… betrayal. Yes, whenever Tom saw Mr. Gold, he always felt betrayed. And tricked.
It didn't make any sense. Tom had never spoken to Mr. Gold. So how could Mr. Gold have done anything to him?
.
Sif stood apprehensively in front of the tall wooden doors. This castle was not by any means the most impressive or intimidating structure she had ever seen, but it was what was inside it that worried her. Frightened her, if she decided to be honest with herself.
She wasn't entirely sure if she should do this. Hearts would be broken. And yet… if she didn't, lives would be lost, and one of them would likely be the brother of someone close to Sif's heart. Whether she should or not, Sif had to do this.
The doors swung open and the little imp known as Rumplestiltskin stood before her, grinning like a cat. "And how may I help you, dearie?" he asked.
Sif lifted her chin, glaring into Rumplestiltskin's eyes. "I have come to make a deal," she said, her voice steady.
A keening laugh burst from Rumplestiltskin, and he giddily gestured. "Come in, then, Lady Sif."
Sif's fingers shifted nervously, and she walked into Rumplestiltskin's castle.
