A/N: So, this is my first fanfiction ever! I love to write, but have never ever posted anything I've written. This is mostly to help me practice my writing skills. I'm not quite sure where I intend on taking this story, but here it is! It loosely follows the Thor movie and Avengers, and from there I make my own alterations to the universe and story line. I'm really nervous about this! I probably rewrote and edited this chapter about five times before posting it. Constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome. Here goes!

TW: very slight mention of suicide. Nothing big.

Chapter 1: Unsolicited Guests

The first, and only, time I'd ever seen Loki, he stood before his brother Thor and the rest of the Avengers, shamefully bound in chains marked with ancient runes, his mouth muzzled. Despite his embarrassing defeat he stood erect, almost proudly, as he stared at the ground, only glancing up to stare at us all with defiant green eyes. When his trailed to mine, my usually quiet, almost nonexistent heart pounded rapidly, something that had not happened in a long while. Lifting my chin, I stared back, blankly, and we locked in a battle of gazes that seemed to stretch on for hours, but in reality lasted a few seconds before he disappeared with his brother Thor, off to Asgard for punishment. I thought I'd never see him again. I assumed the Allfather, always delivering the harshest punishments to those who opposed him, would have him imprisoned for eternity. Letting him waste away in the dungeons until death claimed him. A fate that fit him properly, considering the damage he'd done, and the lives he'd taken. No matter what, at that moment in time, my only wish was to return to my normal life, forgetting all about Thor, Loki, the Avengers, and SHIELD.

During that skirmish in New York, I'd offered my help temporarily, and only because I just so happened to live in New York, and preferred it not be leveled by hideous aliens or a nuclear bomb. I made sure Nick Fury knew this was the only reason I agreed to assist, and the only time he could enlist my assistance. I enjoyed my privacy and anonymity on earth, and the last thing I wanted was to become some sort of hero, or have my privacy constantly invaded by SHIELD wanting to use me every time something seemed to go remotely wrong.

Don't get me wrong, I'd always thoroughly considered Fury's offers to join SHIELD. It seemed like a perfect situation for me. I had no ties to anyone, and preferred being alone and secretive. However, being a part of SHIELD, all of these qualities would be forced upon me. Forced to be alone, forced to be reticent, and I hated to be forced to do or be anything.

Despite my preference to be alone, when I'd first come to New York some found themselves drawn to me, and I unintentionally made one close friend: Evander. He was a tall, dark-haired, writer with smoldering gray eyes. He was my best friend, and nothing more, although we didn't have a problem sharing the occasional romp in my bed. Other than that, we stayed platonic. He gave me company and reminded me it was okay to confide in someone every now and then. While I served as his muse and kept him grounded and realistic.

Luckily for the both of us, he'd been visiting France for "inspiration," during the New York ordeal. Honestly, I'm not sure what I would have done, or how I would have felt, had he been harmed. Luckily, was able to go back to my regular life as soon as I returned home, although most of New York was still a morbid reminder of what had happened. The city worked hard to clean up the carnage and rebuild.

Evander returned from France, enlightened, inspired, and thoroughly confused by what had transpired. SHIELD kept all the finer details hush hush, and the media had nothing to go on except for scattered witness testimonies, and fuzzy cell phone videos.

"You leave the country for a few days and New York is destroyed," he said with a theatrical sigh, his gray eyes trailing left to right as he read through his most recent novel's second draft, marking errors and things he didn't like with a harsh red pen.

"I guess New York just can't survive without you here," I murmured, engulfed in my own reading of some Sylvia Plath poetry. "As soon as you leave, it's hit by a mini apocalypse." I glanced over at him, lying in my bed next to me, shirtless with pajama pants on that hung low on his hips. This is what married couples do. Lie in bed making small talk and reading. I groaned to myself, suppressing a shudder. His eyes trailed to mine, and he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I guess it's not so bad.

"So," he said, "Were you here when everything happened?"

I shook my head slowly. "No, I was...visiting some family in Florida," I almost laughed out loud at my terrible lie. Family. What family? However terrible I thought the lie, it was plausible to Evander, which was fine by me. Lying to him was regretfully easy. I didn't have to be elaborate, or over think the fake little details I occasionally fed him. He made a noise of agreement-a painful reminder that he didn't really know me as well as we both liked to think.

Truthfully, I had no family. In fact, I hadn't had a family in about half a century. My father had died long ago, and my mother remained imprisoned on Asgard, after an unsuccessful attempt to reunite with her lover in the afterlife.

She'd made the fatal, and highly uncommon, mistake of falling in love with a mortal. The two conceived me, somewhere in the middle of his life, and they raised me together on earth. As predicted, his short life came to an end long before hers was due. She stayed with him as he aged, becoming old and decrepit. Despite his cavernous wrinkles, liver spots, slowed movements, aching bones, and forgetfulness, she loved him just the same as the day they'd met. Even when he'd forget her name, or how they met, or even her relation to him. She loved him just the same and looked upon him with such fondness, I'd cry. After his passing, my mother was wracked with grief and fled with me to Asgard, but she couldn't look at me, couldn't take care of me. I was her one reminder of her lover who'd been snatched away by Death. I had his same hazel eyes, tightly curled hair, and brown skin much akin to his, but a few shades lighter-having been mixed with her pale, snow white color. I'd gotten her light brown hair, and it was the only reminder I had of her each time I looked into the mirror.

Each day, her eyes grew colder and colder as she looked upon me, til one day they were filled with nothing but cruel, reluctant hate. That was the last day I saw her. Fed up with being practically blamed for my fathers death, when I'd done absolutely nothing, I went back to earth to start anew. On Asgard, I'd be hated on due to my mixed heritage. On earth, I could pretend it wasn't even there.

Last I'd heard, she'd attempted to take her life, but failed, becoming a disgrace. Embarrassed and already annoyed with her for falling in love with a Midgardian and bearing a hybrid child with him, Odin imprisoned her for life. This is the last news I'd received from Asgard. From then on, I pretended the place didn't even exist. Sometimes I even pretended she didn't exist.

My origins had a few perks though. I'd received the godly, symmetrical beauty Asgardian women possessed, but none of the height, barely reaching 5'4". My life was long, almost immortal, yet not as long as it could be. I had magical abilities that I could hardly control. I was never one for practicing or learning to use them, as they only reminded me of my mother and Asgard, both of which I'd come to hate. Hatred was a much better feeling than the dull, never-ending ache I'd once felt for the two puzzle pieced of my past.

"What are you thinking about?" Evander said, and I turned my head to see his eyes trained on me face. "You've been staring at that same page for a while now."

I shook my head silently, and he sighed.

"You can tell me things, you know," he prodded, his eyes sincere. "I'm always here for you."

"I know," was all I said, and we both went silent. Five minutes passed before I finally took a deep breath and said. "I was just...thinking about my mom. That's all." He heard the finality of my tone that said that was all I wished to say on the matter. He seemed happy enough with the little bit of information I'd given him, though, and I had to appreciate that. I set my book to the side, and leaned over to kiss him. His lips immediately melted into mine, and he tossed his manuscript to the side, before his hand came to rest on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. He ran his fingers gently up and down the length of my arm rhythmically in a comforting manner. Soon, his hand settled onto mine, and our fingers entangled.

He pulled away, panting slightly. "You're beautiful," he said quietly.

"You too." I said with a small smile, and he laughed.

Just as we leaned in to continue, a loud, powerful knock sounded at the front door. Evander looked at me, confused, wondering who it was, but I had no idea either. I never had guests except for the postman bringing me packages, and of course, Evander. I slid off the bed, and found Evander's button down on the floor and pulled it on, buttoning it to the collar, before padding through my apartment to answer the door.

I looked through the peephole first, and groaned, not caring whether or not the extremely unwanted visitor heard me. An all too familiar man with shoulder length blond hair and barbaric facial hair stood at the door. His huge frame filled the entire view. He caught site of the peephole from the outside, and shoved his face towards it, attempting to look inside, his blue eye magnified.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. Why.