So you remember how I mentioned that the oneshot "Discovering a God" was actually part of a bigger WIP fic? This is Chapter One of that fic. Please enjoy!

She sat out in the grassy field, cursing for the hundredth time her inability to travel. Astrid had heard about the strange astronomical phenomenon happening out in New Mexico, and being an amateur star-gazer herself, had wanted to take a trip down there to study them. It would make quite an interesting article. But alas, she simply did not have the funds for such a trip, and she doubted that her rattling old Chevy pickup would be able to make the drive. The young woman heaved a sigh, falling onto her back and staring up at the infinite and poignant beauty of the stars that had fascinated her since youth. All she could do now was hope that phenomenon migrated.

No sooner had the flippant thought passed through her mind than something strange began to happen; indeed, something that could be classified as a "phenomenon." The sky seemed to twist, as if some giant hand had grabbed a fist-full of it, and a silky, cloudy ribbon of iridescent light burst from the center of the celestial bend. She didn't recall getting to her feet, but as the light suddenly touched the ground not a hundred yards from her, she found herself running toward it, chanting "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," under her breath like a mantra. Just as she closed in on the shining column, it began to retract back up into the sky, disappearing just as quickly as it had come. She swore loudly, realizing after the fact that she had left her video camera at home. Astrid dropped to the ground, her legs folding beneath her as she pulled a worn black notebook out of her pocket, plucking a pencil from her ponytail and hastily scribbling down all that she had witnessed in as much detail as possible. She sat there scrawling, chewing on her lip in concentration for a good five minutes before she heard a soft groan.

The girl jumped, springing into a crouch and switching on the small flashlight she kept clipped to her keys, sweeping the beam over the grass. In approximately the place where the light had touched down lay a dark, crumpled heap in the shape of a man. He wasn't moving. Astrid extinguished her light and scrambled over to him, tugging on his shoulders and trying to turn him onto his back. "Oh God, please don't be dead." The young woman pressed her ear to his chest, breathing a sigh of relief as she heard the steady beating and felt the rise and fall of respiration. She ran her hands methodically down his arms, across his chest, over his legs, checking for broken bones or open wounds. He seemed unhurt, just unconscious. As gently as possible, she shook him, trying to get him to open his eyes.

"Hey, you with me? C'mon, wake up, please. Please, wake up. Stay with me, c'mon."

His eyes remained closed, and Astrid sat back on her heels with a sigh. She couldn't leave him out here in the cold, but he obviously wasn't leaving this spot under his own power. Easing her arms under his limbs, she lifted him with a strained sound onto her shoulders in a fireman's carry. It had been a long time since she'd lifted someone like this, and the muscles in her legs and back screamed in protest. It took her forever to stagger her way over to her truck and lay him down in the bed before gathering up her blanket, folding it up and tucking it under his head. The ride back to her house could be a bit bumpy, and she didn't want to inflict any more damage on him. Climbing into the driver's seat, she started the truck with a cough and drove away slowly. Every twenty seconds or so, she glanced into her rearview mirror, making sure the stranger was still back there.

"You have got so much explaining to do when you wake up."

XXX

Pain. Unceasing, unyielding, swirling eddies of it tumbled him around in the currents of the infinite universe. A hundred thrusts of the sword, a thousand twists of the dagger could not have been so agonizing. Yet there was no sword, no dagger; no wound, no blood to be spilt. This torment came from within, leaving no visible mark upon the false Asgardian. Even after he stopped falling, landing in a realm he could not identify, all he knew was soul-crushing pain and blackness. He thought he heard a voice through the coarse folds of his turmoil; young, female-Oh God, please don't be dead. How he wished he were. Death had never seemed so sweet before, but he craved it now. It would be welcome relief from the terrible knowledge that all of his deceit and betrayal, all of his efforts had been for naught. Everything that he loved had been nothing but a magnificent lie, a thing that he himself could craft with the skill of a practiced artisan. He was Loki, the patron god of lies and tricks, and he had been nothing but a pawn his entire life, something that could be dusted off and used at the Allfather's convenience. That hurt him more deeply than any wound wrought by weapons could. All he had wanted was acceptance, the acknowledgment of his right to the throne, despite his origins. He had been denied this by his father and his brother, and living with that knowledge for the rest of his years seemed unthinkable.

Slowly though, he began to wake. He heard a strained sound and felt himself being lifted unceremoniously, slung over someone's shoulders. The prince wanted to protest; such callous treatment was beneath his station, but he found that he lacked the strength to speak or even stir. There was the sensation of moving, of being jounced across uneven terrain, then he lost his senses again. Blackness continued to swirl around him for what felt like an age and a half before light started seeping beneath his eyelids, muted yellow light that stained his vision red. He felt something cool and damp gently brush his forehead, heard someone's slow, steady breathing, and in his mind flashed the faces of the attendants in the healing room. His eyes flew open, and he saw that there was indeed someone attending him. She was young, with a soft, round face and thick glasses in black frames pushed high on her nose. A Midgardian woman. The prince couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed to not be back in Asgard.

Astrid jumped as his eyes snapped open like a pair of blinds, and she dropped the washcloth she'd been sponging off his face with. "Oh! Geez!" She pressed a hand to her chest. "You scared me."

His gaze, which was sharp despite his disorientation, was focused intently on her, his cracked, bloodless lips pressed into a thin line. The vivid forest-green of his eyes made the dark, sunken circles beneath them appear more pronounced, causing his handsome and rather angular face to seem quite gaunt. She smiled at him, trying to reassure him. "Don't worry, you're safe. You were out for a while, though; do you remember what happened?"

His throat worked as he swallowed, his lips moving as he struggled to form syllables. "Jane…"

Astrid's brow furrowed, and she leaned in slightly closer. "I'm sorry?"

"Foster." He whispered again, then forced his voice to a low murmur. "Jane Foster."

Slowly, the girl shook her head. "There's no one here by that name. Is that someone who you were with? Do you need me to call her for you?" She reached down to pick up the washcloth she had dropped before it could soak into the couch cushion, but with reflexes that shocked her, he grabbed her wrist, his long, slender fingers wrapping around and squeezing with more strength than she had anticipated.

"Where is she?" His voice had returned to what she guessed was its normal pitch; low and dangerous, with narrowed eyes to match.

Astrid pulled, but she couldn't free her arm from his grasp. "I don't know where she is. Please let go." She kept her voice quiet and measured, not wanting to agitate him. Dammit, she should have called somebody instead of bringing him here!

To her great relief, he released her. She rubbed the ache out of her wrist, certain that the skin would bruise. He looked around, sitting up a bit and wincing. "Where am I?"

She pushed a pillow under his shoulders to support him. "You're at my place. The closest town's an hour and a half away, so I brought you here first."

"But this is Midgard, yes?" He groaned, one hand rising to push his disheveled inky-black hair away from his face. "Which part?"

She blinked. "Um…the Midwest?"

Loki sighed; the simple-minded human girl was trying his patience. "Are we near New Mexico?" The name felt odd on his tongue, the language clumsy and garish.

"Not really…a few states and a time zone away." She settled into a wing-backed chair, folding her legs underneath her and pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. "This is Kansas."

He groaned again, with exasperation rather than soreness. "Tell me what happened. How did you find me?"

"I was out in that pasture," she pointed to the expansive west-facing window, "watching the stars. And this weird thing happened…it was like the sky was ripped open for a few seconds, and this huge column of light touched down. I ran over to it, but it was gone by the time I got there." She stared at him, though her eyes never quite made it to his. "And then I found you. You weren't conscious, and I didn't want to leave you out there, so I brought you to my house." She stifled a yawn. "Sorry. I'm not usually up this early."

Early? His lips pursed as he looked outside and saw the bright glare of early afternoon. She was an odd, irksome little thing, but she had aided him, so he supposed killing her would be in poor taste. He pushed himself up, swinging his feet onto the floor. He noticed that the weight of his armor was gone, and he was dressed only in a light, green tunic and a pair of black trousers. His entire body screamed in protest as he stood, but he ignored it, straightening as best he could. "Thank you for your assistance. I shall take my leave now."

Astrid got to her feet as well, mouth opening to chide him for standing when he should be resting. However, the prince only took two shaking steps before his strength gave out. The girl rushed to him, catching him before he hit the floor and pulling his arm around her shoulder. "Hey, easy." She helped him back to the sofa, ignoring the dour look he gave her. "You shouldn't be moving around just yet." Once he laid back down, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, his cheek; her skin was soft and warm. "No fever. No broken bones or open wounds that I found." She gave him a gentle smile. "I think you just need to take it easy for a while." She put her hand on top of his and squeezed softly. "Don't worry, you're in good hands. My mom taught me a lot about home care."

Loki fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "Right. And what is your name?"

"Astrid Jacobs," she replied. "And you are?"

His lips curved at the corners. "I am Loki Odi-" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Laufeyson."

"Loki Laufeyson," she repeated, barely able to keep a note of incredulity out of her voice. "Well, despite the circumstances, it's a pleasure to meet you." She squeezed his hand again.

"Likewise," he replied dryly, then closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

Astrid frowned, then stood, walking into the kitchen. Rude much? It figured; the first human being who stumbled out here would be a prime example of why she preferred to live alone, away from people. Her computer sat at the kitchen table, the screen glowing, and she sat back down to type for a while. Astrid Marjorie Jacobs was a journalist; every week she sent an article in to the Kansas City Star, the topics of her writing ranging from politics to agriculture to the hottest celebrity gossip. Once in a while, she also submitted short stories to magazines. It wasn't high-paying work, but she got along fairly well on her own, and it was wonderfully fulfilling besides.

As always, time slipped away from her while she was writing, and before she knew it, ninety minutes had passed. She straightened and rubbed her eyes, ruffling her fingers through her hair. A slight twinge from her midsection reminded her that it had been a while since she'd eaten, and she stood and stretched, gathering the things she'd need to prepare lunch. She hummed happily to herself as a saucepan simmered on the stove, the same tune over and over.

"What on earth are you humming?"

She jumped, almost scalding herself. "Oh!" Astrid's hands clenched on the counter, supporting her as a rush of fear-induced adrenaline suddenly made her knees wobble. "You need to stop doing that."

Loki eased himself into a kitchen chair, hissing in discomfort. "My apologies," he muttered, his words smacking of sarcasm. "Now answer my question."

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the stove, stirring the saucepan's thickening contents. "It's called 'Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.' It's a pretty well-known melody, haven't you heard it before?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm…not exactly from around here." He watched her mistrustfully, his eyes narrowing to scrutinizing slits.

"I guessed that much," she replied, her tone harmless. "Are you hungry? Lunch is just about ready."

She turned to face him, a dish towel slung over her shoulder and a steaming bowl in each hand. They were filled with a thick, dark orange liquid, the aroma rising from them fragrant and earthy. Loki raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Pumpkin soup. My grandmother's recipe." She set a bowl in front of him, handing him a spoon. The prince inspected the bowls contents, swirling them around before scooping up a small spoonful and taking a taste. It was better than he had expected it to be; rich and hearty, slightly sweet and flavored with several spices.

Astrid's brow crinkled slightly. "If you don't like it, I can-"

"It will do," he interrupted, taking another spoonful. The young woman pressed her lips together, but didn't say anything, taking a spoonful of her own. They ate in silence for a moment before she took a deep breath.

"So…do you mind telling me how you ended up in the pasture?"

He swallowed. "I got lost."

Astrid barely kept herself from raising a dubious eyebrow. "Okay…were you with someone?"

"No."

"Where were you headed?"

"New Mexico," he answered truthfully. It hadn't been his intended destination; indeed, he'd had none. As soon as he realized what realm he'd landed in, however, a plan had begun to form.

"You're traveling to New Mexico…and you wound up out here in the middle of the prairie?" Her eyes were scrutinizing; she sensed that something wasn't quite right.

"As I said, I got lost."

Astrid sighed and took a different approach. "So, where are you from?"

"England, originally." He had studied Midgardian cultures well enough to know that his Asgardian accent was almost identical to an English accent, at least to human ears.

"And where do you live now?"

"Nowhere, really." A pang struck his heart at how achingly true that statement was. "I travel a lot."

"For work or for fun?"

"Neither. Call it a sort of…personal quest."

"Does this quest have anything to do with Jane Foster?"

Ah, so she did remember. The girl was sharper than he gave her credit for. "In a way, yes."

"So, who is she?"

"She's a friend of my brother's." Loki took another bite of soup, then continued. "He was unable to accompany me, so he asked me to give her a message." The lies still came all too easily, and the girl accepted them readily. Midgardians had always been easy to fool.

Something in his tone told Astrid that he would give nothing else away, at least not now, and she sat back with a quiet sigh, giving up on her feeble attempt at an interrogation. She picked up her spoon and began to eat again, pointedly avoiding looking at him. He, however, stared at her unashamedly, studying her. She wasn't unattractive, though somewhat plain. Her hair was long, falling in natural, unruly cinnamon-colored curls. She was very fair-skinned, almost pale, and her round cheeks were dotted with freckles. At first, he'd thought her eyes were the same shade of green as his. But, whereas his were forest green stitched with threads of ice-blue, hers were a warm shade of emerald, swirled with amber. She had a generous mouth, a warm ready smile; full lips over slightly crooked teeth. Her body was hidden inside long, loose clothing, but the little that he'd seen suggested soft curves and smooth lines. She seemed simple enough; not terribly intelligent, but clever in her own way. The girl was eager to help; her care of a complete stranger was proof of that. She could prove very useful indeed.

Astrid ate quickly, feeling his eyes burning into her. Why on earth was he staring at her like he'd never seen a human being before? She felt heat blooming in her cheeks, and she cursed her pale complexion for betraying her. It wasn't often that she had guests; certainly none as intriguing and handsome as him. A bit of color had returned to his face, the dark circles not as pronounced as before. He had angular features; high cheekbones, a thin blade of a nose, a pointed chin. When she had carried him back to her truck and then into her house, she'd felt a lean but well-muscled frame beneath his clothing. But the thing that fascinated her most about him was his eyes. They were as green as the forest and as deep as the heavens, able to appear cunning, forthright, mischievous, angry, seductive, and desperate all at the same time. Beneath all of that, however, she'd seen the briefest glimpse of another layer; a veil of pain, of unfathomable agony that made her heart twist. Perhaps it was because of what she saw in his eyes that she still felt compelled to help him, despite his rudeness and evasive words. He was obviously hiding something, and she was dying to know what it could be. But that would all come in time. For now, he needed her help, and she was more than happy to give it to him.

Once she was finished, she stood and put her bowl in the sink. "Stay there, I'll be right back." Loki nodded silently as she departed, wondering what she had planned. Fifteen minutes later, she returned with a bundle of black clothing in her hands. "I've drawn a bath for you. I figure the hot water will help relax any soreness or stiffness." She set the clothes down on the table in front of him and took away his empty bowl. "I don't have much in the way of guy's clothes, but this will do for now. I'll wash what you're wearing tonight. When you're done, there's something I'd like to discuss with you." Her tone was gentle, but held an unmistakable degree of command; she expected her instructions to be followed.

Loki slowly stood, his eyes locked with hers. He towered over her, but she didn't back away, though it was clear she wanted to. My, we are stubborn, aren't we? He smirked, inclining his head slightly. "As you wish, milady."

Astrid swallowed, then weakly gestured for him to follow her. She led him to the bathroom, reminding him to meet her out in the living room when he was finished before scurrying away. The god laughed to himself, entering the room. The air was heavy and fragrant with steam, and the bath itself was round and sunk into the floor. He tried to shed his clothing by magic, but was dismayed to find that his fall from the bridge had sapped more than just his physical strength. His magic was also weakened, and was now just the barest flicker. He begrudgingly removed his clothing by hand, then groaned as he sank into the bath, the hot water wrapping around him like a lover's embrace. Loki was not looking forward to how much time and practice it was going to take to get his abilities back to their full potential. Most of it would have to be conducted in secret, as he wasn't quite ready to reveal his true identity to Astrid. A smirk curled on his lips as he ducked beneath the water, smoothing his hair back from his face. Simple as she was, she still amused him. There was a certain shy innocence to her, but she could give commands as easily as any queen could. Granted, he hadn't met very many Midgardian women before, certainly not for a very long time. They had always been meek, subservient creatures, kneeling at his feet and worshipping him. Then again, they had known of his divinity, knew that they were to be reverent. Astrid was of another time, when his name had fallen into myth and folklore, and she didn't know any better. He sighed and picked up a bar of green soap, rubbing it into over his skin to wash himself. It would be prudent to wait to make his power known for several reasons. One, it would be almost impossible for him to prove himself until his magic had returned. Two, the girl could be of use to him, and if he tried to convince her that he was of another world without proof, she would think him crazy or dangerous, and would be less inclined to aid him. Three, if he played his cards right, he could trick this girl into taking him to Jane Foster.

His eyes grew hard and dark, his lips pressed into a taut line. Oh, he had plans for that poor human woman. If she had only kept herself out of his dear brother's affairs, she might have escaped Loki's wrath. But, since his powers wouldn't be strong enough to open a portal to Asgard any time soon, Jane would have to suffice as a substitute for his revenge. He would show her suffering, teach her the true meaning of pain, make her scream and cry and curse Thor's very existence. He knew that treacherous gatekeeper would be watching. Would he have the spine to tell the eldest prince what he saw? Loki fervently hoped so. He wanted his brother to see the damage he'd done to this unfortunate mortal whom he had dared to love. But to even get close to her, he needed Astrid. This was her land, after all. She had what humans called "home field advantage." She would help him blend in with the flock, be the sheep's clothing for this wolf, and when the time was right, he would shed his disguise. And who knew? She might still serve a purpose even after he'd gained his revenge. She was interesting and somewhat pleasing to the eyes; she could make a fit consort for him. Seducing her would be no challenge at all, he'd already seen the attraction in her eyes. Rinsing himself, he stepped out of bath and dried off, combing his fingers through his dripping, tangled hair. After pulling on the clothes she had given him-a black short-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft, loose-fitting trousers-he padded out in his bare feet to the living room.

Astrid looked up from her book as he entered, swallowing at the sight of him. His hair glistened with water, his skin flushed from the warmth of the bath, her sweatpants slung low on his hips and her T-shirt clinging to his much broader and well-muscled chest. He definitely did not look this yummy before, she thought as he sat in a chair, his eyes on her. She shook her head slightly, trying not to let his looks distract her from the topic she wanted to talk about.

"Everything fit okay?"

Loki nodded. "They will do. Now, what is it you wished to discuss with me?"

She marked her place with a slip of paper and set the book aside. "I'd like to make a deal with you."

Loki raised an eyebrow, his lips curling with intrigue. "Oh?"

"I will help you find Jane Foster, but only if I can come with you, and only if you stay here in the interim. Deal?"

It took a great deal of effort to hold back what promised to be a rather frightening grin. This sweet, ignorant creature was going to gain him his revenge sooner than planned, and she didn't even know it! Briefly, he entertained the notion that maybe she'd found out about his scheme and was acting innocent to be coy. No, he realized; there was no way she could possibly have known. This made her proposal even more delicious. If it wouldn't have given him away, he could have kissed her then. Loki saw that she was waiting for an answer, and he gave a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose I can agree to that."

She looked surprised; perhaps she had expected him to argue or question her. However, Loki was not stupid, and would not protest a gift when it fell into his lap. With a bit of patience, and perhaps some enticement simply for the fun of watching her squirm, he'd have his vengeance in no time.

And there you have it! Hope you liked it, please leave me a review if you did. Cheers, my lovelies! :)