Chapter Two: Sweet Caroline

Caroline let her fingers float over the book spines as she meandered through the cramped aisles her favorite secondhand book store. Whenever she needed to get out of her apartment, to think, or rather, not to think anymore, this was her go to place. (Well, this or the ice-cream shop down the corner, but today her stress had screamed "books", not "ice-cream"). It was really just a hole in the wall, with shelves stacked to the ceiling, two and three rows deep with books, precariously leaning. Light trickled in from the front windows, beams from the afternoon sun and dust motes danced with the smell of old books the air. She paused in front of the classical mythology shelf and thumbed through copies of Ovid, Homer, and Virgil.

It was two days before her third interview with Loki, and it seemed things were not going to go as hoped. The previous session had been just about as helpful as the first. Well, excepting the fact she managed not to provoke him into a rage again. Her questions had been met with silence, riddles, and more questions, and though some of it was marginally useful, overall it was a great waste of time. She needed to find a way to convince him to talk to her—to really talk to her, not just play with her to relieve his boredom.

That's why she was in the bookshop.

Caroline had taken note of the small collection of books stacked on his half-bookshelf the first time she walked into that too white room. She had also noticed, upon further inspection, that all of them were dog-eared, with cracked spines and worn covers. Loki had probably read those books forwards and backwards ten times over. She wasn't really sure what she was looking for, exactly, but she had a nice little stack going. Her plan was to give them to him over the last three interviews, as an incentive to speak with her. She hadn't quite worked out how she'd get SHIELD's approval, but that was a problem for another time.

Pulling a golden covered copy of the Odyssey off of the shelf, she placed it in her basket.

Instead of her usual leather satchel, Caroline had dug out her old undergraduate backpack from the recesses of her closet. It was an ugly black behemoth of a bag, twice as thick as she was and larger than her whole back. Still, it had done the job when she was lugging around three to five obnoxiously thick textbooks, notebooks, and a planner per day. Gosh, grad school is so much better for my back than undergad, Caroline thought upon finally finding it. Today it finally got to see the sun after years of neglect; it was the only way she could fit the books she planned on bringing to the interview.


She rocked back and forth on her heels as she stood in the antechamber outside of Loki's holding cell, the guard was pawing through her bag. She hated this part of the process more than being the mouse to Loki's bored cat. She'd always had a possessive streak when it came to her bags. It probably sprang from her brother sneaking frogs into her backpacks when she was in middle school. Honestly, teenaged boys were the most insufferable little shits on the planet.

"What are all these books for?" The agent asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

"I was at the shop before I came here." Caroline shrugged, the almost truths flowing off of her tongue "…I like books."

She saw the guards exchange looks before waving her in. Aware of the gazes trained on her as she did so, she walked across the white room to her desk. Without sitting down, she pulled out her tablet and keyboard and situated them before her, as had become her ritual. Instead of flicking the microphone on, however, she reached down and pulled out two thick volumes: the Odyssey, and The Shadow of the Wind.

Sealing her nerves, she slowly looked up. Loki was watching her closely, his interest obviously piqued by the change of pace.

"What are those for?" the guard behind her barked.

Caroline turned and smiled at him. "I read my copies of the confidentiality waivers; there was nothing in them about bringing books for the prisoner."

"You can't give him those."

She sighed mentally. Of course he was going to say that. Could they please skip the unnecessary banter and get to the part where she talked him into giving her her way?

"Why ever not?"

"They're not authorized," he finally sputtered, clearly knowing it was, on principle, not allowed but unable to come up with a real reason why.

Caroline softened her smile, "come on, they're just books. No harm ever came from reading a book." She picked up top one and handed it to him, "here, look through them. I promise there's nothing to worry about."

A look of mistrust on his face, the guard flipped through the first book's pages, and then the other one. Before he was satisfied, he held each one by the covers and shook them upside down. Caroline had to bite her tongue from yelling at him; that was no way to handle a book.

"Fine. But if you're planning on pulling this next time, you'll need Agent Coulson's approval."

Caroline nodded, and held her hand out, willing him to give her the book back. Once he did, he held it to her chest like an infant; she had to resist the urge to stroke the cover. Surely they would think her mad if she did so.

Picking up the other one, she walked to the front of the glass wall. Caroline had noticed the little exchange box off to the side the last time she was here; if she had to guess, she would say it was normally used for taking food in and out. Gently, she set the books down on her side of the glass and pressed a button. A small carousel inside the chamber rotated, and a green light flashed. She went back to her seat and flicked the microphone on.

"Good afternoon," she murmured, anticipation coiling in her stomach; she wanted to see what he thought of her peace-offering.

Loki remained motionless, though she could have sworn he was eyeing up the books moments before.

"I was hoping I could ask you some more questions," she started in English.

More silence. Caroline's heart plummeted. She had been so sure this would have worked, but he seemed just as disinterested in her gift as he was in her questions. Taking a deep breath and trying not to show her disappointment, she flicked through her tablet, looking for more questions to ask.

"Can you tell me about the other realms? Specifically the ones that are going to play a role in the Ragnarok, as you know it?"

Loki stood in the middle of his room, perhaps a foot away from the glass wall. His hands were clasped behind his back in what seemed to be his usual manner. Besides blinking and breathing, he didn't move. She wondered if she should try speaking to him in Old Norse again. He hadn't been more or less responsive to either the last time, but English was getting her nowhere. Still, it was truly a test of her language abilities to carry out a conversation in a dead language she knew primarily for reading. She decided to stick with English, at least for the next few questions.

"Okay," Caroline gave a tight-lipped smile, trying hard to not let the frustration simmering just below the surface to bubble up. "Can you tell me about Asgard?"

A few slow blinks of his long eyelashes and silence.

What about Alfheimr?"

Perhaps his gaze shifted from her face for a brief second, but otherwise nothing.

"Can you tell me about Valhalla?"

Silence stretched through the room. Caroline drummed her fingers on the desk, trying to let her annoyance out in a way that wouldn't be destructive to the entire arrangement—like yelling at him. She was about to give up and go on to the next question when he spoke.

"I cannot; I've never been there."

She looked up, surprise coloring her face. Did he actually just answer one of her questions straight?

"I haven't died, yet, you see," Loki continued.

Caroline thought she saw amusement in his bright green eyes at her shocked expression. Clearing her throat, she recorded his answer.

"What realms have you been to?"

Loki tilted his head to the side, considering, though whether he was thinking about the answer or whether he wanted to answer, she couldn't say.

"Asgard, of course. Jotunheim, Vanaheim," he paused, looking around at their surroundings with distaste. "Midgard."

Caroline tried to decide which one to ask about. She didn't particularly want information on Midgard at the moment, and she had already asked about Asgard, only to be met with silence. Somehow she thought asking about Jotunheim would have the opposite affect she was going for. That left her with one option.

"Your wife is from Vanaheim, correct?" She asked.

Laughter filled the room, deep and hearty. "I'm not married, little apricot. Wherever did you get such an idea?"

Caroline felt her cheeks go red, as she struggled to not to show how much she hated being mocked.

"The Prose Edda and Poetic Edda both attest to Sigyn as your wife," she snapped, looking away from her tablet screen to meet his bright eyes.

His laughter had died down, but his lips were still twisted in an amused smirk. "Norns no. Vanaheim was subjugated millennia ago by the Allfather, anyway. They're hardly a political rival."

His words were just as interesting as what they implied; a subjugated world was no place to find a wife, apparently. Her keyboard clattered as her mind raced. She wasn't sure how much of it would be relevant, but it certainly was interesting.

"I'm assuming then, that if you're not married, you don't have children," she said in a clipped tone.

He raised an eyebrow, "children? Me? Absolutely not."

Caroline couldn't tell if he was teasing her again, but she decided to take him at his word. He opened her mouth to ask more questions—who were these people, if not his family, as myth told her—but Loki held up a hand.

"Let me explain something before you continue. The myths you have are about me, about the people who once I called family and friends. But they're also not. The Ragnarok is the end of the universe, yes, but it's also the beginning. Maybe there was a Loki who was married to Sigyn, maybe not. I am not he. It is a cycle that repeats ad nauseam ad infinitum, true, but not always in the same way."

Caroline's heart sank. "Are you saying this is pointless?"

"I'm saying you're asking the wrong questions."


Caroline had a cork-board of index cards hung above her desk. Usually she used them to rearrange the organization of her papers or ideas. Tonight, she was staring at the cluttered mess that was her dissertation. She took a bite of her turkey sandwich, hoping it would stop the growing frustration mounting in her brain. Three hours of precious interview time wasted. Three hours she was never going to get back; she only had two more, and now she need think of an entirely new battery of questions by next week.

She slumped down on the foot of her bed, disturbing Captain Mittens in the process. He gave her his best grumpy cat glare, and then continued with his nap.

She supposed she could always start on the mountain of mid-term exams she had to grade, though she tried not to grade freshmen when she was in a bad mood. A bad mood meant she was less forgiving when it came to stupid mistakes and almost-but-not-quite-right answers.

"Maybe I can ask him about Asgardian history and mythology," she mused out loud.

Rolling over on her back, Caroline blew a gentle stream of air in the cat's general direction. "Do you think gods have their own religion, Mittens?"

Mittens didn't deign to reply.

A sudden knock on her apartment door caused Caroline to sit up. Glancing at the clock, she shuffled over to the hallway. Who the hell would want to talk to her at 9pm on a Tuesday night?

"Caroline! Open up, you hermit!"

A grin appeared on her face. She would recognize that voice anywhere. Swinging the door open, she was greeted with a bone crushing hug that made her stumble backwards.

"Ooph. Cat! What are you doing here?"

"We're all going out for Mitchell's birthday. I haven't seen you in forever. Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Caroline hesitated for a fraction of a second. She did have a lot of work to do, but for fuck's sake, it wasn't actually getting done. Maybe copious amounts of alcohol would help. That's what the Vikings would do, right?

Cat was practically bouncing in the hallway, blondish-brown hair threatening to fall out of her loose ponytail.

"Okay, give me a minute to make myself look human."


Loki sat on the bed that was his to use, one of Caroline's books open before him. The lights were dimmed, though they were never truly off, and the night guard sat mindless staring at the small magical box on his desk.

Loki hadn't wanted the little human to think he actually appreciated her tribute, but by the Nine Realms if it didn't feel good to have something new to read. And though some the gods of this book seemed both laughably strange and strangely similar, he was enjoy reading about the mortal would could talk his way in or out of anything.

The lights flickered briefly, overhead. Loki paused from his readings and looked up. The guard hadn't noticed, of course. Humans never noticed things. He glanced down at the new books on the bed; well, perhaps some mortals noticed things. But Caroline certainly wasn't the average human—gifted with languages and surprisingly perceptive, Loki had only met a few like her before. Unfortunately, their time together would soon be at an end. Which was a shame; certainly her visits broke up the monotony of being in this infernal cage. Still, he was sure he could devise some new torment for the guards—he hadn't driven one mad in ages, if he recalled correctly—though it was difficult for him to keep track of time in any way that was meaningful to mortals.

Why Thor ever thought being stuck here would be less of a punishment for him than being back in Asgard, Loki would never know. Odin might have killed him, but he thought not. At least in Asgard, he wouldn't be burdened with such primitive surroundings and stupid companions.

And maybe you'd get to see Frigga again, his ever so small conscious whispered.

Loki shook his head and returned to the book in his hands. A man of twists and turns, indeed.

The lights flickered again, and even the human in the corner noticed. Loki stood, his bare feet making not a sound as he crossed to the center of the room. A sharp prickling touched the base of his skull and Loki jerked backwards.

"What's the problem with you, then?" The guard called, the lights apparently forgotten.

He wanted to cry out, to scream and tell them to get someone competent. But he couldn't. Pressure in the back of his head was mounting, white hot and throbbing. This could only mean one thing. He pressed his hands to his temples desperately trying to block it out. His magic had languished in disuse for a year, but sprang to his summons the moment he touched it.

All too late. A keening scream echoed throughout the room, and it took him a moment to realize it was him.

The lights flickered again. And again. Then darkness.

The guard's screams joined Loki's.


Caroline laughed at something Mitch shouted across their table before taking another drink of her gin and tonic. Cat looped her arm around Caroline's shoulder.

"Aren't you glad you came out?"

"Of course! Urgh. I'm just stuck on my writing…I can't…get it to wor—"

Cat smacked her hand over Caroline' mouth, "Nope! None of that, missy. We're here to gossip about booze and drink freshmen…or wait…"

She pushed Cat's hand off of her mouth and lurched forward, capturing her friend in a hug.

"You're my favorite, Catsby," she slurred.

In the background, Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" started up.

"Oh no," Caroline sat straight up, eyes wide. She hated when this damn song came on. It was pretty, sure, but the inevitable "Oh my god! Your name is Caroline! This song is about you!" was only exciting the first five hundred times she'd heard it.

"I gotta pee," she murmured, trying to make a dash for the bathroom.

"Oh no you don't SWEET CAROLINE BAH BAH BAAAAH!" Mitch half yelled, half sang, grabbing hold of her hand and spinning her towards him.

Caught in his drunk person dance of swiveling their bodies while punching their entwined arms back and forth, Caroline sighed and decided to enjoy herself. The entire bar soon joined in, though few could see their antics at the back of the long room. Nothing seemed to unite a bunch of drunken people as well as a much loved song.


You thought he wouldn't find you. You thought you were safe in your glass cage.

The words slithered through his throbbing head, the only point of clarity in a haze of pain. The darkness was absolute. Loki sat, hunched against the wall, one pressed to his aching temple, the other held out, a weak shield of magic between him and them.

The guard was most certainly dead.

You failed, Trickster. He is coming for his payment.

No.

Loki couldn't speak though the pain, but the denial, the obstinacy, echoed through his very being.

The room began to glow an unearthly, otherworldly blue. A blue that promised you all of your heart's desires; a blue that could make all of your dreams come true. All you had to do was submit.

They were in the room. He could feel them, though they clung to the shadows. Their chittering echoed through his mind, squeezing through his consciousness to block his magic. His shield faltered for a moment before he slammed it back up in defiance.

Give up, Lie-Smith

Chills ran down his spine as the new, deeper voice entered the room. He would know that voice in any recess of the university.

Thanos.

A flash of light and his green shield was torn to shreds, the magic dissipating in the thick air. Loki took a deep breath. He couldn't let himself be taken. The word pain did not begin to cover what would happen to him. There was only one thing he could think to do, though there was no guarantee it would work. Chances were it would kill him instantly. Either way, he would better off than if he went with them.

As they fell on him in one giant surge of violence, a wave to drag him to hell, Loki gathered his magic about him. When their alien hands clawed at him, dragging his body away from the room that had been his to use, he pulled.

His magic came free, his mind came free, leaving his body behind, a limp shell for the dogs to fight over. It took every ounce of his being to keep himself together. Tendrils of magic, of consciousness, of him, wanted to drift and flow. As coherent thought began to fade, he fixed an image before him. He needed to be bound, anchored.

Across the night sky, the magical, uniting strains of chant pulled him.

Sweet Caroline.


Caroline collapsed in her bed, her limbs still heavy with the singing of alcohol. The rational, adult part of her mind was telling her to get up and wash her face, or else she'd look like a raccoon in the morning. Instead she buried her head into the pillows, and let sleep claim her.

As she fell into the warm arms of sleep, there was a gentle brush against her consciousness. Had she been sober, she might have felt it.

Caroline sat up, frantically searching for her phone. The morning sunlight streaming in through her windows.

Shit shit shit! Am I late? Urgh what time is it?

She tore the pillows off of her bed and ripped the blankets back. Finally, the familiar white gleam caught her eyes. The adrenaline coursing through her system quieted down, leaving her with a vaguely nauseous feeling when she saw it was only ten in the morning. She was behind her usual schedule, but nowhere near late.

Skipping the shower, Caroline finished her morning routine and headed towards her gym down the street. She worked out for an hour every weekday, and today was no different. It wasn't until she was halfway through her run on the treadmill that she realized she didn't feel even a bit hung-over. Her head didn't hurt, and she didn't feel shaky or sick. Shaking her head, she continued running. Maybe she had finally found the secret ratio of water to alcohol, though she couldn't really recall drinking that much water the night before. Well, it wasn't really worth thinking over, she decided. Better to be happy she wasn't sick.

The treadmill went into the cool down phase and Caroline checked her stats. Her eyes widened. Instead of her usual 5-6 mile run, she had managed to run 9 miles. She had never run that fast before. Doing the math in her head, it came out to almost a 6 minute mile. That was insanity. Sure she was in shape, but she wasn't that in shape. Working out was a way for her combat her love of junk food and habit of snaking throughout the day instead of sitting down to real meals.

She took a large gulp of water. She didn't feel any more tired than usual.

Caroline sighed and headed for the showers. Perhaps the machine was just broken.

Caroline's Western History I course met every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 1:40 in the afternoon. In theory Caroline didn't mind T. —she wanted to teach, eventually anyway. But it was an awkward situation to be the professor while not actually being the professor. A lot of the students were only a few years younger than her, and in some cases, a few were much older. She didn't have her Ph.D. yet either, so, she could tell, some students felt as if her lectures weren't as important or well done as Dr. Hill's. In short, some days were good days, and some days she just wanted to set everything on fire.

Today was shaping up to be like the latter.

Caroline had not been five minutes into her lecture when she heard the distracting whispers of a side conversation. She paused her explanation of the dynastic factors behind the Norman Conquest, and scanned the classroom. Everyone looked more or less attentive, so she continued.

"As you can see, it was Queen Emma's Norman connection that facilitated Duke William's dynastic claim over that of the Witenagemot's choice of Harold Godwinson, who, if the Bayeux Tapestry can be believed, previously swore fealty to William anyway."

Click click click

Caroline couldn't tell if that was just the clatter of students taking notes on their computers or if someone was texting. Dr. Hill, and by extension Caroline, had a strict no cell phone policy. She'd thrown students out of class before, and she was willing to do it again, but as she looked out over the bent heads and scribbling hand, she couldn't see anyone obviously using a phone.

She switched the slide. "Now, the Battle of Stamford Bridge…"

The entire lecture was like that; it sounded like there were at least three conversations going on in the classroom, but every time she stopped to investigate, or even looked at her students as she spoke, she could see no one talking. By the end of the hour, Caroline felt like she was going crazy. And from the look on her students' faces, they thought she was going crazy too.

The clock struck 2:40 and Caroline rushed out of the room before anyone could approach her. As she passed the classroom down the hallway, she saw a group of grad students broken into groups, discussing among themselves. She caught a phrase or so of conversation. Caroline paused. It sounded like the whispers she had been hearing in her classroom. But that was impossible—they were nearly 40 feet down the hall and removed by heavy cinderblock walls. She shook her head and continued on her way, before her students could catch up with her.

Technically she had office hours after this class, but if she kept the door shut and her lights off, no one ever bothered her. Mitch, with whom she shared the office, was never in on Wednesday afternoons anyway.

She slumped down in her chair and gazed out the window. The campus spread out around her, and the city beyond that. She could see there was a departmental meeting going on the building across the lawn; professors were waving their arms around and yelling. Not a good departmental meeting, then. She sighed and tilted her head back and the tiled ceiling stared back at her.

What the actually fuck was going on with her today? She had woken up from a night of heavy drinking without so much as an achy head. She had run unbelievable fast during her work out. She could hear conversations halfway down the hall, or if not, she was hearing things that weren't there.

Was this some sort of weirdly lucid dream? Was she going to wake up in her bed, go throw up from last night, and have her day all over again but completely normal?

Caroline pinched herself. The sharp pain and red mark on her skin told her she wasn't dreaming. Maybe she should pop down to the medical college and have them scan her brain. Or maybe the psychology department—it could just be stress.

Or maybe you've lost your mind. I've certainly lost my body.

Caroline sat straight up, eyes wide. Had she really just head that? Frantically she scanned the room. There was no one in the little office, besides herself, obviously. Cautiously, she stuck her head outside the door and scanned the hallway.

No one.

If she hadn't known better, she would say that voice sounded familiar. Elegant and mocking, with just a hint of a snarl. But that was impossible. He was locked up in a fortified glass cage miles below Midtown.

I assure you, I am not.

Caroline screamed and slammed her office door, as if that barrier would really keep the voice out of her head. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream before she could manage to relax her throat enough to do so in reality. She didn't need half the department crowded in her office to see if she'd been murdered.

"Loki?" She called out to the air, feeling foolish, but also hoping there wouldn't be a reply.

Who else, little apricot?

Caroline swerved around, looking frantically for an alternate explanation. As she did so, her eye caught a framed poster of Mitch's. The light was hitting the Plexiglas surface in just the right way to make it a mirror. She could see her own face, honey eyes wide and mouth slightly open, sure. But next to hers, was another face. Angular and handsome with bright green eyes, Loki stared back at her.

The room tilted at an alarming angle and the hard linoleum floor rushed towards her face.

Oh dear. Are you dead? Loki's bored voice drawled through the last moments of Caroline's consciousness.


I would like to sincerely thank Azura Soul Reaver for reviewing the previous chapter. It's always a lovely feeling to have someone say they liked the very first part of a new story. I'd also like to thank everyone who added this story or me to their alerts or favorite lists!

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