Summary:
Loki's the most intelligent being he's ever known, but he's never been able to learn that some things can't be taken.
Notes:
Please note new tag. Parts of this got dark very quickly.
As always, mistakes are mine, and I'm sorry about them.
"Space"
When Loki was little, he liked to evade his tutors and hide behind a golden column in the throne room. He would keep to the shadows, concentrating very hard on not being noticed. He liked the low rumble of his father's voice, liked the smell in the hall, liked looking at all the people who came to kneel before Asgard's throne.
Father was very busy and very important, since he was king, so busy ruling and being wise and just that Loki hardly ever saw him, except sometimes at dinner.
Thor used to come with him, not so very long ago, but he wasn't at all like Loki. He wouldn't sit still, not for long, anyway, and he would always get them discovered. Loki hadn't really enjoyed the scoldings his father's retainers or their tutors would give, but he would stand beside his brother, catch sight of Thor's hidden smirk and know, instantly, that there was no place else he would rather be.
These days, though, Thor was too old to play with his little brother anymore, preferring the practice fields and the older boys. The problem with that, of course, was that Loki was too small to join in. And he didn't much care for getting that dirty, either.
He didn't know why he was so different from his brother- how Thor was so big and strong, and he was so slight and dark. Why he got sick all the time and Thor never did.
Mother told him all brothers were different, and that she was lucky to have them exactly as they were. She'd never be bored with her two perfectly opposite boys around, she laughed.
When she caught him sneaking out of the throne room one day, he didn't get the stern lecture he'd expected.
Instead, she'd taken him to her chambers and had him demonstrate exactly how he managed to stay so well-hidden. While she looked away to pour tea, Loki darted to a shadowy corner and thought very hard about being invisible.
"I say! Well done, Loki. You're a natural. Can you...?"
Mother had asked that over and over, can you do this, can you do that, and each time he could, she looked so pleased and proud.
When he'd exhausted his supply of tricks, Mother showed him new ones. He'd not had more fun since Thor had decided to play elsewhere.
After dinner that night, Mother had given him a book on magic. It was fascinating and challenging and wonderful. He didn't sleep at all that night, and looked for her the next day. She was busy with her duties, Loki was told, and he shouldn't be skipping his lessons. He got the same response day after day, until he no longer asked.
Iteration 1, November 16th, 1563, 1:37am, Vanaheim
Loki waited. It wasn't a preferred pastime of his, but he seemed to spend much of his life doing it. He was practically an expert at this point, not that it made the slow passage of time any easier to endure.
He'd lost interest in drinking himself stupid centuries ago, one of the many reasons he was here, in a cramped room in a house belonging to one of the All-Father's toadying vassals, rather than still at the tavern with his brother and those absurd misfits whose company Thor kept.
Loki should stop going on these ludicrous quests with his slightly dim brother, knew better than to expect that his word as the erstwhile 'tactician' would be taken seriously by any of those fools. That it still caused him even a small measure of disappointment, even when history had so thoroughly proved that Thor gave fuck-all about Loki's opinions, was a major source of inner conflict for him.
He forced his attention back to the parchments, scrolls and books strewn on the table before him. He generally enjoyed using his wits to solve the problems and riddles he found himself facing. He should have been enjoying this one, too. He wasn't. A small scrap of paper was out of place, for while the mess might have appeared to be nothing but chaos, to Loki it was perfectly ordered.
The note wasn't one he recalled writing, but it was done in his script. He's still your brother.
No great mystery who he was. Thor, of course. His whole bloody life, and now apparently his subconscious, too, revolved around bloody Thor.
He swept the contents of the table to the floor. Fuck Thor. Loki was so sick of him. He dragged his cloak on. Time to reacquaint himself with the glories of alcohol.
The tavern was the only one in the tiny, flea-ridden, little village they were staying in, so there was little hope of avoiding his brother, but maybe, if Loki was lucky, he'd be able to drink the nuisance of his presence into oblivion.
It was just an unfortunate happenstance that led Loki to overhear the earnest conversation his brother was having with his companions.
Iteration 00, November 16th, 1563, 1:49am, Vanaheim
Thor was a pain in his backside, to be sure, but at least his quests always came with interesting puzzles to solve. Loki regarded the seemingly haphazard array of reading materials, and contemplated how to attack the problem at hand. There wasn't anything better to do.
Besides, Loki had no desire to witness his brother knee-deep in ale and wenches, yet again. If he was truly fortunate, Thor would find a lass who would take him home, rather than back to their accommodations. Loki had had his fill of listening to the wounded bilgesnipe roars that were Thor's mating calls. Perhaps he'd get a sleeping draught ready, just in case.
Iteration 00, March 2nd, 2010, Asgard
It should have been impossible, especially when one considers how very immense it was even when they were children, but somehow, year by year Thor's ego grew.
His feats were no more glorious now than they had been in centuries past, but incredibly, each new victory brought even more ridiculous exaggerations disguised as poetry, and Loki doesn't care that they rarely have any basis in reality or who had actually had done what.
Loki's the clever one, the one with a destiny. Thor knows nothing of what it means to rule, knows only silly war games and how to swing his hammer so his biceps look their best. Loki tells himself that Thor as king would be miserable. Odin might choose his brother, but Loki has contingencies in place. Who cares if Odin currently thinks Thor's ready to lead? Loki will show him otherwise soon enough.
The thing that Loki definitely doesn't care about is that distance between him and his brother, the one that started so long ago he doesn't remember a time when he wasn't just slightly resentful about being the spare.
In any case, thoughts about his brother were for another time, and place, specifically when they were not about to deliberately disobey one of the All-Father's edicts.
Loki had planted this idea in Thor's mostly empty head, and fed it and nurtured it until it burst forth from the void of his golden brothers imagination. If all went well, no more would he be the spare, the shadow at the feet of Thor's brilliance. If all went well, he'd be king.
Iteration 00, March 5th, 2010, Jotunheim
Blue.
His hands were blue.
That's not right, can't be right, he thought, and tried to will his skin back to its customary colour, but he had to look at his hands to do it and the shock of it hit him all over again.
Blue.
The frost giant in his arms squirmed, would get loose in a second, but Loki couldn't force his mind past the sigils carved into blue skin. Familiar blue.
He felt sick.
The difference between him and his family, that unknowable, untraversable space that held him apart, was suddenly clear.
Loki didn't need the words of a savage to guess his true nature, his true species, but the thought that he was Laufeyson was a bitter truth to swallow.
Iteration 1, April 2nd, 2011, 8:09pm, Asgard
It was no wonder the All-Father thought so little of Loki and his piddling accomplishments.
He wasn't aesir, he wasn't an Odinsson. He wasn't even his mother's son.
His legs dangled over the yawning abyss between worlds. His bro- Thor, with his golden hair and sky-blue eyes and all the luck, he was the one who held Loki's life in his callused and familiar hand.
Thor bellowed, as always, but Loki was used to it, used to ignoring it, so he didn't hear. He just looked down.
All his plans, all his plots, all nothing.
He was nobody.
He would leave nobody.
Loki pulled with all his might, and suddenly he was falling. Thor reached out, calling Mjolnir, but if his last act was to be betrayal, then he would do it right. He had one last dagger, and it slit Thor's throat easily.
He smiled at the rushing void.
Iteration 00, April 2nd, ,2011, 8:09pm, Asgard
Loki might not have really been aesir, might not have been an Odinsson. He was his mother's son, though. And he'd been king.
Thor, more golden and perfect than ever, was all that kept Loki from taking what looked to be a very long drop. But what was one more? He'd already fallen from grace, after all. Already missed the thrum of power from the spear.
He looked down and back at his brother. He'd be king soon. Loki couldn't bear the thought that he would have to witness it.
As Thor shifted to get a better grip on his arm, Loki knew he had found an opportunity too good to pass up. He let go.
He smiled at the shock on Thor's face.
Iteration 2, est. Late December, 2011, Unknown Space
In retrospect, falling hadn't been so bad. The endless, mindless thirst was something he could have done without, as was the disorientation, the constant vertigo, but the actual act of falling had been strangely peaceful.
If he remembered anything, he remembered missing the comforting near constant of having ground at his feet. That longing for solidity sometimes overtook the vast emptiness inside of him, the hunger that raged. He'd tried speaking into the rushing air once or twice, but his voice had been so loud it seemed to scrape against his brain, and he'd usually stopped after the first syllable.
Sometimes, when the blue haze recedes from his mind, Loki remembers instead the beauty of the galaxies he had passed, how cruel and bright the colours were, and how stark and crisp the empty spaces between were.
Loki did not know how he had landed on this dark, almost lifeless rock; if it was something that just happened, or if all of the refuse that fell through the cracks just ended up here. Like some sort of cosmic sewer.
The chittering beings that found him had not seemed surprised to see him, laying there in sizable crater, broken and bruised from the landing. If anything, they exhibited signs of annoyance that Loki had taken so long to arrive. As though they had expected him. It wasn't a thought he liked to dwell on; that his presence there was somehow by design.
He'd been so weak when they had found him, so powerless, that he'd almost been happy to see them. That initial flare of joy at no longer being alone had been like the pins-and-needles sensation of a limb waking up. Then the thirst had nearly overwhelmed him.
The ugly creatures had given him nothing, had done nothing but grab him by the scruff of his neck to drag him along behind their small company. Loki hadn't been able to do much at all to protest his treatment, just twitch and gargle nonsense words.
He wasn't under any illusion that their treatment of him would have changed had he been able to bellow his name and former station in life, but it might have made him feel better about being handled like a recalcitrant puppy had he been able to protest vehemently.
After a journey Loki elected to forget, he was dumped in front of a large hooded figure perched atop what could only be described as throne-shaped rock. The man spoke to the things that had brought him, ignoring Loki laying prone on the ground completely.
Loki had tried to stand, but his limbs were like soft butter and were completely unable to support his weight. He tried to create enough moisture in his mouth to speak and couldn't do that either.
It was a long, utterly humiliating time before the figure on the throne deigned to notice him. When Loki was in his right mind, he mostly wished that he had never noticed Loki at all.
In the space of a glance from him, Loki had been made anew, reshaped painfully into a willing vessel for something else.
His words consumed Loki and spat him back out. The shape of him was different. There was hardly any room left for Loki inside himself after that, because almost everything was replaced with the knowledge that Thanos was all.
In the infrequent moments when he came back to himself, he saw clearly what would come. There was little he could see that would change the course that had been set, and less he could do, had he been so inclined. And he really wasn't.
He sometimes thought of Frigga. Not-Mother, All-Mother. She would be sympathetic, would understand in a way not many could, what it was to glance into the future and see nothing but despair. How did she handle the inability to change the future, when she knew what would happen?
He missed her. She was all he still... Loki cut the thought off ruthlessly. In fact, he would think no more of her. Instead, he did what he did best. He planned.
If he was very good, or bad, depending on ones perspective, he might make it home in one piece, might delay the inevitable for a little longer. Might save the one person who still mattered beyond the influence of Thanos.
Midgard
Iteration 1, May 31st, 2012, 4:32pm,
NEW YORK UNDER SIEGE
Hundreds of thousands feared dead after a blast rocked the island of Manhattan minutes ago. CNN has exclusive photos of the mushroom cloud that is still visible over the city. It has been visible for several minutes now after the initial reports of the explosion.
No one has claimed responsibility for this new act of terror.
This comes after an apparent terrorist attack crippled New York earlier this afternoon. There were confirmed reports that Iron Man had engaged the unknown terrorists, but no additional information has been forthcoming. MORE...
Iteration 3, May 1st, 1006, Snaptun Beach, Denmark
Loki was still young enough to be amused by the displays of human worship he found on Midgard. Fewer and fewer towards him and his kin in lands to the south, but the Northmen held their beliefs of him and his family as close and dear as ever.
It's a singular and heady thing to be worshipped; to be loved and feared and wanted and hated all at once. To both feel and know, bone-deep, one's utter superiority. The sensation of prayers and curses is like a cat licking his skin when he's this close to the source. The sacrifices made in his honour are by turns disgusting and exhilarating; so much power in exchange for death. Loki loathed it, and in equal measure reveled in it. If mortals wished to spend the meager value of their small lives on him, who was he to deny them?
It was exactly what was needed after dealing with those fucking dwarves. What an enormous shit-show that "little errand" had turned out to be. He touched the skin around his lips, upset that they had managed so easily to scar him, infuriated that yet another of Thor's moronic reactions had inadvertently caused it. Had but Thor stuck to the plan, they all would have gotten out of there without the dwarves being any wiser. But no. Of course something as simple as that, follow the plan, Thor managed to cock up.
Loki pushed aside thoughts of revenge and homesickness.
The display that interested him that night was an astronomical one, one not seen unaided in Asgard. He supposed he could have commanded a great stage be built and heaped with furs, but he found in the quiet, in the distance from others, a measure of peace that eluded him elsewhere.
The sun set, fat and gold in the distance, as the sounds of the village miles to the south faded as the inhabitants migrated indoors to circle around the fire to eat and drink. After dark, for the weak mortals of this realm, safety was within walls, near light. Huddled together telling stories to make fear seem small.
Loki felt the first breath of summer in the warmth of the breeze coming off the water, felt a quiet hum of power from the earth. If he listened closely he could hear the crocus in the distant meadow furl in on themselves in the absence of light.
If his calculations were correct, (and they always were,) the light should reach his viewpoint in five, four, three, two, one.
Nothing happened. The view was impressive, to be sure, but among the countless specks of light in the navy sky a new, brighter one should have appeared. The jug of mead nestled in the soft sand next to him was from Asgard, redolent with crisp apples and warm with spice. As he waited for the belated flash of light, he drank deeply. He lost track of time as the stars made their slow trek across the sky.
The footsteps crunching slowly closer were unexpected. A single mortal, as light and sure in dark as if the destination was clear. No smell of smoke, no crackle of burn, yet the sounds of the human grew nearer.
He lowered his gaze from the heavens.
Phosphorescent pinpricks, blue and fragile, trailed the beach as the waves sluggishly advanced and retreated along the strand. The cloaked figure made an uneven and lumescent path straight towards him.
Loki was just drunk enough to be intrigued that a mortal had penetrated his wards. Who would be dumb enough to go out, in the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere, alone, he wondered.
She, it was definitely a she despite the shapeless drape of heavy wool, sat quite unconcerned right next to him. Curiouser and curiouser. Perhaps she'd seen him?
She drank a long swallow from something that made her gasp and wipe at her face under the hood of her cloak. She shifted and looked up.
A long moment seemed suspended as she focused on the view he'd been admiring and cursing, and he focused on her faintly illuminated silhouette. He couldn't get a good enough look to even begin to imagine her features beyond a long nose and firm chin.
"I know you're there. I can hear you breathing."
He raised an eyebrow, fairly drunk and more sure than ever that she couldn't actually see him. She smelled strongly of familiar herbs, plants associated with communication and language. He inhaled deeply.
"It's verbena and lavender, with a hint of lotus root. Tastes like shit, but it gets the job done."
He couldn't resist, "What job is that?"
She shrugged inelegantly, apparently completely unperturbed by a disembodied voice on an abandoned beach in the middle of nowhere.
"This and that," the woman replied, voice husky and not the least surprised.
He let the last of his wards slip, and still no reaction from his unexpected guest. Loki looked down, and yes, there was his body. He cleared his throat, and tousled his hair just so.
She turned and visibly recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth. He'd forgotten about that.
"Holy fuckballs."
Fuckballs?
"That must've hurt like a bitch. Are you Ok?"
"Ok?"
"Uhm, well? You know, fine? Unhurt?"
Loki had to fight the urge to touch the scars. In truth, they pained him not at all, but the marks bit his pride deeply. He had tried many remedies, but none had been permanent thus far. He didn't admit it to himself, but there was more than the viewing of a supernova to his extended stay on Midgard.
He nodded, and then realized that she wasn't even looking at him anymore.
"Quite fine, Lady. Might I inquire as to your identity, Madam? And how you knew to find me here?"
"Sure," she snorted.
Loki waited, but she said nothing.
"You think to play word-games with me?" He was incredulous. "Who are you? What are you doing here, tonight?"
The hooded lady made a strangled sound inside the wool, almost laughter. She lifted her left arm, shook her hand free from the voluminous sleeve and glanced at a small band around her wrist.
"No one important, not really. I just came to see that," she said and pointed into the sky. "Someone important told me that it's one of the most magical things a mortal could bear witness to. I'm not sure it's all that, but it's definitely memorable. And pretty."
His gaze followed her gesture up, and saw the new bright, white light there. Loki was about to remark that the explosion from a star light years away could hardly be simply pretty, but-
"You forgot to carry a 3," she said, derailing his train of thought.
Loki had a flash of a memory; of scribbling notes and numbers and symbols late, late at night. He knew precisely the calculation she referred to, knew that she was right. But how?
His head whipped back around, but she'd already stood and was busy arranging the folds of her cloak. He still hadn't found his voice when she turned to leave. She started walking away, but stopped and looked back. There was nothing but a black oval where her face should have been.
"Hey, would you do something for me?"
Loki nodded, tried to answer with the sort of suave response a prince of Asgard would make, but he sort of croaked instead. He cleared his throat, and could sense her amusement from where he stood.
"One day, a long time from now, I need you to remember that it's the choices you make that are important, not whose blood runs in your veins. Oh, and tell them to make a right, not a left. You'll know what I mean. G'night, Loki."
Iteration 2, May 31st, 4:43pm, 2012, Stark Tower, New York
He smiled sheepishly at Earth's mortal heroes and his bro- Thor. The green abomination that had acquainted him so thoroughly with the floor, growled menacingly at him from behind a surprisingly comforting row of his 'enemies'. His special friend, the archer, looked particularly put out.
If his face had been in a position to cooperate, Loki would have winked at the man. As it was, the best he could manage was a grimace he hoped came across as a smirk as he leaned heavily on the hard stairs.
"Don't suppose that offer for a drink still stands?"
The Man of Iron, who disappointingly didn't get to learn, fatally, what concrete tastes like, was rather a poor sport about the whole window throwing incident/ planetary domination thing. He commandeered the drink instead.
And drank it right in front of Loki.
He hated these insignificant, little insects; loathed that they literally held his life in their hands. His ill-luck was such that his choices were none, but to stay here, locked up and under guard by ridiculously overmatched mortals and one terrifying green thing. At least, until such time as the Tesseract could be located and it's power used to get Thor and him back to Asgard.
It was the height of ignominy that it was once again that golden haired half-wit who escorted Loki to his new prison. The iron box, deep under Stark Tower was not the worst place he'd recently spent time in, and he'd had the benefit of having been beaten until Thanos had been shaken loose.
Having his mind mostly to himself again was both satisfying and awful in its quiet. Loki waited, and remembered. He dreaded going home. He longed for his proper place. He wondered and planned.
Iteration 2, June 8th, 2012, 7:42pm, Stark Tower, New York
Thanos had driven him mad in an instant. These mortals were doing it better by making him wait. He thought, at first, that he'd goad whoever would be bringing the food, but they sent little mechanical creatures for that.
So Loki waited instead for the inevitable visit from Thor. He would be emotional, disappointed, easily manipulated and managed. Except he still hadn't shown up.
Loki sat for hours, trying to recall the mental discipline that had allowed him to pass weeks without breaking the surface of his consciousness, but the ability eluded him. He tried to call forth his double so he could at least talk to himself properly, but the iron had, of course, hindered him.
In the end he was reduced to delving his memories for the paths he knew would take him from this planet. Some one had to come some time, and it mattered not who. Loki seemed to spend his life waiting, and if he but had an opportunity he would free himself.
Something inside perked up the instant he heard footsteps approaching. It didn't sound like Thor; the steps were too light. A slot in the middle of the door opened smoothly.
"You've got one shot to contribute, Loki, and even though no one wants you to succeed, you're going to have to. The Tesseract's been taken by Hydra. We need to get in and out of their base completely undetected. Think you can help us with that?" the diminutive mortal who housed the hulking, green menace asked.
Loki started nodding before the mortal had even finished. This presented a glorious amount of opportunities, and he would be a fool to pass this up.
"Good... but don't think we aren't going to be insisting on some pretty strict security measures. There will be some restraints on your dinner tray when it comes in a while. Please have them secured and your wrists placed through the slot when it opens later."
Iteration 2a, June 15th, 2012, 1:15pm, Stark Tower, New York
"You're directly responsible for the death of thousands and thousands of my people, not to mention the destruction of my home, and I'm the one with the problem?" Thor's latest paramour was different from all the other women who had lived through that particular torment, but she was still a mortal. A shrill, small irritant.
"Why is he still even here?" the horrid, little wench complained to the object of her affections.
Thor's tone was soothing, though he'd responded to that same query no less than 25 times in the last 72 hours, by Loki's estimation.
"Can't you just kill me now, Thor, and save me the crushing tedium of this existence?" Loki drawled from his spot, a desk in the corner he was shackled to, quite literally.
He felt rather than saw the bow being drawn tighter behind the cover of the air vent in the corner opposite of him. He never went anywhere these days without someone or other ready to shoot him between the eyes. In the unlikely event that it didn't kill him outright, it would certainly be painful and possibly scarring. He rather liked his face just as it was.
"Brother,-" Thor started to say, but Loki cut him off with the swiftness of something that had already become a habit, "I've told you, Thor, I'm notyour brother. I'm not your family. I'm nothing to you."
"I could tag him for you from here, easy, and finally shut his mouth for at least a little while," the archer called, a little too cheerfully, from his hidey-hole.
"Stay your hand for now, friend. I'll return him to his cell presently."
Loki glared at the blond, imagining a thousand small indignities he'd force the lug to endure once he'd freed himself from this indentured servitude.
"We can always gag him," the ever-annoying Stark called from the display of his paltry planet in the center of the immense room Earths heroes practiced their pathetic science in. There were bits of metal bolted together in improbable shapes laying on odd surfaces, screens and floating images scattered throughout and a lingering smell of oil and burning.
They were too free with such disrespect, but there was not much for it. They could decide his contributions were not worth the effort of his presence, and make good on any number of their threats. Loki might've chafed at their treatment, but it was likely better than the All-Father's tender mercies.
He put his head down and focused on the problem at hand. They wished to create a network that would do a better job of detecting anomalous spatial and dimensional rifts. They seemed to be under the impression that these could only occur above the atmosphere, and Loki was in no mood to disabuse them of this quaint notion.
The doors opened with a hiss; the instantly the familiar smells and sounds of work were disrupted by the far-too-good Captain and the Widow entering. A few seconds later the dumpy assistant to the whinging horror that was Thor's lady-love came barreling through the doors like a drunken, one-legged dwarf. They were all carrying the ubiquitous boxes and sacks that the swill that passed for food on this planet was packaged in.
The vindictive, little brunette took great pleasure in finding the most disgusting sustenance available. There were large boxes emanating intriguing aromas for the fools and a white, greasy bag with orange script on the outside apparently for him. Upon closer inspection, the bag read "I'm lovin' it!"
Loki was quite certain that he would do no such thing.
His suspicion was confirmed when he was handed a box of strange, apparently fried, yellow discs and a plastic dish of poorly looking vegetables. He took note that she kept a red box of some sort of beige sticks for herself, and wondered at what she would want from a place she deemed worthy of him.
The discs were unpleasant both in texture and taste. He fought the urge to scrub his tongue with a napkin, and tried one of the limp green leaves in the other container. Experience had taught him the futility of complaints and tantrums, but he was sorely tempted to fling the revolting mess to the floor in disgust.
Loki sulked instead, ignoring the profoundly idiotic displays of comradery happening a few short yards away. For the most part, that was entirely mutual, as the group loudly talked over each other, as if Loki existed in an entirely separate dimension.
He picked at the unsavory meal, since the next was undoubtedly going to be just as bad, if not worse, however improbable that seemed.
Mealtime was over quickly, and true to his word, Thor unshackled Loki from the desk and escorted him to his iron box, with Loki shuffling and clinking the entire way.
"You're going to be in there for a few days, bro- Loki. I've obligations that must be attended to. You'll-", but Loki interrupted, taken aback by the thought that he would once again be relegated to a metal closet for an unknown amount of time.
"You cannot mean to stick me in there again, whilst you traipse off to who knows where, for me to rot in my own filth for however long your so-called obligations keep you away. What of the project, how will I contribute from a dungeon in the cellar?" He sighed and held up a hand to forestall whatever nonsense the man he'd be raised with might have said. "No, Thor, it matters not, I suppose. It's only a matter of time before you drag me off to see dear pater, regardless of my meager contribution to this miserable planets safety."
There had been no denials from Thor, though he'd been unusually gentle when he'd released the bar between his wrists. Alone again, Loki did what he did so well. He waited. The perfect moment would come along.
Iteration 2, June 23rd, 2012, 8:36pm, Stark Tower, New York
Days pass in a slow, strange haze, the tedium broken only by cold tea, luke warm water and practically inedible food. It was midday, if he'd judged his meals right, when he heard steps instead of the tell-tale whir of Stark's metal servants.
The disembodied voice of Jarvis, the computer familiar that haunted the tower, informed him snippily that it was in his best interests to be cooperative, if not polite. Loki laughed outright, and pointed to the ceiling,oh you, you're good, you.
"Of course, Jarvis the Artificial, I will, of course, endeavor to live up to your expectations. I shall be all that is a team-player. You have my word."
A pointed silence followed before the slot at the floor opened. He smelled, for the first time in days, something new. Something that wasn't horrifying food or greasy mechanical bits or himself. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that. Loki inhaled like air would run out.
It was her, of course it was her. He could easily give in and just hate her, but that seemed somehow like conceding defeat. He pointedly disregarded her very existence instead. She could try to get a rise out of him till her hair turned grey, but she would get no pleasure of a reaction from him.
She pushed one of those small, flat computational devices through the hole. It closed promptly and with the most sarcastic and decisive snick a machine of no real spirit could muster.
A second later the slot he usually put his arms through for binding opened. A pair of blue eyes squinted at him through unattractive glasses. Those eyes bulged slightly and he could see her wince at the smell. She took a generous step back and rather pointedly covered her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her enormous, ugly sweater before she finally spoke.
"Dude! What's up with that smell, man? Like, wow. That is some serious stink going on there. Fucking brutal..."
"Is there a point to this, or are you merely here to remark upon the obvious?" If there was anything else Loki could do in his current circumstances that brought him as much satisfaction as interrupting, he had yet to find it.
"Whatever, Sir Smells-A-Lot. I'm just a messenger. Save your bitch-fit for someone who could give half a fuck. Boss-Lady and Revenge of the Nerds are having a science-off upstairs- you know, Shangri-La with the running water and real bathrooms- and for some reason they want your input.
Anyway, the big button on the shiny side turns the StarkTab on. The little picture of the middle finger turns on your chat.
Once that's open, you'll see boxes with general conversations indexed by theme and subject. Tap on a box if you have anything relevant to contribute. If so, tapping the bottom of the screen will bring up a keyboard or use your finger like a pen. Uhm, swipe left to get back to the overview. Jarvis will help if absolutely necessary."
"What is it exactly I'm expected to do?"
He heard her clothes shift, and looked through the slot. She had leaned against the wall farthest from him and was studying her nails.
"Science?"
"Oh, thanks so much for clarifying. Really insightful."
"I have no fucking idea what you are supposed to do, nor do I give a single, dried dog shit. I was voluntold to drop that off to you, get you started using it, and that's it. So turn that fucker on and say 'Hi' or something to the Nerds, and I can go home."
Partially because he enjoyed having even the smallest amount of power over her, and partially because the expressions she used in conjunction with the mortal technology were nonsensical, it took him about an hour to get comfortable swapping between programs and conversations.
The third time she'd answered "It's a Star Wars thing" in response to one of his questions about a strange remark she'd made, he finally gave in to his curiousity and asked her what she meant by a star war.
"It's a movie," she'd sighed from the other side of the door. She'd collapsed on the floor sometime during their first fifteen minutes together, and had periodically banged her head against it when he could frustrate her enough. Of course he asked her to explain, and when she rambled on and on, he waited for the perfect moment.
"Sounds rather dull and trite," he interrupted when she seemed to come to a pivotal moment in the story, something about hand waving and "Not the droids you're looking for". He peaked at her through the hole.
"And on that note, fuck you very much and g'night, Loki."
She stuck up a familiar looking middle finger in his direction before leaving, and he guessed the gesture passed for something offensive in this realm.
Iteration 2, June 30th, 2012, 9:56pm, Stark Tower, New York
It was amazing how much one could get done with no other distractions. The theory of the Spatial Anomaly Detection Network was as sound as he could make it and still leave room for his own travels. Hopefully, they wouldn't plug those holes.
He'd not been allowed out since the arrival of the StarkTab, but he had gotten bigger buckets of water to wash with.
Loki was taken by surprise at the sound of her voice. He'd been distracted by a "Cat Video" Stark had shared to illustrate the futility of venturing down a certain mathematical path, and there she was.
The smell emanating from the floor-slot was, simply put, the best thing he had smelled in possibly years.
There was sweet, fried dough, butter and some sort of... cured boar? Loki didn't really care in the slightest, especially when she pushed the heavenly smelling confection through the hole from which he usually received horrors.
It was sweet and salty, pillow-y and soft and everything he didn't even know he was dreaming of.
His limbs responded to external stimuli without his brain really engaging. Loki found himself sitting against the door, watching the StarkTab as yellow script scrolled across the screen and dramatic music swelled. He watched, reluctantly enthralled by the simple story, as she fed him salty, meaty sweets every so often.
He would never admit how fun it was to hear her imitate the characters, but he did find himself smiling involuntarily a few times.
Iteration 2, July 1st, 2012, 9:47am, Central Park, New York/
Iteration 00, June 1st, 2012, 9:47am, Central Park, New York
Loki finally got to wear that gag.
Notes:
So the Denmark part, historians found a stone dated about 1000ad with what they think is Loki's face chiseled into it. There are also reports of a supernova that was visible from earth around the same time. My thought is that maybe Loki was on earth to look at the spectacle. Eh, it worked for my purposes, at least. And, as far as the baked goods described at the end: Maple Bacon Doughnuts.
Also, you guys have no idea the restraint it cost me to not put "the final frontier" after "Space". It made my fingers kinda itch.
Many thanks for the support and for commenting. It's very much appreciated :)