The cat is his brother's. It sits in the curve of his arm in a tiny, furry ball, and it looks at Doom with green eyes that are more impudent, even, than his own. Gently, with one finger, Loki traces the line of its skull.
"It will drop fleas on the sofa."
"Oh yes." Loki's lips curl upward. "You are mortal and susceptible to such, are you not?"
Doom smiles back. "It will get under the wheels of one of the Doom-bots and die horribly. Best let me dispose of it now."
The shake of the head in response does not surprise him. "Do I disturb your belongings, Victor?"
His belonging has disturbed Doom's. It broke several beakers in the laboratory this morning, while attempting to catch a mouse. Yesterday it got into the herb garden, where it ignored the nightshade and the oleander, and ate the catnip to the ground.
"Pretty cat." Unwilling, Doom puts out a mailed finger and touches it. "Thor's, is it not?"
"Balder brought it. He thought it had been left in Broxton." The cat, arrogant creature, rubs its head against Doom's hand. A rumbling, pleasured sound comes from its throat. Loki laughs. "It likes you."
It will die slowly. "Your brother is banished, and at your hand, Loki. Best discard this reminder, which will only get in the way of your quest for complete transformation."
He will not though, and Doom knows it. – Knows it even before the Sly One's face shutters and he turns away. This is the frustrating thing about Loki, how he pushes away his family and Asgard with one hand, and clings to them with such desperation, with the other. Especially, does he do it with the accursed, blond-haired brother he has gone to such lengths to destroy. One day Doom will tire of him, and it will be this love-hate/hate-love connection he has to Thor, that will make him.
That day is not today, though. Today, Doom puts out his hand and touches the soft creature in Loki's arms again. It is a skinny animal, black-and-white, with round, brilliant-green eyes. It begins purring again, and Doom sees its tiny claws dig and un-dig into the sleeve of Loki's tunic.
"I think I will call it Thor." Loki sits back down on his green plush sofa, and cradles the beast in his arms.
Doom sits beside him. "Call it Loki." He touches the cat again, touches it repeatedly. Stray bits of its fur come loose and cling, static-y, to his armor. "It is a merciless little predator, like you."
"Thor." Loki smiles. "For it reminds me of the mouse I have yet to destroy, and of the nest of other ones, sitting so close to us now, Victor."
Thor, Doom thinks, for it reminds him of one far away, pushed away by his own actions, and yet closer to him than the cat. Unwilled, his hands clench.
Loki looks down at his fisted hands and smiles. He brushes a finger, its black-painted nail bitten short, against the back of one of them, and Doom lets them both relax. "Mayhaps I should call it Victor. It fancies itself a predator, rains terror and pain upon its victims, and yet it is so small, so fragile withall." He smiles. "Pet my kitten Victor."
"I will pet your kitten Thor." Doom makes no effort to do so. "Best not think me a victim, Loki. I am not one of your nest of mice."
"Of course not." Loki leans back against his shoulder with the cat in his arms. He looks up at him with a smile in his green eyes. "Kiss me, Victor."
After a while, Doom does.
