Skel: Bless you all for your motivating reviews! They're the best remedy for my procrastination.

The whole note thing will be explained soon, but not in this chapter.

Henjoy :D


Chapter Three

Erik Selvig woke up at three in the afternoon, completely exhausted and oblivious as to what he'd been doing the past couple of days.

He didn't know what day it was, nor why he had such a splitting headache. He assumed it was alcohol, but couldn't remember ever agreeing to go to the pub with anyone. Jane wasn't much of a drinker and Darcy rarely invited him out… and none of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents even had lives outside of their jobs. He screwed his eyes shut as a stab of pain split down the side of his temple. Ugh. The last time he'd been this wasted was the morning after Thor had taken him out for a drink…

He rubbed his eyes… feeling his age. He could barely muster the courage to attempt to sit up in bed. His back ached, his head throbbed and his knees felt like they'd been walking a thousand miles for days on end.

He shuffled himself awkwardly over to check the alarm clock…

17th of October

Good God, is it really..? It was Sunday morning. Selvig felt a deep fear in the pit of his stomach. The last thing he remembered doing was watching the late show with David Letterman on a Tuesday night…

"Good God…" he repeated, slowly, carefully sitting upright. There was a twinge in his lower back, but he ignored it. He had to find out what had happened.

Gingerly he pressed his feet onto the floor of the caravan. He really should have taken S.H.I.E.L.D. up on their offer and shacked up in one of their complexes. But he didn't like the idea of living in a compound with hundreds of men-in-black-look-alikes buzzing around, poking in on his work.

But the bed in the caravan did horrible things for his back. He stretched and heard clicks and groans in his aching bones.

It was then that he noticed something strange on the table top where his laptop usually sat - a small note. He whirled around worriedly, looking for where his laptop had gone… but found it stashed away in the corner, where he usually put it when he wasn't using it

That's strange, he thought. He only put it there when they were driving the caravan… not when he knew he'd be stable for months on end…

He turned and stepped towards the strange note sitting in the middle of the table, feeling an uneasy sense of foreboding. It was crumpled and had creases through its center, showing it had been used frequently.

Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it, then froze.

He read it again. And again. And again. Then he raced over to his computer and opened it instantly, furiously slamming at the keys and opening the file he wanted…

The number was the same.

He checked and double checked, counting how many numbers there were, checking their order…. But no matter how much he willed the numbers to be different, they remained identical.

Except that this note he held was written in an entirely foreign script… sharp, cursive writing which flowed along the page in perfect curves and angles. He felt his heart stop beating.

It was his passcode. The passcode only a very select few were permitted to know…

Just how and why was his passcode here, in someone else's writing?

Selvig felt very cold, a deep chill of fear filling his very core. The forgetfulness… the laptop… the note… it was all too suspicious. Something was very wrong.

And he was certain it had something to do with the cube.

He was the closest researcher… the one man with the most knowledge on the cube and its power. This passcode was access to that information. He was supposed to guard it with his life.

And someone else knew it.

He ran his gnarled hands through his thinning hair, sitting down shakily at the table. Staring at the crumpled piece of paper in complete shock, he tried to wrap his head around the crisis before him.

Why would they leave the note here? A thief sophisticated enough to discover the password surely wouldn't be so careless as to leave it lying around. And he was certain his strange memory loss was connected... but how?

And most importantly… who was behind it?

Erik knew he had to inform someone right away. Hurriedly he slammed the shower on, praying to some Norse God or other that it would heat up quickly. He had to shower and dress in time to catch Fury before the day ended. And he had to look at least a little presentable – showering was the least he could do.

In fact, if he was going to give Fury the worst news of his life, he should be turning up in a three piece suit. Or a tuxedo. Selvig groaned… there was no outfit suitable for a death sentence.


"What…? Are you serious?" Darcy thought that if her eyelids got any lower, they'd hit the floor.

"C'mon Darc… it's compulsory."

Darcy rolled over onto her stomach and shoved her face deeper into the pillows. Maybe if I push hard enough I can suffocate… or choke on some feathers.

Jane had showed up at her apartment not two hours after her coffee incident to bring her the horrendous news.

There was,

Another,

Meeting.

Jesusmarymotherofjoseph HELP ME NOW.

"I'm not bloody going," she grumbled. She couldn't take one more miserably boring meeting about the end of the world.

"But Darc," Jane whined, "it's really important. More important than the last one… Fury was adamant everyone needs to be there." Jane was wringing her hands, her brow creased with worry. Darcy could glimpse her out of the corner of her eye – she looked like a doll. Seriously, even when she was freaking out, Jane was perfect.

And Darcy often found it very hard to say no to Jane. So it was saying a lot that she could now.

"No, Jane, tell Fury I'm sick. He can come and kill me with his death-stare himself."

"You know he will, Darc," Jane warned, completely serious. Darcy just laughed.

"Don't worry Jane… I'll just get the lowdown from you. You're great at summarising." She rolled over and rested the back of her head in her hands. "Seriously… just go, it'll be fine."

Jane's petite shoulder's slumped, "if you say so…" she was defeated. "Get some rest, okay? I don't like seeing you unwell…"

Darcy gave her a smile, "I feel better already," she lied.

Jane started walking towards the door then stopped at the frame.

"Listen Darc… make sure the Cap comes back here straight away, okay? Erik sounded pretty freaked out, and it got me worried…" she bit her lip.

Darcy groaned internally. Although she'd been scared beyond her bodily limits once already today, she was certain nothing else was going to happen. She'd be totally fine.

"I will," she promised. She knew it was a hollow promise though. If the Cap forgot to come find her… well… who could blame her for not going to find him? She tried to suppress a devious smirk. It would be nice to get some peace and quiet without choir-boy chasing after her.

With a curt smile, Jane's little head disappeared and she shut the door, leaving Darcy happily alone in her little apartment.

If you could call it that… it was more of a room with plumbing – the cheapest S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer on the compound. There was a little kitchenette and lounge, separated from the bedroom area by a small wall which only stretched halfway across the room. There was a small ensuite which served as the only bathroom, leading off to the right, and a tiny walk in wardrobe which was a strange bonus. She looked at it now, wishing it were stocked with better clothes. Actually, she just wanted more band shirts, if she were honest with herself.

Darcy sighed. This was what she wanted to be doing. Staring into nothing, thinking of nothing, doing nothing. She didn't want any expectations or responsibilities or obligations. With a blissfully simple smile she swung her legs out of bed and went to make some coffee, the day's terrors and concerns all but forgot.

She wondered if everyone was at the meeting… that would mean the entire compound is empty…

Her eyes widened. Now there's an idea. A perfect opportunity for exploration. With a new found vigor she sped up her coffee making and poured it into her portable cup. Scuffing into some slippers eagerly, she made her way outside.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was all about white. White and silver. White walls, silver floors, white ceiling, silver doors… it was painfully secret-agenty. She grimaced as she walked down some abandoned corridor and was almost blinded by the pure whiteness.

Well this is kinda boring… I thought they would have some interesting secret-agent stuff lying around.

She stopped, well duh, it's not just gonna be lying around is it… if it's secret agent stuff. Starting to realise the reality of her decision, her 'vigor' started evaporating. She sipped on her coffee absently, dawdling along.

She wondered how far she could push her luck, and started trying the different closed doors she came across. Most were locked, which annoyed her. How was she supposed to explore properly when all the doors were locked? Walking along empty corridors all night wasn't fun at all.

Her images of being some hardcore Indiana Jones sidekick started to wane. With a pout she decided to end her adventure in the middle of the corridor. Besides, she'd probably just find more corridors if any of the doors were unlocked.

She spun around, fully prepared to abandon her short-lived quest, when something caught her eye. Along the smooth, crispness that was the perfectly white wall beside her, she spotted something black. It was like a crack which ran along the panels vertically. Curious, she spun back and walked down towards it, realisation slowly dawning.

It was a door… though it must have been a very well concealed door, for the face of it melted into the wall with perfect smoothness. The only thing that gave it away was the fact that it was slightly ajar, leaving a small black crack along its edge.

The Indiana Jones theme song started playing and Darcy felt pumped again. Pretend gun in hand and whip by her side, she strafed the wall then slowly edged the door open so she could fit inside.

It was pitch black, but as she walked along the floor, she could see soft beams of light by her feet, dimming on as she touched the ground, and fading away as she moved on. As her eyes got used to the strange glow, and soon she realised she was in another corridor which lead on straight ahead until it veered off to the left.

Excitement and tense anxiety bubbled up within her. Knowing her status, she'd probably be fired if they found out she were in here… but the temptation of exploration was all too strong. Right at that moment, she really didn't give a crap about the consequences.

Jogging now down the path, gun and whip still in hand and theme music reaching a glorious crescendo, Darcy rounded the mysterious bend…

She was suddenly in a huge room, just as dark as the corridor, but with more dim lighting along the walls. Everything had a faint blue hue to it, and she could see different levels built into the walls. It was a huge room. The ceiling was at least triple the height of her apartment's, and its length would easily fit it tenfold. She could vaguely make out strange scientific apparatus, enormously complex computers, and machinery she didn't recognise. And always there was that faint blue light emanating from somewhere.

As she descended the stairs down to the base floor, she saw that everything curved inwards as if it were facing the centre… and as her eyes followed the flow of the design and adjusted to the lack of light, she saw it…

There in the centre was a huge circular dome, completely black save for a window which stretched around it. She could see that the blue light was coming from the dome… from something inside the dome.

"Oh… shit…"

In the very middle stood a black stand with claw like clasps. Atop this stand was the source of all the light… pulsing with a mesmerizing beat and a soft intensity...

"The cube…" she whispered, anticipation welling up inside her. "Mother of fuck, the cube!" she cried out suddenly, throwing her arms up in the air.

What the hell?

As she'd shouted, she noticed a flicker of light – or was it darkness? – scatter across the window in front of her. Like something had just run past it, blocking the cube's light for an instant.

Fear replaced her excitement. What if I'm not alone…?

With shaking hands, Darcy stepped very gingerly towards the dome. The thing that had moved must have come from inside. It could just have been a trick of the light, but she couldn't be sure. She was too far away to make it out.

As she moved closer she was sure there definitely was something moving… behind the cube now. It was like a huge black shadow, shifting around cautiously.

"H—hello?" she asked the air. Nothing. Her heart was hammering in her ears, and she felt a heavy weight on her chest. Don't have a panic attack now… oh God, not now…

She reached the dome, peering in through the window into the blue, inky blackness. Narrowing her eyes and trying to bring the images into focus, she looked past the cube and…

Fuck. Me.

No way…

Her voice was strangled, but she managed to pull it together and cried out; "Hey!" The black shadow started at her shout, and suddenly shifted very quickly to the right. She followed it and could still see the faint outline…

Of a man.

A familiar man.

A rather sinister,creepy, green eyed man.

"Hey, you! I—it's you! What are you doing in here!" she was getting pissed now. Was he trying to hide from her? It was pretty obvious he was in there.

The faint blue light from the cube danced on his face as he moved infinitesimally closer to the window. She could clearly see the same pallid cheeks with jutting cheekbones, and the hum of light cast thick shadows beneath them, making him look sallow and painfully thin. His hair melted into the blackness surrounding him, but she knew it was there – dishevelled and flowing down to his shoulders.

"It is you…" she whispered.

He wasn't wearing what he was in the café. It was like armor – skin tight and thick at the same time. Most of it was black, and curved with his body, but some of it was a very deep green, including the cape which hung from his back. As she stared closer, too, she noticed small pieces of gold which glimmered dully in the mute light.

She narrowed her eyes, begging her brain to keep up. Who is this guy, I totally know this guy…

But she was altogether distracted. Totally, utterly, distracted.

Because his face was close now - only a few inches from the glass - its stark whiteness standing out from the shadows which surrounded him. The blue glow of the cube did strange things to the colour of his eyes, and they looked far more sunken and deep-set than she remembered. His high nose was raised as he looked down at her; his chin strong and proud. And he was tall. Unbelievably tall.

But it was his expression which completely stole all her memory of how to breath. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes; wide and glistening, and his brows furrowed so that they made a long dark shadow across his forehead. He was in complete shock.

All of a sudden there was a wisp of air and he disappeared only to materialize right in front of her. He stood now, in the flesh, so close, her nose could almost touch his chest. I am a midget. I am a complete fucking midget. He could use me as a foot-rest. Oh God… I can't even think straight… does he have to be so close?

Darcy felt the strangest sensation tingle all over her as she felt their proximity. Not daring to meet his vicious gaze, she watched his feet step closer towards her.

"Wh—who are you?" he growled. If you could call it a growl. It was more like a symphony or a quartet playing some amazing sonnet. It was iron and velvet, commanding and soothing. Darcy visibly wilted.

Then she realised he had stuttered and looked up to see that same intense incredulity she'd been trapped by at the café. Gulping noisily she tried to make her vocal chords work. Her mouth was the Sahara.

"Uh… uh…" she mumbled. His face was so close. Close enough to…

No! No don't think about that… don't think about his lips… C'MON Darcy! This guy is obviously some evil villain here to steal the cube. Think, Darcy, think! Use those Political Science skills.

She swallowed again and cleared her throat. "I could very well ask you the same question," she said loudly, with hugely false self-confidence.

The man was taken aback, and he narrowed his eyes. She bit her lip, as he shot her a gaze which said: I'm going to fucking kill you and I'm going to fucking enjoy it. He was going to kill her. Oh god… I'm going to die.

But suddenly something flickered in his eyes – Shock? Sarcasm? Mockery?

No… it was something like… amusement. He's amused? She thought about it for a second then felt a wave of relief. Yes, he's not going to kill me!

And then he smiled,and it was all Darcy could do not to leap on top of him and pash him into oblivion. His smile was heart-wrenchingly perfect. His porcelain skin creased into lines and dimples in all the right places; his eyes glimmering with some mischievous delight. And his laugh. She'd thought his angry voice was an orchestra… this was an angelic fucking choir.

Wow. Wowowowowowow.

"Interesting," he said suddenly, his eyes were full of fascination and his voice was still thick with laughter. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable under his super-intense stare - like some specimen under a microscope.

To push the notion further, he started to circle her, his leather boots tapping almost silently across the floor. He lifted a hand to rub his lips absently, becoming a perfect sculpture of captivation. Darcy could feel his eyes burning holes in her skin, and she grimaced slightly. He stopped behind her.

"You can see me?" it was more of a statement than a question, but she answered it anyway.

"Uh, duh I can see you. I'm not blind," although she was the epitome of wonder and awe, she was slightly pissed at this guy. Her brash instincts were kicking into gear. First he'd freaked her out at her café, now he was freaking her out on her adventure. Could he not find some other hobby? This one was getting seriously old.

He laughed again, a small, breathy sound, and she shivered slightly. Her skin tingled on her back as she sensed him moving closer towards her.

"What is your name, mortal?" he asked. In any other circumstance, Darcy would have rolled her eyes at his tone. What is he, some King or something? This guy has some serious superiority issues.

"Don't talk to me like I'm beneath you," she retorted, spinning around angrily. His face was that same mask of amusement, tinged with aloof indulgence. Like he were a weary adult allowing a child to have their fun. Ugh, this guy's really starting to piss me off.

Stick to the task Darcy. Find out why he's here.

"Who are you?" she said rudely, "are you some retard arch-nemesis come to steal the cube?"

He blinked then and a broad grin spread across his features. "My, my… getting cocky now are we?" he lulled to her, bending lower so that they were eye to eye. He smouldered at her as he invaded her space, and Darcy felt some serious involuntary action going on downstairs. Her body was completely disconnected from her brain, which was everything but turned on. Oh… god… oh… wow… She hated him for being so perfect. He was the bad guy for crying out loud! He was supposed to be hideous.

Instinctively she stepped backwards, feeling the cool, hardness of the dome behind her and she flattened herself against it, hoping he'd stop moving. He continued to close the gap between them until she was completely trapped by his immense height, and then he stopped, smirking like a motherfucker. He bent over her, bringing himself closer and closer… his face now inches from hers… his nose skimming her hairline.

She gulped then steeled herself; "You can talk," she said bitingly. He's the cockiest dick on the planet. Look at him, all suave and smooth. Thinks he can distract me with his charms and go about his business.

Well, he's sorely mistaken.

There was that laugh again. He shook his head in wonder. "You are a very strange creature," he hummed to her, then suddenly pulled away. Darcy felt the tightness across her chest ease slightly. Was I holding my breath that whole time?

"In answer to your question, mortal, I am here for the cube… but not to steal it," he moved to look at the glowing blue object, a faraway look in his strangely-coloured eyes.

"Oh? So you're here for information?" she said, trying to mask the shake in her voice.

He smirked, "In so many words." With an aloof air, he cocked his head and watched her silently.

"If I reveal you my name, will you reveal yours?" he asked softly. Darcy thought her knees were going to give out. His voice was so sweet. So gentle.

"Uh ... yeah ...sure. But you first," she added crossly. She wanted the upper-hand.

He quirked a smile, "Very well. Though, I must admit, I am quite surprised that you have not yet recognized me. I had thought - what with all your dealings with my brother - that you would have surmised my identity by now."

Brother? Darcy furrowed her brows. What the hell?

But he kept smirking away. Arrogant little piece of -

He sighed, "My name is Loki. Prince of Lies and God of Mischief." He gave a slight bow which was oh so adorable, but Darcy was slightly too stunned to be swooning right at that moment.

"Loki…" she breathed. "You're Thor's brother?" her mouth gaped. Woah… woah…

This is bad. This is very, very, very bad. Loki! This guy was Loki…

He stepped ominously closer; "I am pleased you know who I am. Very soon all will know my name…" his voice was low now, ominous. And in any other circumstance it would have been incredibly sexy. But Darcy just felt cold. Very cold.

He pulled back, gesturing towards her. "And who, pray tell, are you? Do not back out of our deal, now, it would be most impolite."

She could feel a sound like a bass drum in her ears, beating ridiculously fast. Darcy licked her lips, her eyes flickering around. There was nothing she could do - she was trapped. Loki could kill her in a millisecond. She had no upper-ground, no protection, and any attempt at using her words as weapons was lost. This was the God of Trickery! He was the ultimate-word smith. Shi, shit, shit, shit, shit on toast. She felt utterly small and completely vulnerable.

"D—Darcy Lewis…" she breathed, her entire body was shaking now. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to stop the burning sensation at the back of her eyes. She would not cry in front of him.

He seemed to notice her distress, and his gaze softened. "How can you see me, Miss Lewis?" he asked simply.

She blinked, then whispered "Uh… I don't… understand—"

"I mean," he interjected impatiently, "How can you see through my spell?"

"S—spell?"

"Yes. I have an invisibility spell cast. As of yet I have gone undetected through this compound… until today," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off her.

"Are you some sorceress?" he asked seriously.

She laughed without humor, "N—no."

"Have you ever been learned magic?"

"No…"

"Have you ever been exposed to magic?"

"Uh well… just the worm-hole stuff but—"

"Has anyone ever placed a spell on you?"

"No."

"Have you ever placed a spell on anyone?"

"I already told you, I don't know any fucking magic!" she cried impatiently. This was ridiculous. She could see him. That was it. His spell must be screwed up or something.

"Hmm…" Loki tapped his lips, staring at her. "Interesting."

She sighed. "Look… could we just get the whole… mindless killing thing over and done with? I know you enjoy that stuff or whatever … but I'd really appreciate it if you just did it, and did it quickly." She folded her arms. Despite her immense fear, she was angry, and wanted to make sure he knew it.

He watched her seriously for a moment, then smiled; "And what makes you think I am going to kill you, Miss Lewis?"

Man I wish he'd stop calling me that, it's way too sexy, "Uh… I don't know, maybe because… I caught you out?"

He just laughed, "I would only consider eliminating someone if they presented an obstacle. If they were a threat…" he started stepping closer again, his face still mild and amused.

"And you, Miss Lewis, are no threat," he grinned teasingly. Oh boy, and now he's insulting me.

Wait…

"So… you're not going to kill me?" she asked quietly.

He thought for a moment, scrutinizing her carefully, then seemed to decide something; "No, Miss Lewis, I am not."

Phew! Biggest. Relief. Ever!

But wait… why does he want me alive?

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, suddenly even more afraid than she had been when her life was in danger.

He licked his lips slowly – which did very strange things to Darcy's hormones – then lifted his chin. But he didn't answer her, he simply stepped backwards, giving her a little more room to breathe.

"The meeting is almost over," he said simply.

"Oh, shit…" Darcy had forgotten all about the meeting.

"Where will you go now?" he asked. She was a little taken aback.

"Why do you care?"

"I wish to know what you will decide to do, now that you have discovered my presence here," he started touching his hands together in a strange gesture. She was mesmerized for a second – watching as his thin, long fingers rubbed against each other.

"Uh… well ...telling people is out of the question," she said distractedly, "if I do, then they'll know I was in here and I'd probably get fired…" she bit her lip.

"In that case I suggest a quick escape. Most of the personnel are already heading this way," was he always so damn calm? He could read out his own death sentence and make it sound like a bloody lullaby.

But before she could respond, he was suddenly beside her. Flustered, she watched as he slipped his thin – yet surprisingly strong – arm about her waist and drew her closer to him. A hot blush spread across her cheeks and over the tops of her ears and she hoped to every god in the universe that he didn't notice.

"Wh—what are you doing?" she breathed.

He quirked a sideways smile at her; "A quick escape," he said huskily into her ear, and she tried not to swoon into his chest.

And then with a flick of his wrist Darcy watched as the air spun around them and the scenery abruptly changed. The dark room disappeared, only to be replaced by her own. They were suddenly standing in the middle of her makeshift bedroom, facing the messy kitchen.

"Woah…" she breathed.

Strangest. Fucking. Day. Ever.