Okay, I don't want to spoil anything, but I think you pretty much figured it out... Loki is in NJ! I really want to be able to write Loki's personality similar in relation to how he is in the films. Only slightly less mad, because he's supposed to be recovering from well, everything and more, and this girl may or may not be the reason for it. So if I make him too nice or something, let me know.***
Twenty minutes earlier...
Rose allowed James to walk her out after the nights festivities. After his many efforts, Rose had finally accepted his offer to go on a date sometime in the near future. He was truly very nice and quite a gentleman too. In fact she couldn't name a single thing wrong about him, but it wasn't until recently had she allowed herself to discover that.
"So I had a great time with you," James said as they walked, side by side.
"I did too." She smiled back at him as they stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting to cross the street.
"You live right off Montgomery Street, right?"
"I do," she nodded. "Right within McGinley Square."
"Great, I can walk you home. I live not far past it."
The walk light signaled them forward and they began to cross.
"You said you were originally from New York?" she asked, making conversation.
"Yeah I am," he replied, stepping up on the curb.
"Isn't that were the alien invasion happened?"
"Mhm. My father was actually in the city for his work when it got attacked."
"Wow," she said. "That must have been scary."
"That's what I thought. But he brags about it like it was this great tale. He'll tell us stories about how he helped Captain America fight off the invaders."
"And you don't believe him," she guessed by his tone of voice.
"No, not at all," he mused. "My old man is not the type to pick a fight."
Rose laughed, sincerely, loving to learn about things of the past, and as her head fell back, her eyes caught sight of the sky. "Wow," she said, staring upward.
"Wow what?" James asked looking at her. He then followed her gaze upward.
"I've never seen them so clearly before," she replied, eyes fixated on the stars.
"Yeah, you usually can hardly see them in the city," he said. They had both stopped walking. "The lights and pollution always ruin it."
"They're beautiful."
James looked down at her as he said, "Yeah they are."
As she lowered her gaze, and returned it back upon James, she quickly cast it away again, blushing slightly at the way he was looking at her. It was unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome.
Sliding her hand down, mindlessly grabbing her purse as they began to walk again, she opened her mouth to speak to him, but no words came out. Instead after her hand had grabbed at nothing, she stopped her feet again and looked down.
"James, I–" her eyes glanced behind on the ground and returned back to James. He had stopped walking as well, his curiosity on what was wrong apparent. "I forgot my purse!"
His eyes snapped with understanding, "Where did you leave it?"
Her mind thought back to the last time she had it. They were at the bar, and she had hung it on the back of her chair. "On the chair– where we had our drinks."
"Wait here," he told her. "I'll run and grab it." James was gone in a matter of seconds.
Rose stood there in stillness for a few seconds, the remnants of a smile etched across her cheeks, and her panic slowly fading. She wasn't really worried about it being stolen– Candace was still there after all.
There were some tables and chairs where she was standing, but she decided to pace, walking the boundary of the Starbucks she happened to be beside, while she waited. It was a seemingly peaceful evening with not a whole lot of people running about and the traffic wasn't too busy. She could see Starbucks had already cleared most of their Halloween decorations and had already released winter flavors. She could probably use a warm tea right about now, it was after all, utterly freezing. But James would be back soon, she didn't want him to worry where she had gone, and it was closing soon anyway. So she continued her pacing, trying to warm herself; nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
She had just pivoted around, finishing her fourth lap. Her mind was relaying the events of the evening, especially the time she spent with James: the dancing, the laughs, the genuine comfortableness they shared with each other. But something in her path distracted her, or more accurately someone. Her first thought was that James returned, but once her eyes found the person, the thought instantly melted away and her breath caught in her throat.
Standing a few feet in front of her was a man, but he was no ordinary man. He was tall, exceedingly so, and his hair was long and wild and black. He was openly staring at her, with those emerald orbs, unmoving.
Blinking her eyes, Rose tired to snap herself out of her haze. She had done this to herself before, seen someone that looked similar to him and psyched herself out. This was clearly another one of those times, and with the amount of dreaming she'd been having of him this past week, it would hardly be surprising.
She smiled at him, admiring how real her delusion was. It was almost as if he was really there. He wore black dress pants, and a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and looking just as handsome as she remembered.
He began to step towards her, closing the distance in what seemed like slow motion until he was only an arms length away. In that moment, a fleeting thought popped into her head that she immediately decided to ignore because ignoring it was far, far safer. Instead she stared at him in wonder, noting the creases on his forehead, the chipped patterns of his breath, the intoxicating perfume of his skin, and his handsome height. He dropped his jacket, previously held in his hand, carelessly on the ground, his intense emerald eyes searching into hers.
"Amora," he said with a deep voice. He reached a hand towards her, his soft fingers just barely grazing her cheek and she flinched at the touch. Her wide eyes looked down to his fingers and returned to his face again as her own face dawned with realization.
Her heart began to pound, hard. She jolted back slightly at the first touch of his fingers, her mouth slightly ajar, and her blood coursing through her veins with pure adenline. The man of her dreams was there, right in front of her very eyes.
"You're here," she managed to say, barely above a whisper. Her mind was moving so fast, hardly able to contain the turmoil and disruption his presence caused her to have. Thousands of questions began coiling up in her head, things she'd been wanting to ask all this time. But the only thing she could seem to focus on was the mere obvious:
He's real.
Loki was trembling, remembering all too well the broken thing she'd created when she vanished over the Bifrost, as if she never existed at all. He could still taste the bitterness on his tongue, the remnants of the love he'd grown deep inside for her, the love that had turned into a curved blade to carve him from inside. He could feel it with each beat of his heart.
"H-how..?" He swallowed shallowly. "Have you any idea how long I've been searching?" He spat at her. "Have you?" He felt his breath move in erratic movements, like the rhythm of his heart, and suddenly he was furious with himself– with his weak heart, his poisoned mind, his feet as they were unable to walk away.
"Why did you – do you know what you've– why?" His silvertongue failed in articulacy. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to strangle her, to kiss her. Had she any idea what she'd done to him?
She continued to look at him with a bewildering mix of disbelief, shock, and was it... confusion? He couldn't tell.
Loki reached his hand up again, his fingers sliding along the side of her neck, running his thumb along her jaw, feelng her smooth skin and watching curiously as goosebumps rose on her skin. He returned his eyes back to her own. "Amora–"
She peered downward at his hand in wonderment and hesitantly lifted own her hand to cover his wrist with her own, her fingers softly grazing the skin on the top of his hand. "I don't understand," she said, unspoken words dancing behind her eyes.
The effect she had on him as they shared that small amount of contact was instantaneous and familiar, and he scorned himself for being this way still, after all these years – pathetic. But it had been so very long, and he was severely deprived of her essence that by being with her, like this, so close, everything began to blur. Yet somehow, nothing compared than to hear the words she would speak next, fall from her lips.
"Who are you?"
Something in him clicked, harshly and violently, and the blurriness dissipated. He jawed hardened and his gaze narrowed as he looked at her with sudden distrust, protected with a mask of nothing at all. Loki knew from the start something was off; her response was completely... wrong. True, she had been living amongst mortals all this time, but her reaction when he found her was not at all what he had prepared for. There was no familiarity or hatred or love or anything. There was only a great deal of confusion, and slight surprise. And then she completely threw him with those three simple words: Who are you?
"What?" he said under his breath. He did not know how else to respond.
"I don't know who you are," she said again, an odd twinge of regret flickering across her face.
Loki physically took a step back, allowing for her hand to fall from his own, staring at it as if it personally wronged him and realized he hadn't had a clue what was going on. He looked at her with unspoken confusion and slight betrayal. This was Amora, he was confident in that much. But why didn't she know him? What in the nine realms was going on?
He looked at her dubiously, his mind spinning on broken wheels until suddenly something caught. A poorly developed theory began to form in his mind. "If this is some pointless act to protect me or someone else, you need to drop this game right now." It may have been a little ignorant on his part but he couldn't help it. Was she making this up?
Her eyebrows as they wrinkled on her forehead for a moment was the response he received from her. Oh, she played this game well.
She then tired to explain, "I lost my memory. I know you're from my past... but I don't know you."
"Do not lie to me!" he snapped at her, desperation escaping in his tone.
"I'm not!"
They both reached an impasse and what followed was a moment of quick observation of the other. Loki's eyes scanned her. There was no hiding that she was frightened of him– her clipped breaths, unblinking eyes, and trembling posture were very obvious, but he pushed the matter away while his panic desolately searched for another way out, an alternate explanation. But he was running out of options, and the greater, ignored part of him knew he was fighting a battle that was already lost.
The theory would make perfect sense, she did seem regretful when telling him of her memory loss. But her words countered every indication. Why would she deny knowing him? Loki decided then to simply state the reason for his confusion.
"You recognized me," he tired in a final, desperate attempt to make sense.
Her eyes flickered in understanding, but before she could enlighten him, a voice shouted from behind her.
"Rose!" It was a mortal boy and he had called her Rose. Loki's gut tightened as a thought popped into his head. How much memory did she lose? Was it possible she couldn't remember her own name?
The mortal approached her side, handing her a small bag. "Here you are," he smiled. "I had to go the front to get it back, some good samaritan turned it in. Thank goodness they did or I–"
The mortal ceased his tongue the moment his eyes caught sight of Loki. He then looked back to Amora and asked, "Who is this?"
Loki glared at him venomously, his mind concocting the worse possible scenario between the two. "I should ask the same question," Loki replied with an edge in his voice that matched his gaze.
Amora opened her mouth but before she could speak the mortal introduced himself. "James," he replied holding a hand out, entirely oblivious as to what he had walked in on. Loki ignored it, not entirely out of spite, but simply because he did not understand the gesture– not that he would have shook it anyways. James put down his hand awkwardly, "I'm a friend of Rose."
Both men glanced at Amora for a fleeting moment. James in confusion and Loki in borderline betrayal.
Loki's eyes returned to the mortal and narrowed. "A friend? Nothing more?" His voice was dangerously low.
James was catching on. He looked at 'Rose', who's face had paled slightly, and he made a poor attempt to settle the situation. "I'm not sure that's any of your business."
"Oh is that so?" Loki's low voice sounded, as he took a step forward.
From James perspective Loki probably appeared only moderately jealous and perhaps a bit peeved, but in reality all Loki wanted to do was slam that guys head against the brick wall of one of the buildings and crush his skull.
"Everything about her life, was once my business. Until she ended up on this rock!"
James' mind began to turn, "What?"
Loki closed his eyes, and took a steadying breath, refraining himself from using any physical means. His eyes opened to see James take hold of Amora's hand and he immediately clenched his fists. Loki had damn well had enough of this foolish mortal. He turned to Amora. "Darling, I need to speak to you alone." Her eyes found him as he looked at her, pleading with his own eyes. "Please," he held up a hand, "Come with me."
James began to step forward to protect her, "No–"
"Okay," Amora answered at the same time. She released James' hand and turned to him. "James it's alright."
"I promised I would walk you home."
"I know, but I'll be okay from here."
"Rose... Who is this guy?" James asked, looking between the two with blatant confusion. "Are you two... together?"
Amora looked at him, unsure and apologetic. Loki's neither confirmed nor denied the matter, but he did remain looking at her through out it all.
James pursed his lips, "I see."
No answer, was also an answer.
"James–"
James gave her a polite smile. "Have a good night Rose," he said, turning away.
"James, wait–" she pleaded, walking after him. "You don't understand."
As she caught up to him, he stopped and asked her one question, "Will you still go out with me?"
Amora cast her gaze down, unsure of what to tell him.
He looked back with tired eyes, "That's all I need to know."
"Can I call you later?" she asked.
"Of course," he told her and she relaxed a bit. "I should probably go," James nodded toward Loki. "You have someone waiting for you. We can talk later, when you've made up your mind about everything."
"Okay."
"Good night, Rose," he said again before walking off again.
"Thank you James," she said, watching him go and then slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, turning back to Loki who had just watched the whole encounter. He had been clutching his fists so tightly through it, he was sure his nails had sunk through his skin. That mortal had no right to be by her side. Amora was his, and his alone.
Loki was aware however how unreasonable he was being given their unusual circumstances. He was simply frustrated and emotional, two things that did not function together smoothly on him. The situation just didn't add up. If she truly lost all her memories, then why did she look at him the way she did? As if there was more to be told? Not to mention the immediate trust she seemed to have towards him. A part of him hoped somehow, she still knew him. And that for some unknown reason, she was simply discomboulated due to the amount of time she had spent here – that he could work with. But the greater part of him knew better.
Loki took a step closer to Amora, and turned his gaze fully back to her as she looked timidly back to him in nothing but a small blue dress. He wanted to cover her up, and prevent anyone from looking at her, but then common sense kicked in. They were on Midgard, and it was normal to dress this way.
"You recognize me," he said. It was more of a statement than a question. "How?"
"I've seen you before in my dreams," she told him somewhat hesitantly.
He furrowed his eyebrows. That was certainly interesting and it explained her recognition. "And you've no legitimate memory of me?"
"No."
Loki nodded silently. Taking a few steps, he seated himself at a small round table on the edge of the sidewalk, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt as he did so. He then returned his gaze up to Amora, finding she hadn't moved an inch. "I need you to tell me everything you know," he spoke while indicating with his hand for her to join him. It was slightly pompous, but he was a prince after all and he didn't have patience to be self-effacing. In his mind, there wasn't anything more important then getting to the bottom of what happened during the past two years his lover spent away from him.
Her lovely brown eyes scanned him cautiously as she sat herself in the seat opposite him, the cold metal of the chair causing goosebumps to form on her skin. Her hands played with the fabric of her dress; it was a nervous habit of hers. "You never told me who you are."
He watched her very closely, "Loki."
"Loki," she spoke trying it on her tongue. It wasn't something he thought he'd ever get to hear again and he did not realize how much he missed it. "It's nice to finally meet someone who knows my face," she replied genuinely. "But I must ask, why now? After all this time?"
He leaned forward slightly, his voice switching to a more serious tone, "There wasn't a moment I stopped my search for you, Amora. You were much further than I ever imagined."
"Amora," she repeated the name off her lips and looked up at him. "Is that what I am called?"
"That is your name, yes."
"Thank you," she told him, unable to hold eye contact. He felt pity for her. How long, he wondered had she yearned to hear that? To hear someone to call her by her name. How long had she lived like this?
"What happened to you?"
She took a long breath, readying herself for her tale. "Nearly two years ago I woke in the hospital with no memory of anything: who I was, where I was, the name of a single person... My memory has yet to return since that day, nor has anyone come for me... until now."
He nodded silently, processing it all. Two years ago also marks the time in which he lost her. "And what of your dreams?"
"They are of you," she replied, her cheeks filling with a faint blush.
"Only me?" he asked, not bothering to hide his pleasant surprise and amusement.
Not looking to him, she nodded, her cheeks still holding that lovely pink.
"Do you believe they are memories?"
"I have suspected it, yes."
"Perhaps if you describe one to me, I can confirm it."
"Maybe," she said, her hands playing with the hem of her dress again. She looked up, "How did you find me?"
Loki leaned back slightly, a non-appreciative expression flickered on his face– he didn't like his question placed on hold especially when her dreams may contain elements that could help him determine what happened. Nonetheless, he decided it was only fair to please her for the time being. "There is a man, who sees all. He was able to find you and send me to you."
"Send you..." her voice trailed off as questions began to form behind her eyes. "Where have you been all this time?"
"Looking for you."
"For two years?"
He gave her a silent reply, sitting back into the chair. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.
"You must really care about me," she concluded, quietly.
As quiet pursued the next few moments, allowing for that simple truth to sink in, he decided to speak what was truly on his mind. "Your dreams, do you recall anything different about them?"
She looked at him oddly, "What do you mean?"
"Are they repetitive? Does something trigger them? Are you ever unsure about what is happening in them?"
"No, well– I suppose they can be a little repetitive. And the places we are, well... I've never seen anything like them before."
"Can you describe them?"
Amora paused, dropping her gaze temporarily. "I remember this huge window. I always would stand by it. And everything, wherever we were, looked beautifully foreign. There were torches instead of lights, and the walls were stone instead plaster, and your clothing, I think it was leather and metal. It's silly really, but it's almost as though we've gone back in time, to a different world."
"How are they repetitive?"
"I–" she began. "Well it's not really repetitive. It's just– I mean we–" Amora looked at him, unsure, while the blush on her cheeks began to reappear. "Is there a purpose to this inquiry?"
Loki stared again the sudden color on her cheeks one second before the explanation suddenly clicked. A soft, yet mischievous grin formed on his face –of course, it would be that she remembered. Not her treasured childhood memories or the pleasures she cherished out in the palace gardens. The palace banquet, or perhaps the day they shared in Vanaheim. No, in her slumber, she dreamed about a night of passions, with him; he didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned.
He reached her gaze and explained, "The events of your accident were very uncertain. Your recognition of me through your dreams may provide answers to it, depending on their behavior."
"Oh," she said, shivering in the arrival of a cool breeze. "Well I–I mean we... I do not know what to say."
"Relax, dear. You have been right so far."
She took a breath, swallowing her unease. "I am always alone when you come for me. And when you do, you steal me away and somehow we are somewhere else, usually a bedroom, I think it's meant to be yours. Then you... you make love to me." Her eyes began watering, and she gave a small smile as she wiped them with her hand.
He didn't say anything nor feel any humor this time. Instead he felt an odd wave of sadness and a urgent sense. He had to get her back.
Loki rose from the bench, "Come with me."
She stood curiously and followed him. As he turned the corner of the block, she asked him, "Where are we going?"
He walked a few more steps, into a somewhat empty parking lot and turned around, taking a couple more steps backwards before planting his feet. "I'm taking you home."
Amora's heart lurched in her chest.
Home. It's what she wanted for such a long time, yet why did it make her so uneasy?
"Right now?" she asked him.
"Yes."
Another cold breeze sent tremors down her body. When looked up to him, he was right in front of her, holding out his black jacket.
"Here," he said and her heart pounded at the suggestion. "You need it more than I."
Amora nodded in agreement, trying to remember when he had even picked it back up from the ground, and he gently helped her put her arms through the sleeves, his fingers grazing against her shoulders in the process granting her with goosebumps of an entirely different nature. "Thank you," she said quietly, cherishing the warmth it provided.
He was standing so close to her now. "May I take you home Amora?"
Her heart lurched; she wanted that so badly.
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"You don't," he said, never breaking eye contact.
Her face dropped a little in disappointment– it was not a reassuring response.
"Perhaps the answer you seek lies within your dreams," he began. "When I'm there, how do you I make you feel? Nervous? Frightened? Or can you trust me?"
Safe, she thought. You make me feel safe.
She felt his hand rest on the curve of her waist under the jacket, his thumb brushing right against her scar. Startled, she looked down, and back to him. He was looking down, as if he intentionally placed his hand there, as if he knew what lay beneath the fabric.
"What happened?" she asked, taking a shallow breath.
"I'll tell you everything when we get there," he said, his eyes returning to hers and withdrawing his hand on her waist and holding it out to her. "If all goes to plan, I may not have to tell you a thing."
Her eyes looked at him in disbelief, "You mean you really can bring my memory back?"
"There is only one way to find out, little one."
Amora stood looking back at her supposed lover, not missing the little sobriquet he gave her. It was clear, without the dreams, that she held some romantic attachment to him. And she desperately yearned to know everything she possibly could about it. She wasn't ignorant as to believe he could actually bring her memories back, but he could certainly tell her, and that in itself was everything. So she did the only thing she could think to do, and took his hand.
He pulled her in close to him, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist, his touch and proximity utterly overwhelming.
"I need you to hold on to me," he told her.
She pressed her hands to his chest, the closeness giving her sweaty palms, "Why?"
"You'll see." His voice then sounded gently in her ear, "Now, close your eyes."
Candace, Eric, and James stood a block down from where Rose and the man were sitting, partially hiding behind a tree.
"Should we go over there?" James asked.
"No, not yet!" Candace argued, "He's from her past. They don't need us interrupting."
"How, again, is it that you know that?"
"Because," she grumbled pulling a picture up on her phone and pushing it towards Eric. "She drew this picture of him a while ago. He's been in her dreams."
"She dreams about him?" Eric asked.
"You didn't see the way he was talking to her Candace," James told her. "I don't trust him."
"I see how he's looking at her now and I'm sure it was a misunderstanding." She replied, looking back over at the pair of them whom just stood from the table and began walking down the street. "Come on guys, they're leaving."
At the demand of Candace, the three of them submerged from the bushes, and crossed the street. Candace and Eric peered around the corner into the dark parking lot and James stood behind them, not bothering to look anymore.
"What are they doing?" he asked.
"They're just standing there," Candace said. "He's holding his hand out to her."
"This is ridiculous Candace," James complained, his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Just go over there and talk to her."
"I don't want to be intrusive."
"Candace," Eric began, using the voice of reason. "You are literally spying on her! I thin–" he stopped, distracted by the sight in front of him. "Holy sh*t!"
"What?" James said, looking immediately around the corner. He saw no one there. "Where are they?"
"What the hell just happened?" Eric stammered.
"What happened?" James asked again, more urgently.
Candace's eyes were as wide as she could make them, searching the parking lot. "They're gone."
Amora and the man had completely vanished into the sky.
***Yes, if you were wondering, Amora is the enchantress from the comics. I plan to incorporate some of her qualities but a lot of her background is going to be left out. She is essentially my own character with the same name and title. But anyways, I hope this played out to your expectations. More is on the way, so if you can in the meantime, reviews will be much appreciated:)
