Darcy usually refrained from using her magic, knowing Odin would definitely disapprove of her being on Midgard then (he was already quite pissed, but what did Darcy care?). However, drunk-and-knocked-out Jane called for a teleportation spell, and after dragging Jane's deadweight body to the ladies, she waved her hand and they were back in Jane's caravan.
Quickly settling Jane into her bed, Darcy rushed back to the main house, eager to get her shut-eye. After fumbling through her purse in the dark, she retrieved her key and unlocked the door, stepping into the dark living room. Kicking off her shoes, she was about to head to her bedroom when suddenly a voice rang out in the dark.
"Darcy."
Darcy nearly jumped out of her skin (or her glamour). She stumbled back against the nearby counter, clutching her chest as her heart (or un-heart) recovered from that unexpected shock.
Upon spotting the origin of the voice, she exclaimed, "Geez! Erik, you scared me!"
The man was seated behind the counter at the other end of the room, his silhouette barely visible in the dim moonlight.
"We need to talk," Erik's voice was dangerously soft, his tone tethering on the edge of defensive.
Darcy pulled herself upright, advancing slowly and uncertainly. What did he want?
He raised his right hand, which held a small device, and Darcy came to a shuddering halt. It was Hunger.
Shit.
"I found some...interesting things on your iPod, Darcy," he began coolly. "Death certificates of every single person who died of sickness or old age in the last few millennia."
Though internally sweating and panicking like a headless chicken, Darcy feigned calm ignorance. "Last few millennia?" she repeated, hoping her voice sounded as neutral as possible. "How do you know?" How did he get through her million and one passwords?
"Liu Bei was a Chinese warlord who died of illness in 223 AD. Hamnet Shakespeare's here too, 1596 AD from the Plague," said Erik, never taking his eyes off her. "Thousand years worth of deaths, all on this one device that is supposed to play music." Erik slammed the device on the table, causing Darcy to start slightly.
"This isn't an iPod, Darcy," he said sternly, lips trembling as he pointed at Hunger like it was an infectious disease. "I'd like to know what this is and who you work for. Is it the CIA? UNIT? Torchwood?"
"Woah, Erik, I ain't torching any wood here," Darcy cut in, lifting her hands in surrender. "I'm my own person. I don't work for anyone."
But the old man remained unconvinced. "That's a poor attempt at espionage. Are you here to take Jane's and my research? Hiding your archives and intel on some simple device?"
"I'm not a spy, Erik," said Darcy, rather tiredly.
"Oh? Then what are you? You can't fool me, Darcy, you spend too much time on this device and have too much attachment to it for it just to be an ordinary iPod," Erik rattled on, slowly losing whatever little cool he had left. "And you're not an ordinary intern. I saw you talking to Sif at the Bifrost site. You two have met before. So I'll ask you one more time: who are you?"
Erik's demand was met with silence as Darcy considered her options.
"You really want to know?" Darcy asked quietly, unable to keep the resignation out of her voice.
Please say no, please say no. "Yes."
Darcy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She called up the magic within her, her seidr, the one tethered to her facade. She felt it stirring, for once in a long while since she'd arrived in Midgard, like a muscle held too long in one position.
And then she focused on one spot, she let it loose. Daring herself to look, she opened her eyes, bringing up her right hand and watching as her glamour faded away, revealing the corpse beneath. Bringing it up, she attempted (and failed) a friendly wave towards the man across the room.
"My name is Hela. I'm the goddess of Hel. Nice to meet you."
As soon as those words left her mouth, she watched as her last moment as Darcy Lewis in Erik's eyes faded into nothingness. She knew that in that brain of Erik's, he was re-cataloguing his profile of her, pulling out the old myths of his childhood and fitting them onto her, layering filters of Hela over Darcy, till the portrait of the political science intern was replaced by the portrait of the centuries-old goddess of death.
She watched as the old man's eyes widened. "You're...Hela," Erik reiterated slowly.
"Yup," confirmed Darcy, popping her 'p'. Her glamour she'd slipped back on like a glove, but Erik was still staring at her hand with wide and wary eyes.
"Norse goddess of death?"
"Among other things," said Darcy, "such as Yggdrasil network extraordinaire, royal pain in Odin's ass, etcetera."
"Loki's daughter."
Immediately the atmosphere shifted. So that's why he was so on guard. Not because she was a deity, no, Erik'd had plenty of that last week, but because she was the offspring of the asshole who'd blown up the town.
She lifted her chin defiantly, drawing back her shoulders. "I am not defined by my father's idiocy or his fetish with blowing things up. As I said, I am my own person - half a person, if you will."
Erik drew back at her words, and Darcy couldn't help the slight tinge of sadness. This was exactly why she didn't want Thor or his thick-headed friends blowing her mortal cover - because her own friends would never treat her the same.
"Do you mean to harm us?" asked Erik cautiously.
"Harm you?" Darcy repeated, undeniably hurt. "Erik, I may be some goddess of death to you, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm Darcy Lewis. Darcy is Hela and Hela is Darcy." Great, now she sounded like she belonged on Shutter Island.
She removed her beanie, dropping her gaze as she recollected herself. "Look, I just...want to make you see that I'm the same person as I was this morning."
Erik's striking blue gaze seemed to scan her once more, trying desperately to connect what she'd just said and what his mind was feeding him about the ruler of Hel.
Half a minute into the silence, he sighed. "Darcy, I'm sorry, it's just...you're a goddess," he stressed, still trying to reconfigure his brain. "More so the one the Norse portray as an all-powerful harbinger of death."
"Oh come on, those Norses tend to exaggerate," said Darcy. "A flair probably picked up from my uncle and his theatrics," she added, waving her hand dismissively.
Erik seemed to consider her a while more, but he definitely seemed more relaxed than when this gruelling interrogation started, so that was a plus. Then she noticed his eyes; how they darted between her and the doors; Erik's gaze seemed torn between Jane's caravan and Darcy.
"So can you...?" he began tentatively, all too aware he was standing on slippery ground.
"I can't get her to Asgard, if that's what you're asking," replied Darcy, knowing what he had in mind. It too had crossed her mind once. "From what I've heard, the Bifrost is broken, and the only way across worlds is by scaling the branches of the World Tree, which is virtually impossible for mortals."
When Erik raised a questioning brow, Darcy elaborated, "Impossible meaning if she doesn't get chewed up by Ratatoskr, she will be vaporized and die a horrible death and possibly end up as my roommate in Hel." Then she decided to further point out, "But even I can't enter Asgard, I was exiled."
Erik deflated slightly. "Jane...her mind would not rest until she finds him again. Do you...do you mean to tell her all this?"
For an extensively quiet moment, Darcy just stared into the empty, black space between them, imagining it opening up and swallowing her into the shadows. Then she lifted her head, willing her voice to remain steady in spite of her trembling heart, that heart so full of fear that what she was about to say would cause deeper pain in the friend she'd found in Jane. Her breath came out in a misty whisper.
"How can I?"
Only silence replied her lament.
A/N: I know, you guys deserve more, but hopefully this angsty stuff passes hahaha. I know I put this under humour, and there's just none right now, sorry 'bout that :( Do review!