Chapter 4: Good Morning, Sunshine

Notes:

This chapter is dedicated to grandmas. They're the best.

Also, the worst.

I wake up to voices whispering, and it takes me a second to place where I am. I have got to stop passing out in places that aren't my bed, I think as I remember the feeling of drowsy contentment after desert and yet more wine.

At least your parent's couch is big and fairly comfortable, but I'm still wearing my party sweater and skirt from yesterday, and my bra is digging into my ribs and my chest like I owe it money. I roll over, and sit up, groaning. I know it's early, but it is definitely past time for me to hit the road.

I root around behind the couch, find my purse and use an app on my cell to order a cab. It should be here in fifteen minutes, which will hopefully give me plenty of time to get home, feed the Beast, shower and change for work.

Sif sticks her head into the room, sees that I am conscious and drags a man I recognize from a bunch of the pictures on the mantle, into the room after her. She's grinning from ear to ear, her short, dark hair a spiky mess, as she stops in front of me, and slings an arm around my shoulders. "Coffee?" she asks.

I'm feeling especially diminutive with her boob pressed into the side of my face, but it seems the only way to escape is to answer, so I say yes, and she darts out of the room, giggling.

"Loki?" I ask, holding my hand out, feeling the redness creep up my face. Is your entire family exceptionally good-looking? Loki, and it is definitely the Loki from all those pictures on the fireplace mantle, seems tired, with dark circles under green eyes, and his black hair springing out from his ponytail. Even slightly run down, there's something about the way he moves that is, well. Never mind, you're family.

"Uh, yeah," your brother says, "You've got me at a disadvantage, though, since I have no clue know who you are."

"Darcy," I respond and let my hand drop when it becomes apparent that he's gonna leave me hanging.

He looks at me like he has no idea how I'm there, or why, and honestly, the feeling is entirely mutual. I don't know how I ended up here, either.

Sif barges in again, "She's gonna marry Thor!" she almost squeals, as she hands me a mug of coffee. "I forgot to ask how you wanted it," she says as she digs through the voluminous pockets of her fuzzy robe. Holding out a handful of sugar packets and little plastic creamer containers, she must see the bewildered expression on my face, "Nan, God bless her, steals all the condiments at diners."

Loki chuckles and catches his sister's eye, with an unmistakable expression of fondness on his face, "Oh god, remember when we all went to Golden Corral that time, and she brought all those little baggies, and filled her purse with mashed potatoes, limp asparagus and meat loaf? Priceless."

Sif laughs giddily while I open a creamer and tip the contents in the cup, along with two packets of sugar, "I still don't know why she wanted five pounds of instant mashed potatoes, but by God, she was gonna take them come hell or high water."

Sif grabs the empties out of my hand and takes off again, leaving me with your once again very skeptical brother.

"So, you and Thor, huh?" he asks, and I can hear the doubt lacing that statement.

"Yup," I say, and take a sip of the coffee. It's wonderful.

"No offense, but you don't really seem like his type."

It's funny how whenever anyone in the history of anything prefaces a sentence with No offense, you're pretty much guaranteed to be offended. I take a moment to gulp coffee, scalding my tongue, before I answer.

"I get that a lot," I tell him, somehow finding the inner strength to not roll my eyes. I put the cup on the coffee table, making sure it rests on a coaster.

My phone is back in my purse, and I shove the little box with the scarf in there, as well. I head for the door, grabbing my coat from the banister, and turn to face your brother as I struggle into it.

"Nice meeting you," I say, and even though I had intended for it to come out sincerely, it still comes out sounding extraordinarily snarky.

"Oh look," Hilda says from the top of the stairs, startling me, "You're under the mistletoe!"

Your Nan is a sadist.

I buss your brother's cheek as briefly as I can, but Satan has white, cotton candy hair this morning, and she boo's my effort enthusiastically. "Come on, I know you can do better than that. On the lips, or it doesn't count!" she trills. I wish desperately for death, but your brother and I press our lips chastely together, and in seconds it's over.

It shouldn't have been the best kiss I've had in over a year, but, in case you haven't noticed, I'm fairly pathetic. So it was.

I say my goodbyes, and hustle out the door, frankly terrified that your Nan will follow and demand that I make out with your brother some more. I'm so glad that this charade, this nonsense will be over soon. I swear I am.

I have a few days off, now that my shift is over, and I cannot wait to snuggle up in my oldest, softest pajamas and watch TV until my eyes fall out.

That's the plan at least, when I stumble home in the afternoon after putting in my requisite 8.5 hours. Mogwaii has left me a brand new hair ball to clean up, and while I'm busy doing that, I knock over your box. A can of cat food comes tumbling out, and my heart drops.

Shit.

You've got a cat and it probably hasn't been fed in days. I see my quiet evening with the love of my life, wine, evaporate before my very eyes.

I reluctantly dress myself again. Very reluctantly. I'm trying not to snoop over much as I paw through your belongings for your wallet and keys, but it's sort of inevitable. I'll try not to rifle through your medicine cabinet when I get to your place, if that makes you feel better.

It's pretty much expected that you live in a nice building with doormen, so I wait outside until a mass of people enter your building and sneak in amongst the crowd.

Whatever I was expecting from your condo, it wasn't all this white carpet, chrome and glass. It all seems very modern, very cold. The complete opposite of your parent's house. I'm not super comfortable with heights, but even I can admit that the view out of your floor to ceiling windows is pretty spectacular.

I wander through your place, amused when it turns out that the only photo in the entire place appears to be a glamour shot of you in a grey sweater that makes your eyes pop. I must admit, though, that if I looked like you, I probably wouldn't have shown the same restraint.

Since I don't find your cat in my walk through of your home, I decide to have a glass of water. You have a bunch of cabinets, so I have to be strategic if I plan on finding a glass before the new year. I'm only slightly jealous of how awesome your kitchen is.

While flinging open yet another cabinet door, I hear a bang and a loud yelp. Crap. I close the door, and there's your brother. What the fuck? How did he get there?

"Ow! Fucks sake, woman! What are you doing here?" Loki asks, sounding funny with his hand cupping his nose.

"I'm here to feed the cat," I respond, opening the freezer to grab ice for your brother's rude face. I wrap a few cubes in a paper towel and hand it over.

"Thor doesn't have a cat," he says as he puts the bundle on the bridge of his nose. He sounds so damned certain that now I'm worried that he's right, but I'm determined to brazen this out.

A meowing little purebred ball of fluff saves me. I love cats as a general rule, assholes though they are, but I don't think I've ever been so happy to see one. I make kissy noises as I open the can, and plop the contents on a dish. I pick the cat up, and look over at Loki, who is the personification of nonplussed.

Although the desire to stick my tongue out and shout Neener, neener is almost overwhelming, I restrain myself. Instead, I surreptitiously check the dangly name tag on the cats collar when he asks what the cat is named. "Fluffy, what else?"

The phone rings, and I'm a little surprised that you still have a landline. It seems so old-school. "You gonna get that?" Loki asks, and I have the feeling that he's trying to trip me up and expose me for the fraud I apparently am.

"No, just let the machine pick it up," I tell him, but he grabs the phone and answers, "Odinsson residence."

For some reason this tickles me, and I imagine him, or you, being taught how to properly answer the phone as kids.

He looks perplexed by whoever's on the phone, and gives me the handset with a somewhat disgruntled expression on his face, "It's for you."

I know I'm completely full of shit, that I am a total fraud, but god, the vindication I feel right now is like the sweetest nectar. "Darcy speaking," I say, with what I hope is a serene smile on my face.

It's the hospital, which reminds me that I need to talk to the nurse who started this madness in the first place. I hang up after a short conversation, and tell Loki what they told me, "It's customary for friends and family to donate blood." Which I'm already well aware of, having donated a whole lot when Dad was still alive and in and out of hospitals all the time.

Your brother smiles at me, and Christ, it is really not fair how aesthetically blessed your family is, because that just made my knees weak. "Should we go together? We can take Thor's car."

I honestly don't remember the last time I drove, and I've missed it, which must be why I agree. I have your keys, anyway, so I give Fluffy a final stoke down her/his back and lock the apartment behind us.

In the garage, I have the distinct feeling that Loki is testing me again, but it's a pointless endeavor, since all I have to do is push the button on the key and see that the lovely black Beemer in the row right in front of us flashes its headlights and beeps twice.

I slide into the drivers seat, marveling at the luxurious leather seats and sick sound system. Oh, this is going to be fun, I think and grin at Loki.