Author's Note: If you find the fan fic confusing, here's your chance to understand what really happened (but not enough to spoil the rest of the story for you, of course). Although I must say, some of you are getting quite close to the truth. Scarily close. xD Anyway, another song for you guys: Ron Pope's "A Drop in the Ocean," which seems to suit Loki's rather melancholic outlook on life. I imagine him drinking his favorite drink (absinthe and Guinness) while listening to this song. Anyway, enjoy. ;)

Somewhere in the cosmos

"Has she been placed back into Midgardian society?"

"Yes."

"Good."

A mysterious figure came into view, studying the scenes unfold. The images nearly covered the beautiful landscape, but the figure was too intent on studying the people depicted within the images to fully appreciate the surroundings. The images shows the God of Mischief, pining for his dead wife, and the woman who so resembled her, struggling to make her way in a world that seemed so unfamiliar to her.

"Erasing her memories was a nice touch, my dear," the figure continued. "It makes the challenge all the more…exciting. I must say, I haven't seen entertainment quite like this since Poseidon decided to go against Athena."

The figure's companion hesitated, wondering if it was prudent to question such motives. Curiosity got the best of him, however, and he raised his head. "Is it wise to meddle with the affairs of the Asgardians? She was the wife of Odin's adopted son, after all. Surely she was - and still is - under his protection."

The figure stiffened and he knew that he had said the wrong thing.

"Protection be damned, what is done is done," the figure said through clenched teeth. "You yourself said that her memories must be removed for her to return to Midgard. Are you saying you were wrong?"

"No. I was merely wondering if we did the right thing by giving her life. After all, there is a balance of life and death we must maintain. Perhaps she should have stayed dead."

"Perhaps. But I wish to extract more vengeance on them. It was not enough. Besides, I don't think Odin knows. The fool couldn't control his own son."

The companion sighed.

Jamie Stark never died – not in its truest sense, that is. After Jamie's soul departed from her body, his master managed to convince Pluto, the current King of the Underworld, to keep Jamie's soul from fully entering the dark realm. Jamie hovered somewhere between life and death, neither able to rejoin her loved ones nor move on to a higher plane.

At times her thoughts and emotions seemed to affect Loki – the telepathic bond between husband and wife was not properly severed, thus allowing Loki to experience certain emotions that Jamie was feeling - although it seemed as if the God of Mischief didn't know that it was Jamie's emotions he was experiencing.

While his master contemplated on what to do with her (whether to allow her entry into the Underworld and provide her eternal peace, or to send Jamie back to Midgard), Jamie experienced a variety of terrors. As a result of this prolonged exposure to the horrors of the Underworld, she became a meeker, more muted form of herself.

Oh she fought back, and he admired her more for it. But the visions she'd seen and experienced proved far too much for her and she succumbed in the end. No longer was she the strong, slightly sarcastic Jamie Stark – she was now the meek, muted Ariana Devonshire, a person so disconnected from her previous identity that it wasn't difficult for any sensible person to believe that they were two completely different people.

He had to admit, the new memories that had been implanted in Jamie's (or, in this case, Ariana's) were quite extensive. These memories gave Jamie a new life, one where Loki, Alessia, and Tony did not exist.

And that, he surmised, was perhaps the cruelest torture of all.

New York

The bar didn't have a lot of customers; it was, after all, noon. Since Ariana had nothing to do and a lot of money to spend, she decided to go to the different bars in the Upper East Side and sample what they had to offer.

She didn't stay in one place long enough to get drunk; unlike other people she seemed to have a high level of tolerance for alcoholic drinks. Still, Ariana was careful not to get too tipsy. The only person she knew in New York was Chuckie, her roommate, and she knew that the layout artist was at work.

I wonder what she'd say if she got a call saying she needed to pick up her drunk roommate at some upscale bar in the city? Ariana wondered, pressing the sunglasses closer to her face. She'd opted to wear sunglasses that practically swallowed her entire face, even though it was snowing outside. It helped keep people from seeing her features, which seemed to damn her to an existence thrust in the spotlight.

Ariana made her way over to the counter, where she ordered some scotch on the rocks. If the bartender thought her appearance was odd, he didn't say anything.

He prepared her drink and slid the glass across the counter, taking the crisp dollar bill that she handed to him and scrutinized it before ringing up the cash register.

Ariana took a deep breath, careful not to inhale too much of the liquid, and downed the drink before she changed her mind.

"Scotch won't bite," someone said from behind her. Ariana turned around and saw a man with short brown hair standing a few feet away from her.

"Excuse me?" Ariana blinked, trying to make sense of it all. She'd consumed far too many drinks in the span of a few hours and her head was swimming. Add to that the fact that some random stranger had just come up and started talking to her, and she definitely felt out of sync.

"You drank that scotch like it was going to bite you," the man continued, a hint of a smile in his eyes and a slight British lilt. "Take it slow next time."

"Right. Thanks for the tip." Ariana forced a smile and hopped down from the stool.

The man chuckled. "I hope I didn't come off as condescending. It's just that I don't like seeing good scotch go to waste."

"And how do you know that it's good scotch?" Ariana turned back towards the man, who was looking at her like she was a five year old who didn't know any better. Or maybe it was just the alcohol messing with her brain.

"I've been coming here since I started work. Plus my parents used to own a vineyard in California, so I do know a bit about wines and alcohol. Well, a lot, to be honest."

"So you're their supplier," Ariana guessed.

"No." The man smiled again and Ariana was under the impression that he was about to deliver the punchline to a joke. "I'm a lawyer."

Ariana laughed in spite of her earlier mood. "That's new. I don't think I've ever heard that lawyer joke before."

"I don't think anyone has." The man had a rather warm smile that Ariana felt herself becoming even more comfortable around him. Most lawyers she met were rather stuck-up that she never wasted a moment's glance at them.

But this one was different. Nothing about his body language was off-putting; in fact, it seemed as if he was welcoming a conversation with everyone he met.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," the man continued, extending his arm out towards her. "I'm Xavier Ruxton, defense attorney."

"Oh. I'm Ariana. Ariana Devonshire," Ariana said, shaking Xavier's hand hastily.

"Any relation to the aristocratic family?" Xavier asked.

Ariana shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Well it doesn't really matter," Xavier continued. "I'd still talk to you even if you're not a duchess."

"Thanks, I guess." Ariana studied Xavier from behind her sunglasses. "It was nice talking to you, Mr. Ruxton."

Xavier raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Going so soon?"

"Well you said you're a lawyer. Don't you usually spend time at work?"

"Now that is an unfair generalization, Miss Devonshire," Xavier declared. "I made no reference to the strange fact that you're wearing a pair of huge housefly sunglasses inside a bar, and yet you made a generalization about me."

Ariana's eyes widened. "I..."

Xavier grinned. "I was teasing, Ariana. It's fine. I'm usually buried behind piles of papers, but for some reason I decided to get a drink in the middle of the day. The case I'm handling is quite difficult."

"I really am sorry," Ariana offered. "I just remembered...I should have gone home hours ago."

"And yet you decided to grab a drink."

"Drinks, actually," Ariana corrected him. She didn't know why she felt that she should be honest with Xavier, but she found that she didn't mind telling him that there were times where she drank until she felt bees buzzing in her ears. "I'd really like to stay and chat, but I have to go."

"Do you really want to?" Xavier's tone was soft and no mischief registered on his face. "Well, if you're sure you want to be bored out of your mind by a stodgy lawyer like me, then here's my number."

Xavier extracted a business card from the inner pocket of his jacket. The card indicated his name, position, contact number, and home address. Ariana couldn't help but notice that he lived in one of the swankier apartments in the Upper East Side.

"I only give my contact details to people whom I expect to call me back," Xavier continued as Ariana slid the card inside the pocket of her coat. "If you don't call me by tonight, I might think you're getting drunk again. Then I'd have to exploit my resources and look for you."

Ariana laughed lightly. "I don't drink all the time. But yes, maybe I will give you a call."

"Being coy doesn't suit you, Miss Devonshire. But it's a start." Xavier winked at her and set his glass down on the counter. The ice had already melted, creating a rather watery bourbon. "Until next time."

"Bye." Ariana swallowed and practically hurried out the front door. That was the first time she ever had a conversation with a guy, let alone a drop-dead gorgeous lawyer from the Upper East Side.

As far as Ariana could remember, she was always the clumsy wallflower who never got asked on a date, who had never been kissed, and who had never experienced having a guy like Xavier Ruxton give her his number.

It was an experience that nearly brought Ariana to her knees, but thanks to her semi-drunken state, she found herself blurting out rather decent answers – in her head, at least – to Xavier's cleverly composed ones.

Ariana slipped her hand inside her coat pocket, oblivious to the indignant stares she was receiving from the people she passed by on her way to Balducci's.

So I really did meet Xavier and he did give me his number, she thought as her fingers felt the smooth, glossy surface of his business card. Should I call him? I did promise him that I would. Didn't I?

Ariana could just hear her roommate's voice in her head now: "Don't be such a ditz, Ariana! The guy gave you his phone number, didn't he? So call him! Otherwise I will!"

She bit back a laugh and pushed through the crowd. The chilly wind nipped at her face and arms and Ariana closed her eyes for a bit, enjoying the sensation. She opened her eyes just in time to see that a crowd had formed at the intersection; they were waiting for the traffic light to change.

Focus, Devonshire, Ariana told herself. Stop daydreaming and do what you set out to do.

The crowd guided Ariana from one block to the other; by the time she reached Balducci's Ariana had been rubbed against so many times that she found herself checking her bag and her pockets just in case a thief decided to slip his sneaky hands into one of her orifices without her knowing.

Her phone, wallet, and Xavier's business card were still there, which satisfied her.

Balducci's was blissfully warm and many shoppers gave satisfied sighs as they stepped inside. Ariana ordered several muffins and a frappuccino before hailing a taxi to the Bronx. At first the taxi driver eyed her dubiously, silently asking her if she really wanted to go to the Bronx.

After giving him the name of the apartment building, the driver sped off in true New York style. Ariana leaned back and closed her eyes, thanking the fashion designer who decided to create sunglasses that nearly covered a person's entire face.

These are definitely a godsend, Ariana thought, pulling the sunglasses from her face.

"Holy Jesus!" the taxi driver swore, and Ariana remembered with a jolt that she had put the sunglasses on for a reason. "You're Jamie Stark! But you're...you're supposed to be dead!"

"Pull over, please!" Ariana ordered, gripping the edge of the seat tight.

Careless, careless, careless, Ariana chanted in her head angrily. You just met some hotshot lawyer and you forget everything? What's wrong with you?

The taxi driver was too busy gawking at Ariana that he almost failed to see the tow truck backing up from one of the side streets. Ariana's scream brought him back to his senses and he stomped on the brake just in time. Ariana seized her chance: after tossing several bills on the passenger seat, she scrambled out of the taxi.

She slid her sunglasses over her eyes – nearly poking out one of her eyes in the process – and ran down the sidewalk. She faintly heard the shouts of the taxi driver, but she dared not look back. Ariana ran past several shops until she saw the familiar facade of the apartment building.

Several teenagers were dawdling on the front steps. One of them made a wiseass crack about Ariana's sunglasses, but she ignored it and pushed past them, flinging the door open and running up the stairs.

"Close the goddamn door!" Ms. Coombs, the landlady, screamed at the kids outside, thinking they were the ones who opened the front door.

Jamie hurried up the steps and nearly broke through the front door of the apartment she shared with Chuckie.

"Shit, what's wrong with you?" Chuckie exclaimed, coming into the foyer. She was still in her office attire: a pearl gray dress that hung above her knees and a pair of matching gray pumps. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I just-"

"You took off your sunglasses, didn't you?" Chuckie said condescendingly. "How many times must you be mobbed before you get it into your pretty little head that you look like some deceased rich chick?"

Ariana heaved several breaths before speaking. By that time Chuckie had taken the bag from Balducci's and bit into one of the muffins. Amazingly, the frappuccino was still intact. Chuckie was about to take a sip when Ariana took the cup from her roommate.

"You didn't get me one?" Chuckie asked, stung.

"You didn't say." Ariana took a sip before Chuckie could say anything; her roommate looked at it covetously before rolling her eyes and brewing herself a cup of coffee. "How was your day?"

"Ugh, terrible," Chuckie answered with dramatic flair. "Don't ask."

'Don't ask' in Chuckie-speak meant "Please, ask me so that I can give you a very dramatic answer," but Ariana felt another headache coming on.

"Fine. Just tell me when you're feeling okay," she mumbled, sipping her frappuccino and heading to her bedroom. Chuckie snorted, clearly disappointed that she didn't get to exercise her "acting skills," but Ariana was too tired to care.

After taking one last sip of her drink, Ariana set the cup on her bedside table, finally giving in to the fatigue and drunkenness that soon overwhelmed her body.

Xavier Ruxton was a man of his word.

Ariana, having failed to call the lawyer last night, was treated to a telephone call from the man himself.

"I hope I haven't disturbed your shutterbug practices," Xavier said after giving the usual telephone greeting. "But there was this certain woman whom I gave my number to who never called me back. I hope this is the right number."

"Xavier," Ariana sighed, her voice raspy. He had woken her up, but she didn't plan on giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he was the first voice she heard. After all, wasn't that what all men wanted? To know that they were the ones first on a girl's mind each day? "I'm sorry, it's just that I had this terrible hangover."

"I suspected as much. Why don't you come to the lovely coffee shop in the corner and I'll give you my personal remedy for alcoholic hangovers," Xavier offered. "If it doesn't work, you can sue me in court."

"Fine," Ariana replied. He certainly was persistent, something she found quite irresistible in a man. Ah well, that was her tough luck. "Give me an hour."

"Finally, an honest answer," Xavier said, chuckling. "I'll see you then."

Ariana terminated the call and exhaled loudly. Thank goodness Chuckie wasn't around (the lack of The Script's music was a sign that her roommate had gone out), otherwise she'd have to endure a series of questions.

Ariana thought about Xavier and the man called Loki while she bathed and slipped into a light green turtleneck, jeans, boots, and her signature sunglasses. Xavier seemed decent enough, while Loki...well, he was with her in a locket that she'd had practically forever.

Now it was possible that the woman in the photo wasn't her; after all, weren't people saying that she looked like Jamie Stark?

Maybe I stole the locket from Jamie and just forgot about it, Ariana reasoned, but even in her head it sounded stupid. The first time Ariana came to the country was a few years ago, and Jamie Stark was most likely dead by then. How could she steal something from a dead person?

Thinking about Loki gave Ariana another headache, so she popped an aspirin in her mouth before stepping out of the apartment. Her landlady was on the warpath again: someone had tracked snow in the foyer and left the front door open.

Ariana managed to skirt past Ms. Coombs unseen and was on her way to the coffee shop. Her boots crunched against the snow and she slid her hands further in the pockets of her coat. Xavier's card was still there; she held it against the cup of her palm until the coffee shop came into view.

Xavier was sitting on one of the tables close to the windows, making him easy to spot. He recognized her immediately; after all, how many women in New York wore sunglasses that covered most of their faces? Ariana walked into the coffee shop and sat down across him.

"And here I was, wondering how I would recognize you again," Xavier said with a smile. He had two cups of coffee infront of him, and now he pushed one towards her. "Your coffee."

"Thanks." Ariana took the cup and took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue slightly, but it felt good going down.

"So, here's the cure for hangovers, as promised."

The "cure" was a pack of powdered ginger, which he'd placed inside a paper bag for Marks and Spencer. Ariana looked at him dubiously.

"Trust me, that drink tastes so bad, it'll practically wipe away your hangover," Xavier reassured her. "I've tried it myself countless times."

Ariana decided to give him the benefit of a doubt and accepted it. "Thanks. I shouldn't show this to my roommate though; she doesn't know I drink."

"Neither did I, until I saw you," Xavier teased. Ariana smiled slightly and finished her coffee. She noticed that Xavier was studying her and she raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she said after some time.

"I was just wondering why you're wearing sunglasses," Xavier answered. His answer threw Ariana a bit. She expected lawyers to spew lies even when they were out of the courtroom, but Xavier sounded so...earnest. "Do you have a disfigured face? No offense."

Ariana shook her head. "I don't like people staring at me, that's all."

"Why? Do you resemble someone famous?"

"You could say that."

Xavier tilted his head but said nothing. Ariana looked away from him and observed the people walking past. All of them looked in a hurry, but there were a select few who took the time, no matter how brief, to enjoy the way the snow fell into soft mounds on the ground, or how the city looked so pristine with a white blanket covering it.

Ariana became so immersed in her own thoughts that she didn't see Xavier's hand reach for her sunglasses – until it was too late. The moment she felt the sunglasses slide away from her face, she shrieked and covered her head with her hands.

Xavier, for his part, looked geniunely startled. He'd had no idea that it would have that effect on her. He just wanted to see what she looked like. At first he sat there, shooting the waiters and the barista reassured glances and gestures. When he heard choked sobs, however, he cleared his throat.

"Ariana."

Silence. Ariana's shoulders were shaking, and Xavier didn't know if it was because of anger, embarrassment, or a mixture of both.

"Ariana, I'm sorry. I just wanted to see what you looked like. I know I should have asked, but..."

Ariana lowered her hands and looked at him. He could see tears streaking down her cheeks, see the pert nose, and see the sensuous mouth. But what held him in place were her icy blue eyes, which reminded him of icy waters.

It took a few moments for him to notice that she did resemble someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who it was. He wasn't the type to hanker after gossip magazines and newspapers.

"There. I look like the younger sister of Tony Stark," she whispered. "His dead younger sister. Now you see why I have to go out wearing that? Because everywhere I go I'm mobbed by people. I don't want the attention, but they keep giving it to me!"

"I'm sorry," Xavier apologized for the second time. He handed her her sunglasses, which she put back on. "It was ungentlemanly of me."

Ariana glanced at him. "So you're...you're not going to sell me out to another newspaper?"

"Why would I do that?"

Ariana shrugged, but Xavier seemed to understand. He'd seen many people who longed for publicity – good or bad – and this woman who was the doppelganger of Jamie Stark seemed to serve as their ticket to stardom, even one that lasted for a few measly seconds.

It was pathetic.

"Look, I can spend the entire day making it up to you," Xavier promised. "That is, if you're not busy."

"My photographs were rejected, so I guess I really don't have anything to do," Ariana replied. "But I really don't feel like going out."

"I'm a cad," Xavier proclaimed passionately. "A complete idiot. An utter madman. I shouldn't have done that to you. I feel bad enough as it is, and the only thing that will make me feel better is if you say you'll spend one day with me. One day. If you don't enjoy yourself, I'll walk out of your life and never bother you again."

Ariana felt a painful jolt as Xavier said those last words. She'd only known him for almost a day, and yet she already felt close to him. She sighed. She really didn't have anything to do for that day and it wouldn't hurt if she spent some time outside the apartment.

"Okay, Xavier Ruxton," Ariana said, her eyes meeting his. "As these Americans say: 'You're on.'"