Loki hadn't wanted to kill someone this much in a long time.

Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. He'd been homicidal enough to kill Laufey, and Odin had been holding his rank at the top of Loki's hate list for a couple months now.

Roy Mustang was a strong contender at the moment, though.

It was obvious how Roy Mustang had made it to the rank of General at only thirty-two years of age now that he'd met the man, and Loki was coming to understand he'd underestimated Mustang. Granted, Loki had expected to have to negotiate, but he'd been thinking he'd at least receive a few books from the library even if he couldn't enter it himself.

Of course, Mustang had latched onto Loki's desperation as much as Loki had tried to hide it.

Blank eyes stared back, cloudy in death.

At least he'd avoided having to explain what he'd actually lost to Truth, because there was no way Mustang would have believed it. Supposed memory loss meant any slipups on Loki's end would be a little easier to explain away, too.

"So," Mustang said, a gleam in his eyes, "care to explain what you know about those deaths?"

This was not going to be easy to rationalize. "I'm sure you've heard of the Philosopher's Stone," he started, but Mustang interrupted him.

"You're saying a stone is involved? They should have all been destroyed, unless someone is making new ones."

Loki blinked, processing this new information. In the texts he'd studied the stones had been mentioned more as a legend than as anything real, as a substance of philosophy and not of reality. Apparently this wasn't the case. He'd almost wondered if it was just another name for an Infinity Stone, but considering they could not be destroyed through any known means he figured that theory was out. "I suppose it's possible," he said slowly, "but I don't know enough about them to say for sure. I was unaware that they were more than legend."

Mustang looked like he regretted saying anything at all. Loki took advantage of the silence to continue. "Over in… Creta, where I'm from, we have a legend of our own, known as the Infinity Stones. It has a similar concept to your Philosopher's Stones in granting the user massive amounts of power if you know how to use them correctly. According to mythology, they were separated thousands of years ago and hidden. I fear one of them may have been found and taken into the city."

"So they aren't so legendary after all," Mustang said, and Loki let out a silent breath of relief. He'd expected a little more skepticism out of the general, but it made things so much easier if he was willing to keep an open mind. The revelation of Philosopher's Stones existing did shed his story in a new light. "You don't think they're just Philosopher's Stones under a different name?"

Loki shook his head. "No, they look and behave differently from your Philosopher's Stones. I saw this one, if you'll believe it, when I was passing through the Gateway; but I didn't realize what it was I'd seen until recently."

"So, what is it exactly? What can it do?" Loki took it back – Mustang didn't sound quite so believing after all. Well, he could only hope for so much.

"I'm not positive, but I believe this one is the one known as the Mind Stone," he said, feeling a spike of trepidation over actually voicing it. This was a big gamble; depending on Mustang's reaction, this could go very well or end in Loki's incarceration (or, in a worst case scenario, as a pile of charcoal). "The giveaway is the iris color change, if that is indeed connected. The rest could be performed by any of the Stones, but the Mind Stone has the capability to alter the mind of those around it and bend them to the wielder's will. Anyone whose mind has been touched by the Stone will have blue eyes, often in an unnaturally bright shade."

"So all those officers are brainwashed?"

"In essence, yes. But that is only if I'm correct in connecting the eyes to the murders. I'd assumed the eye change was only myth until now. It's not a common enough threat to establish a rapport of sorts."

"Your confidence is inspiring." Mustang's voice was dripping with doubt.

"I didn't say I was an expert," Loki snapped. "It was a subject of interest when I was younger, but so much of it was just conjecture. Most of those stones were lost ages ago."

"I thought you said you lost your memory."

"I said it was complicated."

"All right, all right. Keep going."

Loki folded his arms over his chest. "I think it is on high time you fulfilled some of your end of the bargain."

"In a few days, maybe."

"What?" He shot to his feet. "After all that, you're going to make me leave with nothing?"

Mustang rolled his eyes. "You're underestimating the amount of work I'll have to put into this," he said dryly. "I can't talk too much without risking confidential information, and it can't be a surprise to you that I don't exactly trust you. If it means anything, I'm pretty sure you believe most of what you told me, but I need a little more time before I could say the same. Come back in three days, same time, and if I think what you've been claiming has some merit, I'll see what I can do. Besides, I'm already meeting part of the deal by not arresting you."

Loki would take great pleasure in slaying this man, if the chance ever arose. "I do hope you'll refrain from letting me down," he said, levelling Mustang with a cool stare.

"Mhmm. See you in three days, Mr. Laufeyson."


Madame Christmas took one look at Loki that evening and relegated him to cleaning duty, away from any customers they might get. He was seething and didn't make much of an effort to hide it. It had been way more exhausting than he'd expected to try to negotiate with Mustang, enough so he wondered if it had even been worth it. He hadn't gotten nearly enough out of the whole encounter.

Loki had thought himself prepared. He'd been to and participated in negotiations a few times in Asgard and it had rarely been difficult, yet here he'd been left behind, and by a mere mortal no less. He never would have heard the end of it if Thor's companions had been here.

Somehow, though, the lesser status he'd appointed to mortals no longer seemed so accurate. Their lives were short, only a small fraction of the lifespan Asgardians looked forward to, yet their potential for growth was so much greater than he would have anticipated. There was little wasted time in their choices and their ability to adapt was impressive. He would have to take another look at Midgard once he escaped this world – he may have judged them a little too quickly.

Despite it all, Loki had no qualms in admitting to a grudging respect of the general. Asgard valued strength and power above all else. Their position above the Nine Realms had hardly come through negotiation and amity, as much as Odin claimed to love peace; he'd heard of the brutality of Asgardian forces in the whispers of other realms (and, of course, in the All-Father's hidden texts – did he really think Loki would not find them?). There was a layer of resentment even in the more cordial realms, dampened by millennium but still lingering under the surface. In that regard, Amestris did not seem so different; the nation had been built on war and bloodshed, history written by the victors.

However, everything he'd heard of the country's most recent head, Fuhrer Grumman, told of a drastic change in leadership style. He seemed a cunning man, yet his focus was on education, in innovation and in cultivating amity with its current neighbors rather than continuing tradition and stamping them into the ground under the guise of unavoidable warfare. And Mustang's values, according to the news publications, ran along similar lines. He was looking to make change without using his considerable power to force it.

And it seemed to be working, so Loki couldn't really scoff too much at their idealism. Maybe it was simply that their approach differed from his father's Odin's, but it seemed much more worthy of respect. It certainly did make things easier to have the masses on your side.

He had to get his hands on that Stone. He could accomplish nearly anything with it in his possession; he was the only one in this world who knew even a fraction of its full potential. Mustang and anyone else who would dare oppose him would pay, respect be damned. It was almost certainly in a container at the moment to help harness its power – it would undoubtedly tear apart whatever hapless human that was stupid enough to touch it barehanded – but that meant it was likely operating at limited potential. Loki was a god, not one so easily destroyed by a relic, powerful as it may be. If Mustang refused to tell him what Loki wanted to know he could use the Stone to demand the information.

Not to mention Truth had offered the return of Loki's magic in exchange for the Stone, if Loki was willing to give it up.

He had the benefit of knowledge, here. Mustang thought he was coming out ahead, and in the short term he was. Immensely frustrating as his current situation might be, Loki could play the long game, and he would come out on top, one way or another.

His pride was feeling rather sore at the moment, though.

"You missed a spot," Madame Christmas said from the doorway, breaking him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the floor he'd been mopping, noticed the bed was in the way of her line of sight and raised an eyebrow.

"There is no way you could tell from over there," he said, dropping the mop into the bucket of water. Some of it splashed out, soaking his shoes, and he resisted the urge to just kick the pail over and be done with it.

"You're sulkin' over something, Turncoat," she said. "And you make mistakes when you get all pissy. Don't go pretending it ain't true."

Loki sighed, glaring at her without any real heat. Apparently taking this as an invitation to continue, she shut the door and held out one of two bottles of beer to him.

"Take this, it'll loosen you up a little. God knows you could stand to lose some of that stick-up-your-ass attitude," she said. He scoffed but accepted the bottle, cracking it open and taking a deep draught. "So, spill."

"What do you care?" he asked bitterly, more rhetorical than anything, already knowing the answer – she didn't. No one did. Even back in Asgard, only his mother had ever truly seemed to love him, while the rest simply tolerated him due to his title or attempted to use him. It wasn't even just his tricks and schemes; he'd heard what they whispered when they thought he could not hear them. Ugly. Cheater. Womanly. An embarrassment to the royal family.

Thor had meant well, but he had been too blinded by his own arrogance to notice the cracks in their relationship. Loki missed Frigga terribly. Nearly all his fond memories involved her to some degree, and it burned to know she would never hear his side of the story, forever left with the belief that he'd become a traitor who'd attempted to kill both his 'father' and brother. More than anything else he wished he'd had the chance to apologize to her.

"I care that you're not workin' properly, bucko." The Madame took a sip of her own drink. "'Sides, you've grown on me the last couple'a months."

"You still believe I'm a spy."

"Yeah, right. I know what a spy looks like, boy, and you ain't one of 'em," she said with a chuckle. "You're easier to read than you think. Don't give me that look, you're transparent as a window when you think no one's watchin'."

Loki stared at his drink. He didn't really believe her earlier claim that she cared, but it was a nice sentiment. Was he really so attention-starved that he would cling to words he knew weren't true? "I saw a body yesterday," he said before he could stop himself. It must have been the alcohol.

Madame Christmas raised her eyebrows. "Someone you knew?"

"No, I – " he stopped, his mouth dry, and he took another drink. "It was a child. Just left out in the street like rubbish." That could have been him, once upon a time, an infant left to die in a frozen palace.

"And that's life," the woman said, and Loki snapped his gaze to hers. Her tone was callous, but her fingers were clenched tightly around her beer. "People die, sometimes it's kids, and it's damn sad. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No, I was not," he hissed, slamming his bottle down on a nightstand. Any vulnerability he'd started to show clammed back up, the icy rage he'd grown so used to rearing back up with a vengeance. He shouldn't have said anything; people always assumed he was to blame.

"Then stop mopin' around," she said, completely ignoring his burst of anger. He drew back slightly, rage dimming into confusion as she continued. "You and I, we're livin' in the underbelly of society. We have to see things we wish we could unsee, but there ain't much we can do about that. I'm guessin' you haven't been in this way of life long. Somethin' happened to you sometime recently, I'm near certain, but I'm not gonna ask. We've all got our stories on how we got here and most of them ain't pretty, but they're ours to share or keep to ourselves."

"But what if I told you I could have prevented it?" Loki pressed. Later he'd blame this boldness on the beer he'd consumed. "I'm nearly certain I know what killed him. If I had put it together sooner – "

She snorted loudly and he furrowed his brow, torn between taking offense or questioning her entirely inappropriate response. She smirked, sensing his befuddlement. "You've got a heart after all, Mr. I-Care-For-No-One. Glad to know I didn't mislead my nephew."

"Your… what?" He was feeling incredibly slow on the uptake here.

She waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about it. Seems to me like you'll get to know him pretty soon anyway."


Being "womanly" obviously isn't a bad thing, but from what I've seen of Asgardian culture (excluding some of the events in Thor: Ragnarok) it probably would have been a bit of an insult for an Asgardian man to be called such. Just a heads up on that word choice.