She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and
The killer instinct tells her to be aware of evil men
- "Pretty Girl" Sugarcult
"Darcy and her special hidden clubs," Jane grumbled, taking her eyes off the road to check the GPS on her phone for the third time. "Can't go to a normal bar on a normal street." This couldn't be right, these coordinates. She squinted past her wipers through the drizzle into more darkness. They were sending her down a narrow alley with a dumpster in it. It was pitch black out and the backs of the tall, looming buildings on either side of her blocked out any streetlights. Jane glanced up to make sure her car was still crawling straight. Since she was alone she made no effort to mask her annoyance. "And what kind of name is Loki anyway?"
Jane eased down the poorly lit street, squinting at her phone again. She was beginning to regret agreeing to go out with Darcy and meet this mysterious Loki in the first place. Okay, if she was being honest, Loki wasn't the strangest moniker for a friend of Darcy's. After getting off her shift at the hospital she had hustled to get showered and changed. She'd settled for comfort in jeans and a plaid button down shirt and she was still running late. Her outfit wouldn't thrill Darcy, especially the brown puffy vest she wore over it. She claimed it made Jane look like she was with Doctors Without Borders, but it was the best she could do in the circumstances. She sighed, dismissing the latest "where r u?" text from Darcy. In her exasperation her foot hit the gas a little harder than necessary. When she looked back up at the road, a black form appeared in front of her car. Jane gasped and slammed on the brakes, phone flying out of her hand and disappearing under the seat. Oh god, did she hit something? She hit a dog. Or a homeless man who was just trying to find a place to sleep for the night. Maybe it wasn't a living thing. Maybe she'd just hit ... a trash can, she thought weakly.
Jane threw her car into park and rushed out, leaving the driver's door open. She had hit something. It was large and sprawled out on its back, eyes closed and unresponsive. She ran over to kneel at its side.
Oh my god she had hit a person. A man. Lit up by the headlights of her car, Jane looked him over as she checked for a pulse. He definitely wasn't homeless. Or if he was, he was the best dressed homeless man she'd ever seen. His jacket was thrown open to reveal an expensive sounding label. She felt the soft silk of his tie as it brushed against her arm. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, only a few years older than herself. He had stubble, but his hair was neatly trimmed.
The gravity of the whole situation came crashing down on her. She'd get put away for vehicular manslaughter. They'd never let her practice medicine again. "Do me a favor and don't be dead! Please!" she begged the lifeless form in front of her. As if hearing her plea, his eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on her. Even through the darkness she could see the laser blue of his eyes searching hers.
"I'm a doctor ... are you alright?" When he didn't respond, she raised up on her knees. "I'm going to call an ambulance," she turned to retrieve her phone from the car. A firm grip on her wrist yanked her back, startling her. She looked from where his fingers wrapped around her slender arm back to his face.
"No," he choked out. In trying to stop her he had sat up too fast. Now he leaned his head back against the pavement and arched in pain. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He fought to get up onto his elbows. "Don't, just ..." he struggled for air. "Just help me up." He got himself into a mostly upright position.
Jane took in his stature and her own. Easier said than done. Even on the ground he had a huge size advantage over her. She'd moved bigger at the hospital, but with considerable help. Bracing herself she crouched, placing her whole body under one of his arms. She felt his strength again as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder for balance. Together they got him standing. "I can take you to the hospital," she insisted.
He shook his head again, limping as they moved forward. He nodded to the building to their left, "Just get me in there."
Jane glanced at the structures on either side of them, then up and down the long street they were on. There were no doors from either of the buildings exiting into the alleyway. The entrance was around the front. "Where did you come from?" she wandered aloud. Judging by the anguish on his face, he was concentrating on not passing out and didn't hear her. As they stumbled past her vehicle, she braced him against it while she grabbed her medical bag out of the trunk and locked her car.
When they reached the main street, the people walking past them were either too drunk or too busy looking at their phones to take much notice of them. Jane looked up at the building he had directed her to, reading the red neon sign in the sky above them. Asgard Tower. The doorman looked right past them as he let them in. The gray haired security guard at the front desk stood at their entrance. But sat back down when the injured man waved him off. Jane was startled by their disinterest. She'd be getting no help from them, apparently. Jane and her new patient struggled over to the elevators and she leaned out to hit the up button. Jane twisted around to peek back at the two men in the lobby. They both had returned to their jobs as if they'd never seen them. The guard was reading a magazine with his feet on the desk.
In the bright lights of the lobby she was able to better assess the man's injuries. Blood trickled from his nose and his face was bruised. More blood oozed from a large gash across his forehead near his hairline. And from the way he favored his left side, he probably had a few fractured ribs. Jane mentally calculated all of his injuries and overall state, "How hard did I hit you?!"
He looked down, as if seeing her for the first time. Jane thought she saw a smile underneath the pained expression on his face, "You didn't," he replied.
"Wha…," the ding announcing the arrival of the elevator interrupted her question. The doors opened and they hobbled inside. It was a smooth and quick ride up to one of the highest floors. When the doors opened, based on the business facade of the lobby, she expected a traditional office with a reception desk and cubicles. Instead it was an apartment with a vaulted ceiling. White columns separated the living room from the kitchen on the right and the bedroom area on the left. French doors framed by gauzy white curtains were on the other side of the apartment and opened onto a balcony. She could see the city lights reflected up from the street below. What color there was in the room was deep burgundies and dark grays. The apartment wasn't so much welcoming as it was enveloping, like a drugged Grecian dreamscape.
He pointed them to their right, where there was an alcove that served as his office. A dark rug lay under the desk and built-in bookshelves decorated the walls. Books that existed more for ambiance than reading lined the shelves. Jane dropped her bag on a table by the entranceway while he limped over to his desk. He leaned against it with a sigh of relief, looking down to inspect his own injuries. Jane sorted through her bag, intermittently peering up at him. Blood covered his shirt. Her attention drifted back up to the gash on his forehead. It couldn't all be his; he wouldn't be able to stand if it was.
"Should I call the cops?" she ventured.
"No," he answered instantly, it sounded like a laugh. The jerking of his body made him grimace and hold his side. "No," he repeated softer when he took in her confusion. "The police will be of no use in this particular instance." His baritone reverberated in the quiet room. He wasn't any more forthcoming with details, and Jane had more pressing concerns.
"Your head is going to need stitches," she turned back to her bag and rifled through it. She systematically pulled out antiseptic, thread, scissors, and needles. She turned back to him, materials clutched in both hands, "I think I have …." her stomach dropped. She hadn't been mistaken about how strong his grip had been earlier.
His soaked jacket and tie were off and thrown over the desk. He had unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from the waistband of his pants and was now undoing the clasps at his wrists. He held his breath to brace himself while he gingerly peeled off his stained button down.
Jane held her own breath while she stared and let it out in a little whoosh. In her medical work she'd seen any number of naked strangers and considered herself numb to the nude form. Bare-chested in front of her, it turned out that underneath the collar the his shirt, he had trapezius muscles she hadn't seen so well defined outside of Grey's Anatomy. And if he needed his shirt cleaned later, he could wash it on his abs. Suture supplies still held dumbly in the air, she was suddenly very aware of the proximity of his bedroom. Her survey involuntarily slid over to the bed, a four poster monstrosity most likely custom built for his height … and were those red silk sheets? When surveillance returned to him she found that he had been watching her. He traced her sight line over to his bed, then back to her, leering leisurely. Jane straightened her spine, trying to resume her business-like manner even as she felt her face redden. A spark in his eye that wasn't there previously appeared and he smirked at her. Get it together, Foster. You are a professional.
"Um…,' she blinked hard, giving her head a little shake, and strode over to him, "how do your ribs feel?"
He spread his arms, offering up his broad chest to her, "You tell me, doc," suddenly flippant. Jane steeled herself and closed the rest of the gap between them, which only brought her to the level of his pectorals. She set her suturing supplies on the desk next to him, avoiding his eyes. She reached her hands tentatively out to him, hesitated when he dipped his head to follow her movements, then placed them on his bare chest. Just as she suspected, his skin was smooth but everything underneath was a solid mass of muscle. When she didn't begin her exam immediately, she swore she felt him flex under her fingertips, making her jump. She didn't know if he was purposefully being difficult or not. When she looked up at him sharply he quickly averted his gaze, she suspected hiding his amusement. Narrowing her eyes, she gave a push on his chest, wiping that pleased look right off his face as he reacted to the discomfort. She instantly felt bad about it and began her exam in earnest, probing gently and quickly losing herself in her practice, noting when he grimaced or sucked in a breath. She checked out his breathing and listened to his lungs while he calmly contemplated her. "Air is moving in and out normally. You fractured a rib but haven't punctured your lungs," she reported.
This part of her examination complete, she made the mistake of looking down to check him for injuries to his lower body. Her sightline followed the curve of his pecs that cut a defined line straight down his stomach, bisecting his abdomen, and to the lines of his hips that disappeared into his pants. Her eyes had betrayed her again, and when she dragged them back up his body, she found him grinning down at her, entertained by her struggle. Apparently her battle was evident all over her face.
If he was still feeling any soreness, he wasn't showing it. Instead he looked bemused, "Do I make you nervous?" he asked.
"No," she stepped back defensively, crossing her arms. She told herself it was from the draft coming through the open French doors. To counteract the chill, a robust fire was burning in the four-sided fireplace in the middle of the room.
Desperate to change the subject, she nodded to the balcony, "What's out there?" She tried to sound casual.
"A ladder to the helicopter pad," he replied, as if she were asking the color of the walls (cream with gold trim).
"Of course," she squeaked.
She looked him over with a non-medical eye, taking in the whole of him this time. He straightened his back and stared cockily back and her, not in the least bit shy. He was ... big. Everything about him was larger than life. Overwhelmingly. Judging from the marble floors of his apartment, he had money. And looks, obviously. And he knew it. Assessment complete. "You know, for a guy who couldn't even stand on his own twenty minutes ago, you're a little full of yourself," she announced. She surprised herself that something so blunt had come out of her mouth; she prided herself on her civility. But the situation, and this man, called for it.
He looked a little shocked as well, which made her suddenly very aware that she was alone in a stranger's home. With a man triple her size no less. If there was ever a time to be carrying the taser Darcy was always trying to thrust upon her, it was now. But then his eyes lit up and he chuckled warmly and Jane let out a relieved laugh.
"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the desk, so she could reach him. As she prepped her equipment, she observed him out of the corner of her eye. He looked down at his right hand and flexed his fingers. A couple of his knuckles were cracked open. She returned to him and dabbed lightly at the cut on his forehead. After she cleaned and disinfected the cut, she began her sutures. They fell into companionable silence, her completely focused on her work, him preoccupied by far away thoughts. She noticed him crinkling his brow and scowling about something, but she didn't dare ask what. If he didn't want the police involved, then she didn't want to be either. Eventually he seemed to reach some decision because he gave up on whatever was bothering him and reasserted his observation of her. She felt his eyes wandering her face, studying her.
Doing her best to ignore him, she usually didn't work with such an intent audience, she cut some gauze and taped it over the stitches. Resting her hand on the side of his face, she ran her thumb over the bandage to smooth it. She tilted her head, reviewing her work. Finally his eyes caught hers and once again she was distracted. Not sure what to do with his intense scrutiny, she returned his perusal. Her thumb stroked his temple absentmindedly. "It shouldn't scar," she told him, her voice sounded a bit breathy to her.
During the course of her work she had settled in close to him, her hips pressing against the desk between his thighs. One of his hands had slid around her waist and the fingers of his other were hooked into the belt loop of her jeans, imperceptibly tugging her closer to him. When her gaze fell to his mouth, her eyes slid shut in an effort to block out any and all temptation. That worked until she felt his breath on her cheek and her lips parted. "I should go," she exhaled abruptly, squeezing her lids tighter. She felt him give her hips a firm squeeze before dropping his hands. Her eyes fluttered open.
His lips parted as if to either say something or kiss hers. But he seemed to think better of it. "Yes," he smiled down at her somberly, "you probably should."
Jane didn't think she liked his condescending tone. She felt judged and offended … and a little sad.
"I thank you, Jane Foster," he interrupted her thoughts, his tone friendly.
She nodded distractedly, not looking at him while she gathered her things. "Wait. How do you know my name?" she asked alarmed. Instantly he was a stranger again. He pointed to her bag on the table behind her, a graduation gift. Her name was embroidered on it. "Oh, of course," she sighed. She couldn't seem to stop embarrassing herself around him. They were both right. She should leave, now. For both their sakes. "And you're welcome," she added hastily.
She swept the rest of her equipment into the satchel and slung it over your shoulder and fled to the elevator. Thankfully it opened for her immediately. When she got in and turned around, he was standing in the entryway watching her go, looking strong and inviting. Jane fought the nagging feeling that told her to return to him. They locked eyes and Jane opened her mouthto say … something, she didn't know what, but no words came. Whatever it was was lost forever when the elevator doors closed, separating them. Jane collapsed against the wall and exhaled, the intensity of the last hour rushing over her.
When the elevator doors opened on the bottom floor, the two men in the lobby stared silently at her as she left.
