JUNE

1. Fifty Shades of Green

Every woman on the bus seemed to be reading one book.

Loki was on his way to an appointment when he noticed the odd coincidence. He was always interested in what other people were reading, and often chose books from the library (or from Amazon) based on others' recommendations.

Every single woman sitting around him, plus two that were standing, seemed to be engrossed in a thick book with a grayscale cover. He had to know what this book was.

"Excuse me," he said to the woman beside him. "Sorry to disturb you, but I just have to ask you: what is that book you're reading? It looks fascinating."

"What? Oh, um . . ." She looked up at him. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so. This is a popular book? Everyone seems to have it."

"Fifty Shades of Grey."

"Is that the title?"

"You've never heard of it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, I suppose it's more of a woman's book . . ."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's kind of—I don't know, steamy, I guess. There's some pretty explicit scenes, I've heard. I'm only on page 20 right now, so I haven't gotten to the sexy part yet."

"Is it good? I realize I'm asking you to base your opinion on twenty pages, but what do you think of it so far?"

"I love it. I can't put it down."

"I won't keep you from it any longer, then. Thank you for your time." His stop was coming up, anyway. He got up and made his way to the front of the bus, in preparation for disembarking. On the way, he counted the number of people who were reading the book. There were seven in the front half of the bus alone, and when he turned back for a moment to count the rear half, he saw five more.

Twelve women on one bus were reading the same book. It must be good, then. He'd have to stop by the bookstore on his way home.

He was so lost in his plans that he missed his stop and had to walk back from the next one. But he passed a small book shop that had the book displayed prominently in the window, so that was a small silver lining.

The moment he brought the book back to his rooms, he had to open it and find out what was so intriguing about this novel that twelve women on the bus were so obsessed with it. But he refused to let anyone see him with this book, so he read it in the privacy of his own rooms, with the door locked and the television blaring to detract attention, in case anyone walked by and heard him turning a page.

Okay. Time to begin. He opened the book to the first page and started reading.

Some time later, he became aware of someone hammering on his door. (Not literally, of course; Mjolnir would have completely destroyed the door.) It sounded as if it had gone on for some time. Reluctantly, he set the book aside, got up, and went to find out who wanted him so badly.

"About time!" Tony grumbled, as soon as the door opened a crack. "What are you so involved with, that you can't hear me calling you?"

"Nothing," Loki said hastily. "Nothing at all."

"Well, if there's any dinner left, you're welcome to it. Might have to heat it up, though."

"I know how to operate the microwave."

"Fine. You can get back to whatever it is that's so fascinating after you eat. I don't care if you do or not, myself, but your brother will kill me if he thinks I'm starving you."

"I am capable of finding food on my own," Loki said haughtily. He checked to make sure that his key card was in his pocket, and then hastily pulled the door shut before Stark could get a look inside the room.

He went and ate whatever food was there, not really noticing it, as fast as he could so he could get back to the book. He didn't even rinse his dish before jamming it into the dishwasher and hurrying back to his room.

He did turn the TV down a bit, though, so he would hear it if someone came to the door. Or if the fire alarm went off, which had only happened once so far, but could very easily happen again, given his brother's ineptitude with Midgardian technology.

And then the next time he looked up from the book, it was one o'clock in the morning. He wasn't the least bit tired, but he knew that if he didn't get to bed now, there was no way he'd be up at a decent hour in the morning. So he tucked the bookmark in between pages 198 and 199 (yes, he read that fast), changed into his nightclothes, and turned out the lights.

The moment he opened his eyes in the morning, he reached for the book. It was exactly as the woman on the bus had said: the book was impossible to put down.

It was incredibly bad, but impossible for him to put down.

How paradoxical.

Or maybe not. Part of the reason he kept reading was the hope that the book would get better, further along. So far, it hadn't, but the hope persisted, and probably would until the last terrible page.

And then there were two other books in the series. Did he have to read those, as well?

Was there any question? He had already ordered them from Amazon. He simply could not rest until the saga was complete, however long that took. Days . . . weeks . . . certainly not much more than that, at the speed that he read.

And the book was so terrible.

And he just could not stop reading.

But he didn't want anyone to know.

It was when he was about three-quarters of the way through the book that he had his epiphany. He sat up suddenly (he was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard) and declared, "Odin's beard, I can write better than this!"

So? a little voice inside his head asked him. Why don't you?

It was not something that had ever occurred to him before, but now that he thought about it, it seemed like a good idea. All he needed was a lot of spare time—which he had!—and a place to write his book—right here was good!—and a word processing program—which was built into the computer in the corner, how fortunate! He had no idea how to use it yet, but it couldn't be that difficult, could it?

After accidentally deleting his novel for the third time, he decided to seek out someone who knew how to work this infernal contraption.

"What do you want me to do?" Bruce asked.

"Just show me how to start the writing program. If I can get into that, I can take it from there." Loki sat before the computer, staring at the start-up screen, waiting for instructions.

"Okay. The first thing you want to do is to click the Word icon. See the blue and white W up in the corner there?"

"I see it."

"Double click on that, and that should open the program."

"Left button or right?"

"Left. Unless I tell you to right-click, assume it's the left button."

"All right. Or left, as the case may be."

Bruce pulled back a bit and gave the God of Mischief an odd look. "Was that a joke?"

"Why? Was it not funny?"

"No, it's just . . . weird, coming from you. No offense or anything. Okay, so now you're on a blank page. So just start typing. When you're done, just click the Save icon up on the top bar." He indicated a blue square up in the left-hand corner. "But not until you're ready. And make sure you don't close the program before you save everything. I think that's what you did wrong before."

"You may be right."

"If you need help, just click the Help link up here." He indicated something in the upper-right corner. "And I'll be around if you need anything. Just call me."

"Thank you, Doctor. Hopefully all will go well—"

"So here you are, brother!" a familiar voice boomed. Loki buried his face in his hands and groaned. Just what he needed right now.

"Yes," he said, his voice muffled slightly. "What is it?"

"I missed you! You have not been present for our weekly games of the video! In fact, I have not seen you in days! Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you, Thor. I have just been . . . busy."

"Doing what?"

"If you must know, I am trying to write a novel."

"Oh. Why?"

"Why? Because . . ." Actually, he couldn't think of a good reason why. "Because I want to."

"Can you not write this novel with me? I can help you! Oh, what does this button do?" He started to click something, but Loki slapped his hand away.

"No! Don't touch that! I'll let you see it when I'm finished, but while I'm writing, I would like some privacy, please."

"Does this mean no games of the video?" Thor looked at him with an expression of utter despair. It was enough to make Loki weaken just slightly.

"All right. I will come out to play video games once a week. But the rest of the time, I need to write."

"Do you not need to eat as well?"

"I suppose. Fine, then, I will come out for meals and games, but the rest of the time, I need to have some privacy so that I can write. And I promise you, the moment I am finished, I will let you read it. But not before! Now please leave me in peace!"

Thor's expression now resembled a puppy that had been scolded for leaving a mess on the carpet. Bruce felt he should say something.

"I'll play with you, big guy, okay? I've got a few hours I can spare. I'll even buy you some pizza."

"With all the toppings?"

"With anything you want. Okay? Let's leave Truman Capote here in peace to create his bestseller."

"Was that a joke, Doctor?" Loki raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Why, was it not funny?" He was smiling as he put an arm around Thor (well, partway around Thor) and they left the room together.

Finally, some peace and solitude. Loki stared at the blank document in front of him and wondered where to begin. At the beginning seemed the most logical place, but where did his story begin?

What kind of story did he want to write?

Begin at the beginning. All right.

I always knew I was different from the other children I grew up with, but I never knew why. Not until I met her.

Her name was

And now he was stuck for a name for his fictional love interest. Well, there were lots of name generators on the Internet. All he had to do was find one.

A few clicks later, he decided to call her Nina. It just felt right.

Nina, and she first came to my attention when I visited my brother in his new apartment. He was in 12A; she lived in 13C, one floor above. She was bringing her trash down just as I was bringing up the last of the large boxes.

"Moving in?" she said.

"Helping my brother," I told her. I regarded her as she stood there, blocking the stairwell. Her dark hair

No, that wouldn't do for a romantic novel. They always referred to the female's hair as "raven locks" or "chocolate tresses," though Loki wasn't sure why being compared to a bird or a food item was a compliment. On second thought, best to keep it simple.

Her dark hair was pulled back from her face and secured in a green elastic band. She wore only a sweatshirt with the name of a major university on it, and jeans which were just tight enough to hug all of her curves in just the right way, but on her, the weekend clothes looked sexier than a bikini. Even her old scuffed sneakers were attractive, because they were part of her.

No, no, no! That was awful! He deleted the last two sentences and started again.

I could tell from her attire, a university sweatshirt, jeans, and old sneakers, that she was settled in for an afternoon of household chores. For some reason, I wanted to stick around and help her out, but my help was already promised to my brother. "Do you mind?" I said, shifting the box from one side of my body to the other.

"What? Oh." She flattened herself against the wall so that I could get by. "Sorry about that. These stairs are narrow, aren't they?"

"It's an old building. They tend to have narrow stairways." I would have said anything to keep her there, to drink in the sight of her like

Why was he doing this? Lapsing into this flowery language all of a sudden? It was that damned book, wasn't it? The clumsy and overly complicated language had influenced him without him even realizing it, and it would only get worse. It was a scary thought: in trying to improve upon the writing style of the original, he had ended up imitating it.

Well, he was almost done with the book now. He would put it away-or better yet, read a good book-before continuing with this novel.

But before he could stop himself, he picked it up, opened it to the last place he had left off, and didn't close it again until he had finished the last page. It was nearly two in the morning, and he thought he might have missed dinner, but he wasn't particularly hungry, so he just went to bed, hoping that in the morning, he would be inspired to write more.


2. Somewhere Only We Know

I can not believe I'm doing this.

Loki sat on the floor, on a mat woven from some kind of vegetable fiber, and it was not as comfortable as it looked. He stretched his legs out in front of him and waited for Banner to arrive. The man was supposed to be teaching him that technique for talking to his "other self".

As if I care about anything he would have to say! All he knows how to do is destroy things.

Presently the doctor arrived, carrying several things under his arms. One was a mat of his own. He also had a small music player, a selection of pastel-colored candles, and a lighter. He arranged the candles in a circle around them, lit them in turn, and then turned on the music player. The sound that filled the room was rhythmical and without words.

"What is all this?" Loki asked.

"Well, this is just for the mood," Banner explained. "You don't really need the candles and the music, but I find that it helps. It's all about what works for you. If you find, in your own practice, that you can do without it, that's fine. Now just find a comfortable sitting position."

"Could we possibly trade mats? Yours looks more comfortable than mine. These twigs are digging into my back."

"Oh, sure." He got up, and they switched places. "Better?"

"Much."

"Okay, we'll begin when you're ready."

"What do I have to do?"

"Just sit. Listen to the music. Turn your thoughts inward. Reach deep down, into the innermost part of yourself . . ."

"This really is silly."

"I'm sorry, I thought it would help."

"All right, I'll try." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, smelling the sweet scent of the candles. In a few moments, he became completely relaxed.

"Okay," Bruce said softly, trying not to distract him, "when you're ready, you can begin building your Quiet Place. It can be inside, or outside, any place you feel secure and can't be disturbed."

"How do I . . . build it?"

"Just imagine it in your mind. Try to see it in every detail."

Loki thought of his favorite spot on the palace grounds, in the courtyard under a tree that was set back a distance from the main path. He tried to feel the grass beneath him, smell the fragrance of flowers on the wind, hear the distant voices of people going about their daily business. "All right. What next?"

"There's another seat in this place. Imagine a seat that will hold him. Make a place for him, before you let him in."

That was easy enough. He imagined a light blue cushion on the grass, directly across from him. The vision was so clear that he started worrying that Mum would be mad at him for taking one of her best cushions outside on the ground. Then he remembered that this wasn't real, and the vision wavered a bit around the edges.

"What do I do now?"

"Once you've made a safe and secure place for him . . . go ahead and invite him in."

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Just keep reminding yourself that you're in a safe place. The door is closed; no one will come in and bother you."

"We're outside, actually."

"All right, then there's a bubble around you. A big bubble of one-way glass. You can see out, but no one else can see you. No one else can intrude. It's just the two of you. No one can hear what you say to each other. Whenever you're ready."

"I'm not sure I'll ever be ready."

"If it gets too intense for you, you can just pop the bubble and come back here. Don't be afraid. You're in control, not him. He does what you want."

"I don't want him to do anything but go away."

"That's not going to happen. You can start by asking him what he wants. Hopefully he'll tell you, and you can work from there."

"All right, I'll try." He concentrated, and then imagined his blue twin sitting on the cushion opposite him. It was difficult at first, but he began to see the Jotun more clearly.

He was wearing a long white tunic and tan leggings. His feet were bare. His legs were crossed in front of him, his arms behind him supporting him. And the expression on his face was . . . not as terrible as Loki had expected. He appeared merely annoyed, not murderous.

"He's here."

"So talk to him."

"How?"

"You can start by giving him a name. It's easier to deal with the other if we can call him by name."

Loki nodded, studying the face of his darker half. "Lone," he said, the name coming to him in an instant. "You are Lone."

"I am Lone." The voice was like his, but with a flat inflection and no warmth at all. "What do you want from me?"

"I just want to talk."

"So talk."

"I want us to . . . get along. We have to share a body, and it will be so much easier if we're not fighting each other. What . . . what would you like me to do, to make life easier for you?"

At first he thought Lone wouldn't answer; he just stared at him in silence. Then the Jotun said, "Stop watching the cartoons."

"I like cartoons."

"You are a warrior, not a twelve-year-old girl!"

"What would you have me watch, then?"

He seemed to be thinking about it. "I like the one with the two men and the monsters."

"All right. More Supernatural, less My Little Pony. Thor will be disappointed."

"Is he not a warrior as well?"

"Yes, but he likes the ponies. And he likes for me to watch it with him."

Lone nodded. "All right. You can have your together time. But you have not been practicing enough."

"What do you mean? I come to all the team practices whether I want to or not!"

"Your magic. How often have you practiced that?"

"Well, I . . . I don't really have time . . ."

"Spend less time with the magic box and more time doing what you do best."

"I . . . all right." He could condense his explorations on the Internet into one or two hours, and free up some time for spell practice. "What else?"

"You waste a lot of time doing unimportant things."

"Like what?" Loki asked, trying not to sound defensive.

"Watching these . . . entertainments. Have you forgotten how to read?"

"I read! I read all the time!"

"Read more, watch less."

Loki nodded. "Done." He still hadn't finished 100 Classic Science Fiction Short Stories, anyway. "If I do all of these things for you . . . what will you do for me?"

"I have to do something for you?"

"It's supposed to be mutually beneficial. Otherwise, I have no incentive to do what you want me to."

Lone raised an eyebrow. "What can I possibly do for your benefit?"

"Well . . . you could . . . I don't know, actually, but I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Yes, I'm sure you will." Was he sneering at his other half? "May I go now?"

"Of course. We will talk again, soon."

"Don't rush back on my account." He got up and began walking away. Loki counted backwards from ten, and then opened his eyes.

Banner was smiling at him. "How was it?"

"I hate him."

"What?"

"He's arrogant, ambitious, and cruel. And yet . . . he has as much right to live as I do. It may take a while, but we will find a way to work together."

"At least he's intelligent. You can talk to him without sounding like a kindergarten teacher."

"What is kin-der-gar-ten?"

"The earliest level of our education, for four-year-olds. Well, I was four. I think a lot of the other kids were five, but they placed me early. Anyway, you should practice this, with or without him, a few times a week. Just find a quiet moment when you don't have anything else to do, and drop down inside to your Quiet Place."

"I'd rather not deal with him any more than I have to."

"I know. I felt the same way, when I started. But ignoring the problem won't make it go away. Sometimes you have to face your fears head-on, and when you do that, you'll find that maybe they're not so big and scary after all."

"How did you gain his trust? Your Other Half, I mean."

"I figured out that all he wanted to do was protect me." Banner was putting out the candles using a long brass rod with an inverted cone on the end. "The first thing I did was thank him for keeping me safe all these years. I think he was so shocked that he didn't know what else to do. Then I asked him what I could do for him."

"Yes, he had some ideas on that. Less television and more reading, he said."

"Everyone can do with a little less TV time." He pressed the STOP button on the music player, and unplugged it. "That's not so bad."

"It was the way he said it. Like he thought I was wasting my time, being stupid and useless. And that means that deep down, I think I'm stupid and useless."

"Everyone does battle with the self-loathing beast now and then. Some of us more than others."

Loki recognized the reference. "I remember that program!"

"Then you remember how they beat the self-loathing beast."

"Yes. With . . ." He almost didn't want to speak the word. "With love."

"Every time he gets to you, every time you start feeling useless and a waste of life, remember how many people love you. Your brother. Your parents. Your children. All of us here. Darcy," he added with a grin.

"Of course. You're right. How did you get to be so wise?"

"Been a lot of places, seen a lot of things. Do you mind? I want to roll up the mats and put them away."

"Oh, sure." He stood up, and Banner bent down and rolled up the mat and tucked it under his arm.

"By the way, how's that novel coming?"

"Novel?"

"The one you were writing on the computer?"

"Oh, that. It's not, at the moment. I'm afraid I gave up on it."

"Well, you can always go back to it. Or start another one. Can you get the CD player?"

"The what?"

He gestured toward the music player, and Loki picked it up, winding the cord around his arm so he wouldn't trip on it. "Where does this go?"

"I'll take it once I put the mats back." He dropped both mats into individual slots in a grid along the wall. There were two or three other mats, and one of them was Loki's favorite shade of green.

"I want that one next time."

"I don't know whose that is. I'm not sure who else uses this room, but it was here before I got here, so someone must. We can ask around and find out if they don't mind you borrowing it."

"Why not just use it when they're not here?"

"What if it's Natasha? And she finds out?"

Loki had to admit, he had a point. Everyone in the tower, though most of them wouldn't admit it, was a little bit afraid of the Russian assassin, who often boasted that she could kill a man in five seconds with nothing but a bent paper clip and a rolled-up sticky note.

"All right, then, we'll ask." And just to prove that he wasn't anything like the proud, arrogant Lone, he made a point of saying thank you to Banner for taking the time to show him this meditation.

"You're welcome." Banner turned off the light and then closed the door to the small room. "Now, both of you: play nice."


3. The Smash Room

"Come on," Tony said. "You're gonna love this."

Bruce wasn't so sure, but he followed the other man down the maze of corridors, to a door he had passed many times but never thought to ask what was inside.

There was a shiny new nameplate on the door. "The Smash Room? What's that?" Bruce asked. Then he saw the smaller plaque underneath it: PROPERTY OF DR. BRUCE BANNER. "What is this, another lab?"

"Not exactly. Come on inside." He slid a special, green-edged card through the slot, and the door slid open smoothly. "This is yours, by the way. Keep it somewhere that won't get ripped to shreds when you change."

"I haven't had an incident in a while."

"Well, that's why we're here. I had this whole floor converted for you. Note all the open space. The high ceilings. The eight-inch titanium walls." He knocked on one, producing a booming sound.

"What is this, a time-out room for . . . for him?"

"Not exactly. More like a playground. Come over this way, and you'll see why I call it the Smash Room."

He led Bruce to a part of the space where old, broken tech was piled almost to the ceiling. "This is all junk," he explained. "Stuff that doesn't work. Stuff that never worked in the first place. Stuff that's out of date, or obsolete. The upshot is, it's all stuff that he can smash the hell out of, and have a good time."

"So it's like a training area?" Bruce looked around at the piles of electronics, some of which had wires dangling or pieces missing.

"You can call it that, if you want. The point is, you can bring him down here once or twice a week, let him loose, and hopefully it should reduce the chances of an accidental . . . um, incident."

"You've reinforced the floor, too, I hope," Bruce said, tapping with his foot.

"That's why we're on the ground floor. I know he likes to jump around. Don't want to bring the whole building down. Yep, titanium layered on top of concrete. He's not breaking through that without a fight."

"You did all this . . . for me?"

Tony slung an arm around his shoulders. "Of course I did this for you! I know how worried you are about him breaking through at the worst possible time, so . . . this should keep him happy. He gets to break stuff, doesn't bother you so much, and that keeps you happy, too. Win-win situation, all the way."

"Okay. I'll try it later. I want to bring some extra clothes down."

"Right. Oh, let me show you this." He grabbed Bruce by the hand and practically dragged him over to a corner with traffic cones and tackling dummies set up. "This is the sparring corner. I figured maybe Nate or Thor or somebody could go a few rounds with him, just to get in some practice. Kind of like training, I guess. Since you won't let him work with the team, this is as good as it's gonna get."

"Wow. I don't know what to say." Bruce looked around and took note of his surroundings. "This is great. It must have cost you a bundle to set all this up."

Tony just shrugged. "SHIELD paid for it, actually. When I explained that he needed a training facility, they brought some guys in to do all this. Now, is there anything else you think it needs? Anything at all?"

Bruce thought about it. "Lockers," he said. "To put my clothes in, so I won't rip them when I change."

"That's a good idea. I'll get right on that."

"And a creative corner. A place where he can cool down and do some painting. He likes to paint."

"He paints?"

"Finger-paints, mostly. So, some really big paper, and big pots of paint. Purple is his favorite. And maybe some modeling clay; he can squish it around and pound on that. I used to love to squish Play-Doh."

"Right. So, an Arts and Crafts corner."

"He's not a mindless beast, Tony. He just never gets a chance to do anything but smash stuff. We need to nurture his softer side, to bring balance. Otherwise, he'll stay angry."

"Fine. I guess you know him better than I do. All right, I'll make some calls. You want to bring him out, to try this place out?"

Bruce looked around. "Not now. Maybe this weekend, when Nathan gets out of school. You sure it's okay for him to stay here?"

"It's more than okay. He's family."

"He wanted to stay at the school all summer—some of the kids do—but I thought he'd be better off here. Half his stuff is already here anyway."

"Maybe we could put something in here for him. An obstacle course, or something."

"I'll let him decide. Once he gets a look at the place, he can say if he needs anything. He might like it just the way it is."

"Okay, then. Hopefully I'll have those improvements done for you by the end of the week, and then you can come down and let him loose."

"But not too loose, though."

"Loose enough to have fun. Cause he's part of the team, too, and I take care of my team."

"You sure do." Bruce took one last look around, tucked the entry card into his pocket, and headed for the elevator.