Darcy liked living with Loki. She really, really liked it. First of all, his place was colossal and beautiful and her bed was like sleeping on a cloud made of cotton candy and happiness. And his TV was huge and had more channels than she realized was even possible.

And Loki himself was even more awesome than she had imagined. He was funny. Like, genuinely funny – droll and clever and even more sarcastic than her. And he was charming, especially when he wasn't trying to be. And just so nice to her. No one had ever treated her this well – asking about her day and truly listening and caring about her answer. He even took the time to figure out her likes and dislikes so that he could always order for her without having to ask what she wanted (which she figured should bother her – she could order for herself dammit – but she secretly, and somewhat embarrassingly, liked the novelty of being pampered). She only hoped that he found her as awesome as she found him. She figured he had to at least like her a little bit, since he opened his home to her so easily. Part of her feared that he would have done the exact same thing for any woman – he was so chivalrous and polite. What if she was like a pet to him? He did seem to like taking care of her. God, it would be devastating if she was the bipedal equivalent of a cat.

Originally, she had anticipated staying one night at his place and then going back to her crappy apartment. She didn't plan on Loki's stubborn gentleman act. He accompanied her back to her building and offered to wait for the locksmith with her. He even helped her sort through her things and note what was missing (her laptop, her grandmother's earrings, her TV…her wonderful, reality-show producing TV).

Then, out of the blue, he turned to her and told her that she wasn't staying there anymore. He explained that she was a young woman – alone - in an obviously unsafe apartment, in a very unsafe neighborhood, and he simply wasn't going to allow a friend of his to put herself in such danger unnecessarily. Stunned and confused (so they were friends?), Darcy had just stared at him. He had taken her silence as acquiescence and started to gather her things together. When she had finally unfrozen, and told him with no little embarrassment that this was the best she could afford on her salary and with her student loans, he just told her matter-of-factly that she would be staying with him. She had thrown up a token fuss – she didn't like being treated like a child or a perk-free kept woman – but she honestly wanted to go back to his gorgeous pad. And she was so freaking lonely. It might be nice to come home to someone for once.

So she packed up everything and told her landlord that she was leaving. The jerk had tried to kick up a fuss about breaking her lease, but Loki had calmly informed him the rent would continue to be paid until another tenant could move in. Neither she nor her landlord knew how to respond to that, so Darcy just kept quiet and the next thing she knew, she was living with Loki.

She assumed it would be weird and awkward, but it was just kinda nice. And awesome. She'd get home from her shitty job and Loki would be there with dinner ready and a smile on his face. Or, if he had to work late, there would be a message on her voicemail and she was the one waiting for him with the food and the smile. After being a solitary creature for the past few years, it was addictive.

It didn't hurt that Loki was sorta ridiculously hot, too. She wasn't sure if it was because she was spending so much time with him, but lately every time she looked at him she found him more and more attractive. It was weird, but not unwelcome. She had a feeling (alright, more like a hope) that the visual appreciation was mutual. She knew he found her at least fairly pretty, since he always complimented her when she dressed moderately well. And maybe she caught him checking out her ass in the one slightly-too-tight pencil skirt she wore to work. And so maybe she wore it more often. And dropped things in front of him. And bent at the waist when she picked it up. Maybe.

Whatever. It wasn't like there was some great well of sexual tension between them – just an objective admiration for an attractive person of the opposite sex. She liked where they were right now – friends, roommates, confidantes – and she wouldn't screw that up for the world. Even if she thought he had really nice hands. And pretty eyes. And his voice was like butterscotch that made her want to lick his lips to see if his words taste as sweet as they sound. That was all beside the point. If he were an action figure, he'd be 'Friend-Zone Loki', complete with gorgeous ex-girlfriend and his own separate bedroom.

She wouldn't push and he never pulled and so that was that. It was nice (maybe just a touch frustrating) and always comfortable. There were also unforeseen perks, like the fact that he was able to greatly improve her work environment by stopping in at her office one day, presumably to bring her the cellphone she'd forgotten (he'd hidden it), and introducing himself to her sleazy boss as the guy she was living with and who had heard so much about him. His commanding aura coupled with the dangerous smile on his face ensured that Douchey McPerve never called her Sugar Lips again.

Just thinking about how her boss had stuttered after Loki left made Darcy smile despite her present endeavor. She was making a valiant effort (and failing spectacularly) at making dinner. They had been consuming massive quantities of take-out lately, and while she was pretty sure she could live off the deliciousness of Chinese food for the rest of her life, she had wanted to surprise Loki with a home-cooked meal. Now, it looked like she'd be surprising him with a house full of an odd burning smell. Great. She was a college graduate and master of the art of microwaving things, but the oven was proving too much of a challenge.

During one of their many random conversations, Loki had mentioned that he loved coq au vin. After she giggle-snorted at the fact that Loki loved "coq," he told her it was some sort of French chicken thing. She told herself she'd make it for him as a thank you for being so amazing. How hard could chicken be?

Really fucking hard, apparently.

First, she read that it's supposed to marinate for two days. Two days! Well, that wasn't going to happen. She wanted it to be a surprise and she couldn't really hide a big thing of chicken in his own refrigerator. So, she skipped that part. And it was all downhill from there. Marinating and boiling and garnishing and frying. They didn't own a sieve and she learned the hard way that you shouldn't use paper towels (or coffee filters or a pasta strainer) as a make-shift sieve while wearing clothes that you ever planned on wearing again. Now something was burning and she had no idea what it was. Loki was due home in less than 10 minutes and she was standing in a kitchen that looked like someone had been massacred in it, she was covered in flour and red wine, and the disgusting smell was driving her crazy. She knew that if Loki walked in right now he would just try to make her feel better (and then excuse himself so he could laugh his ass off). Patronizing, amused Loki was not an experience she wanted to live through right now.

Decision made, she threw a packet of popcorn into the microwave and set it for 6 minutes. Then she frantically ran around the kitchen trying to clean everything up. If she could just get the evidence of her culinary debacle into the dishwasher, she could play off the bad smell as burnt popcorn and he would never have to know that she was a failure at life.

Finally, the kitchen looked clean (save for the half empty bottle of wine she kept out and was occasionally guzzling from like a bourgeoisie pig) and the microwave had gone off - the smell of burnt popcorn masking the burnt chicken. She was just closing the dishwasher when she heard the front door open. Pride at a plan well-executed filled her before she looked down and realized that her shirt was all the evidence he'd need to know what had actually happened. Her jeans were alright, but her green sweater was covered in flour and some sort of greasy-winey raw chicken morsels (don't ask how that happened).

Shit!

"Darcy? What's that smell?" Loki's voice drifted into the kitchen. She had about 7 seconds before it would all be over.

Idea. Stupid idea. Crazy idea. She whipped her sweater over her head and threw it in the sink, turning on the tap.

"Darcy, why does it sm-," Loki's voice broke off. She tried to act blasé as she looked over her shoulder at him. He was frozen in the doorway, looking at her with an odd expression on his face. She bet she looked ridiculous.

With a feigned nonchalance, she gave Loki a small smile, "Hey, sorry. I burnt the popcorn. And spilled red wine all over my sweater. I'm just washing it out before it sets." She nodded her head toward the half-empty wine bottle on the table just to cement the truth in her story. He wasn't saying anything. "How do you feel about pizza tonight? Or maybe that place with the yummy chicken cheesesteaks?"

Still no response.

"Loki?"

He blinked, seeming to come back to reality. "Oh! Popcorn. And wine. Right. Yes, you'd better let that soak. I'll take it to the dry cleaner if it doesn't come out. And pizza sounds lovely. I'll go put in the order. Half pepperoni and mushrooms?"

"Yup."

He gave her a little smile and left the kitchen. She couldn't believe that actually worked. Part of Darcy was relieved that he seemed to just roll with the weird things she did. But another (bigger) part of her wanted to cry. She was standing there in her bra (her pretty, lacy, perky-boob making bra) and he just smiled and nodded and ordered fucking pizza.

'Friend-Zone Loki,' she reminded herself. Which was fine with her. Really.

It wasn't until later, after she'd walked upstairs shirtless with all the dignity of a queen (not that he'd been anywhere in sight), and put on clean clothes, and eaten pizza (the way she liked it, just like he remembered), and watched the last half of Inception (so many pretty, pretty men) that she finally looked in a mirror.

Her hair was covered in flour.