So, thanks for the faves/follows. I don't foresee being able to update a lot this semester. A lot of this has been filler to get where I need the story to go and I'm sorry about that. I'd still appreciate a review. Seriously, just one.
We finally get a confrontation. This one's long and it was sitting on my computer for months before I got the urge to make it through the rough patches. Hopefully I didn't miss too many details, but that's what editing is for.
Enjoy.
A groan worked its way up Reagan's throat as she struggled to wake up, her mind telling her to get up and her body refusing to listen. She opened a bleary eye and checked her phone.
"Damn," she hissed, finding enough motivation to at least dart out of bed. "Damn it all."
Her muscles ached, protesting as she ripped through her closet, pulling out slacks, blouses, blazers, dresses. Her feet ached, every step like walking on glass shards, as if she had walked in heels back from Carlisle's…
Reagan cast a glance at the shoes by the bed and rolled her eyes at her stupidity. Flat boots with insoles for today, then.
Boots, hosiery, a dress with a sweater, some long necklaces…if she made herself presentable, it was at least a viable excuse for being late. Maybe.
She checked her phone again to find she had sent a message to her boss last night. She didn't remember doing so, but…she had been tired last night, she rationalized. Another text message from within the last hour followed her reply asking where she was.
"Coming," she typed, "I woke up late. I'll be at the office within a half hour."
In and out of the shower, hair unwashed, and finally dressed, she ran downstairs to grab something to eat. Reagan dug through the cabinets and found a few energy bars, one of which went into her bag with her water bottle. She nabbed a banana from the counter and peeled it as she headed to the door, passing her housemate on the couch.
"Reag, you're still here?" Casey called from the living room. "Shit, I thought you left…"
"My alarm didn't go off or something." She hastily replied, swallowing the fruit. "Luckily Carlisle's forgiving sometimes; there's no appointments today."
Either it was her, or Casey was…quiet. Awkwardly quiet.
"Well, I'm going to go…"
"You came in late last night. Cute guy brought you to the door; actually he carried you inside because you were passed out. Who is he? What happened?"
No eye contact, cutting tone. She hated when Casey did this, like a scorned mother who discovered a secret. Reagan took a deep breath and refrained from rolling her eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I don't have time for this. Can it wait, please? I don't…last night's blurry, I think I had some crack-ass dream last night to boot. Not now."
"Fine, but you have some explaining to do."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
She slammed the door on her way out.
Not just anyone knows where I live…if that thing was real, then I did pass out. But who the hell brought me home…and how did he know…
She kept thinking herself in circles as she went through listings for auction houses and gallery openings that week. Thursday would be terrible; she'd have to accompany Carlisle and a few co-workers to the new shows that evening and look at terribly uninteresting pieces. The subway rides were always full of slightly drunken dissection of the worst pieces.
"Reagan…Reagan, did you hear me? Can you meet with Paul to go over budgets and find out what we can spend in purchases this week? There's a few good Impressionists going to auction and Arthur says we have clients on a waiting list for Impressionism pieces…" Lana, an assistant dealer, stood over her desk—she hadn't noticed her walk through the glass doors—a curious and expectant look on her face.
Black hair cut in a bob, smartly dressed, and glasses perched on her nose, she was always awaiting the one artist to make her enough to break away from the firm and start her own. Ambitious but respectful and kind, going so far as to teach her the social ways of their realm.
"Sorry, yes, I'll call him in a moment." She passed off a smile and Lana returned the gesture, retreating from her cubicle sitting before Carlisle's office.
She scribbled a note to call Development in a few minutes and stuck it on her phone, reminding her of the task on bright purple paper. Reagan finished her boss's schedule for the next two weeks and tried to figure out last night one more time.
The streets were empty. She had walked home. Her mind threw the images of the giant wolf into the forefront, feet hitting the pavement at a speed she hadn't used since high school. She had decided to lose the thing and ran into an alley…the fire escape…the barrier…the figure on the roof.
She opened an incognito window in the browser and for kicks, typed "giant wolf myth". Her research skills were better but she had nothing else to go on. The pages didn't give her much except a lot of information on dire wolves. Eventually, an encyclopedia page came up for a creature called "Fenrir", a monstrous wolf. Her eyes scanned the page and she barely made it passed the first paragraph before the words "a son of Loki" caught her attention.
Reagan sighed and sat back in her chair, staring at the artists renditions of the stories.
She went back to the search engine and looked through videos. Mostly video games and myths being read with slideshows. A video with today's date directed her to the site and played automatically.
In the dim light, a fire escape grating was barely discernible from the darkness. A male hissed for his friend to be quiet, not believing what he just seen in the living room. Sirens rang out and in the streetlights, a small figure was running—her—and not far behind was a misty shadow, thumping down the street. The yellow eyes were unmistakable.
"Shit, dude, what the hell was that? A lab experiment or somethin'? What the hell was in that weed…"
"Shut up, you idiot. That was real. You seriously think after all that's happened with New Mexico, Harlem, the Stark Expo and then Manhattan's alien invasion that a giant fucking wolf can't be next? It was honing in on that person, tracking…I don't want to think about why. Something big's been happening for years…moron…"
It ended there; a few hundred views and shares. Some conspiracy bloggers gave theories, some comments extended sympathy for the runner, hoping she (giving evidence of long hair and heeled shoes) was still alive.
Yeah, she was alive all right. Sitting and watching evidence of what she thought was a fucking bad dream.
She was going crazy, or she would, if she kept this up. She closed the window and swallowed back an urge to cry or scream or tell someone. She couldn't. Reagan didn't want S.H.I.E.L.D knocking on her door and demanding answers she couldn't give on something way bigger than her being chased by a creature of myth.
Reagan dialed Development and gathered her things to head down the hall. Anything to take her mind off of what she had just seen.
The front door made a lovely support as Reagan leaned against it, closing her eyes with relief as her clothes dripped onto the rug. Carlisle insisted on driving her home after she had gotten soaked by a passing car on her way to the subway station. The stop-and-go of traffic gave her a headache, which only grew more when she smelled cooking. She unzipped her boots, kicked them to the side and put her wet jacket on a hook to dry.
Casey peeked her head around the corner of the entryway, a splatter of sauce on her cheek. "There you are, I'm making pasta puttanesca; it looked yummy on the food channel…"
Reagan rolled her eyes. Leave it to Casey to cook a new dish before she went to work. To be fair, there was time—plenty for her to explain what she could from last night.
She wanted to be back discussing numbers with Development or helping decide which paintings to buy on Thursday. In the park with Loki discussing mythology. Which was saying something, considering his potential reputation.
"Tea water's on too, you want?" Casey stopped stirring the sauce long enough to grab mugs and place them on the island. "So…who is he?"
"Casey, I just got in…"
"We can do this now or later and I'm trying to spare you the awkward dinner talk I might not have time for…"
Reagan sighed and shuffled to the counter and picked her favorite tea and assembled a tea-bag to chuck into the mug. "First of all, who brought me home?"
"Cute guy with an English accent, green eyes, black hair that's a bit too long, little puppy on a leash. He looked genuinely concerned, said you fell asleep on the cab ride over."
"I never got a cab." Reagan's words flew out of her mouth.
Damn him. Had he followed her? He definitely didn't have a puppy with him at the park. Her heart jumped into her throat and she swore if he coughed it would have landed on the counter. He had entered her home, put her to bed…
Her hands shook and she tried to calm her breathing. Casey would write off her shaking as shivers from her wet clothes and hair.
"You were walking and he said he saw you and that you were really tired. He offered to take a cab with you to make sure you got home okay. Why didn't you tell me about him?"
"I did, that's the…museum guy. The…one with the funny name who…"
"He didn't look anything like him, c'mon, they'd be all over that if he was here. I think it's nice he was concerned." Casey gave a pointed look over her shoulder as she turned off the burner and poured hot water. She turned back to the stove to finish. "That doesn't explain why you were tired though. You were in a hurry to get away from dress shopping and then vanished for the rest of the night."
"I was…I met him for a walk in the park; we had breakfast earlier and he asked if I was busy later in the day. So I went and then Carlisle called and I had to go help with the invites and lists." Reagan didn't look up at the blonde, focusing on the tea as the clear water became a nice amber with a vanilla scent. "That's…all there is. I don't exactly remember running into him but I'm not hurt and I think I'd be suspicious if I was."
Not hurt physically, at least, she thought grimly, I'll be seeing yellow eyes for weeks.
"As long as you're sure. But if you remember anything, you let me know." Casey left it at that, dishing out the meal they ate standing at the island, neither desiring to move from their spots.
They both finished, Reagan taking the dishes so Casey could leave and go to work. She turned on the TV for background noise and began to clean up, elbow deep in sudsy water.
A knock on the door startled her as she placed a pot on the drying rack.
"At this hour? I didn't order take-out, you have the wrong house!" she shouted, drying her hands on a towel as she walked through the threshold and to the door.
She peeked out the window on the side and caught a glimpse of a dark jacket and a pale face, black hair.
"Shit," she muttered, unlocking the door and opening it a crack. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, anger knotting in her stomach. "What the hell happened last night?"
An easy smile crossed his lips and she longed to punch his face to rid him of it. He tells her about the museum pieces, a story about Thor and his namesake going after Frost Giants with a little too much detail, and then a giant wolf attacked her and he supposedly brought her home.
"I only came to see if you were alright. You were tired and I thought it would only be…"
Reagan gave him a glare she reserved for people who made passes at her and touched her when she didn't want to be, a glare for anyone who wronged her. "Bullshit." Her eyes lightened up just enough to dart around and peer behind him. She opened the door just enough to let another person pass through. "Inside. Now. Shoes off."
He did as she asked and she pointed to the living room, which he sauntered into. Reagan watched him and reached for the baseball bat they kept in the umbrella stand behind the door, twisting it in her hand as she walked into the entryway to the carpeted room.
"Do you really think that's going to help you, darling?" Loki turned around and flicked his wrist, the bat disappearing from her hand.
"Explain last night. Now."
"How much have you put together? You've been carrying such a burden these past few weeks." He spoke differently than the man she had met, his tone patronizing. "I know you know, you've been doubting yourself. That's the thing about humans, you're so willing to second guess yourself."
"I know enough. I know who you are and that you're responsible for New York. That thing that chased me last night? There's a video for everyone to see. And how many huge wolves are there in mythology, really?" She wasn't feeling as confident as she sounded, they both knew that.
"That thing, as you call him, is my son." He stalked over to her, looming above her so close she was sure he could smell her fear.
"And he nearly killed me." She retorted.
"Who do you think saved your pathetic mortal life?" Loki growled, green eyes giving away the age his body didn't show. "Do you think you would be standing her if I didn't put up a barrier to stop him? That you wouldn't have been found by police had I not taken you home? Why can't you mortals just be grateful for once?"
She felt the familiar surge of energy, her veins burning at his close presence. It hurt now, the prolonged exposure speeding up her heart, her mind, her gut on fire and her hands shaking.
Reagan swallowed and spoke again. "Did you forget the video I mentioned? What about when S.H.I.E.L.D gets a hold of that?"
Loki chuckled, straightening up to his full height and circling around her. His eyes fell to her shaking hands.
"Do you really think they can get much from a sequence shot by two teenagers under the influence of some recreational drug? That they're a credible source for something like that? They might look into it, but they're a little busy on the other side of the country right now. Bigger fish to fry, I believe is the phrase."
He stopped in front of her, looking down at her with a tilt of his head. She looked back up, not willing to show much he scared her. Her had never felt the pain she had before and bit her cheek to keep from crying out. Monthly cramps were better than this.
"I'm still waiting on an answer." Reagan said nonchalantly, walking to the kitchen and flicking on the light to prepare another cup of tea. "You know, why your son chased me? I don't think gods tend to hang around mortals without a reason. And don't even think about trying to be like Zeus-never ends well…"
He followed her into the white and grey kitchen, his confusion showing as he wondered why anyone chose such stark décor for a kitchen. She fiddled with a switch, her hand seeming to not obey her for a moment, and a fire popped out beneath a shiny blue pot before she turned back to him. "You're taking the news of who I am fairly well."
"Maybe it's because that knowledge has been lurking in my head for weeks and all you're doing is confirming it. I'm seriously more concerned with the chasing and stalking and how the hell you knew where I lived."
"It's not as simple or flippant as you seem to think, mortal." He placed his palms on the island, looking at her sternly. "I wouldn't have risked everything I did to get Fenrir unless I was sure of your worth. You're the one I've been looking for but I'm not so sure you're ready for what I have to say. Surely you've felt your blood burning, her head aching when you're too close to me. Your shaking wasn't from fear, Reagan, you know that as well as I do."
Reagan looked down, crossed her arms and took a deep breath. The last twelve hours had been hell for her psyche and she knew she hadn't been dreaming last night. Here was the man who nearly leveled a world-famous city with an alien invasion who wasn't denying his actions. A very dangerous Norse god with the power to kill her in an instant standing in her kitchen looking at her like a predator. She couldn't deny his presence had power over her. The shock, the burning. Nothing was normal about any of this and she knew it; how could it be if he was here, saying the creature was not just that of another world but his son?
The kettle interrupted the growing silence, which was soon filled with a clatter of porcelain on stone, pouring water, the scooping of sugar and a silver spoon scraping the bottom of the mug as she stirred. She offered and he accepted a mug of dark brown liquid with a smoky scent to it, declining milk or sugar.
She released the breath she didn't know she was holding, the irony of another story being told at the kitchen island not missing her.
"Where do you want me to start?" He murmured, putting the mug to his lips.
"The beginning's always good. Let's start with after New York."