Although fictional characters such as the Avengers do have a life of their own within the minds of the fans who love them, this does not make them the property of said persons.
There was a loud CRASH that seemed to come from the kitchen. Clint and Heather rushed back to check on Loki, Clint mentally cursing himself for assuming that the god would be fine alone for any amount of time, despite his good progress physically. They stopped on the threshold of the kitchen. Before they had left to move some disused monitors into the back room just minutes ago, Loki had been resting quietly in his chair in the sick room, having promised to eat the breakfast beside him "shortly." He was now crouching rather ridiculously in the kitchen sink, hunched over a lumpy concoction on the wide, sunlit windowsill that he loved. Warily, the two humans approached. Clint noted flour strewn over the floor, and fragments of the largest ceramic mixing bowl, some thick white dough stuck to the pieces still. Heather suddenly swore and rushed forward to take Loki's arm, staring at his hands. He looked at her in surprise, as if just now noticing her presence. "Help me," the medic ordered.
Clint stepped forward, saw blood, and quickly took Loki's other arm and helped Heather pull him back out of the sink. Loki stood placidly without assistance as Heather grabbed a towel and started cleaning blood and dough from him. To his surprise, Clint's stomach actually clenched as he saw the long, jagged cut traversing Loki's right forearm. He glanced around and found the culprit porcelain shard on the counter. Quickly, Heather clamped the bloody towel over the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. They attempted to walk Loki to the kitchen table, but the god, unspeaking and virtually unmoving, disregarded their efforts. Clint let go and ran off to retrieve gauze and antiseptic, back in seconds. He then took over applying pressure so Heather could dress the cut. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep as he first thought, didn't completely sever any muscles. The bleeding was slowing already. It didn't seem like Loki had actually been trying to kill himself, thank goodness.
Clint could certainly smack the miserable trickster now, though. He really wasn't loving this kind of unpredictability. He glanced around curiously and noticed the misshapen lump on the counter again. It was a large glob of dough, stained a remarkably consistent pink, and shaped into a roughly humanoid form. "What were you doing, Loki?" he asked wonderingly.
Loki half looked at him, but then turned his face to the lump and smiled. He reached out with his whole arm. "My blood... it's my own..." A trickle of green magic flowed from his fingers to create a flickering illusion of a prostrate infant in place of the dough. Clint's grip tightened on his other arm, and Heather paused in her work.
"That doesn't actually work - he can't actually do that, can he?" Heather asked softly.
Loki's arm fell, the illusion flickered out, leaving only a pathetic glob of wasted flour and pain. "No," the god muttered in answer. He sniffed, just once, then jerked away from them. He seized the shard he had used earlier and slammed it into the center of the dough glob, over and over again, casting aside shreds of pink, face hard and angry, saying nothing. Alarmed, Clint and Heather tried and failed to reign him in. He was too strong for them now. Then he laid his already injured right arm on the counter and raised the shard overhead, ready to stab himself again. Both Heather and Clint reached up and grabbed his left wrist, diverting the blow to the counter. The ceramic cracked into smaller, useless pieces. Loki yelled in outrage, and a small pulse of magic like electricity struck Clint's hands numb. Heather let go completely, fingers spasming.
"Loki, stop, please! Tell us what you need!" she shouted.
"What do you think I need, mortal?" he asked scornfully. He ripped free of Clint's clumsy grip and strode out of the room, intentionally knocking a basket of apples off the island as he went. Clint and Heather hurried after him into the sick room. He had sat down on the edge of the bed and was breathing heavily. He wasn't used to exerting himself this much yet. Hesitantly, Heather reached out to finish tying off the bandage on his arm. Loki let her.
Clint came to his senses. "Jarvis?"
"I have already notified Master Stark and Dr. Sarmit, Agent Barton."
"Thank you."
"Of course, sir."
"Are they coming now?"
"They will be here in approximately 10 minutes."
Clint looked over at Loki, who seemed to be calm again, or at worst minimally responsive. Heather would figure out which soon enough. Clint decided he could take some time now to clean up the worst of the kitchen. Sweeping the flour and ceramic shards off the floor was actually kind of soothing. Scooping the remnants of Loki's disgusting blood-baby into a bag for the trash was less so. It certainly didn't take the god long to make a gruesome mess; there were ugly spatters all over the sink, sill, counters, and window. Finally, the front door unlocked, and Dr. Sarmit led the way into the house, followed by Tony, Bruce, and Natasha. The doctor joined Heather at the bedside, while the Avengers held back. Loki seemed uninterested in talking at the moment, so Heather and Sarmit just maneuvered him into the bed properly and tucked him in. He let them, staring straight up at the ceiling and holding his bandaged arm close to his chest. The women joined the Avengers at the entrance to the kitchen, where they could still keep an eye on Loki while they talked. Clint asked the obvious question. "What the heck was that about?"
Dr. Sarmit shrugged one shoulder. "He still wants that baby. It's hard to say exactly what he was thinking, especially without knowing which part of him was doing the thinking." She sighed in frustration. "He isn't getting better, and though it's still early days as these things go, I have a sneaking suspicion that he isn't going to improve much until he can let go of Njalli more completely."
Clint agreed. Loki's moods were amazingly inconsistent. Sometimes, he was perfectly talkative and helpful, sometimes he seemed to literally forget his cares and joke with them, but every time he started thinking about his children, especially Njalli, he shut down again, letting Odinson dominate.
Natasha voiced the next thought for him. "He needs closure. Should we reconsider letting him see the body?"
"You don't think that will push him over the edge?" Tony questioned. Clint wondered what edge Tony thought they had yet to cross; by the look on his face, though, it wasn't an idle question.
Dr. Sarmit pursed her lips, thinking. She looked at Heather, who shrugged and said, "We have to do something. We were lucky today. He gave up quickly, and he wasn't trying to hurt us. His magic is coming back fast, which makes him even more dangerous. If he doesn't stabilize soon, we are going to have to move him to a more secure facility with more hands on deck to keep us safe."
Sarmit nodded reluctantly. "I think we should try it. If we can avoid moving him permanently, I would definitely prefer that. I don't think we will have any problems going over to the tower, but I want all of you available when we visit the morgue, in case he reacts badly. And notify SHIELD to have the cell they have probably already built for him ready too. Best not to take chances."
The Avengers agreed to the op for this afternoon, Loki willing. Fortunately or unfortunately, the current Loki seemed apathetic to the whole matter and came along without ado when the time came. He did smile faintly as he was led outside for the first time in over a month, squinting up into the fall clouds. He looked terribly pale in the outdoor lighting, Clint thought with a momentary pang of pity and guilt. The ride to Stark Tower was uneventful. Loki wasn't talkative, but Clint could see tension mounting, either anxiety or just plain dread at the thought of seeing his son's body. As they walked through the tower, though, Loki's pace picked up, stride becoming more purposeful. He did slow every so often to catch his breath, always staring downwards into the basement levels, where he must know the morgue would be, along with most of Tony's other labs. He actually leaned heavily against the wall as they took the elevator, fingers drumming against the gaudy paneling. It was still so strange to Clint's mind to see this... person... who had been an all-powerful enemy so frail. Although, Clint reflected as he recalled the fiasco this morning, Loki's problem was really endurance, not strength. He was still formidable even now.
Loki started slowing down again as they approached the morgue. He kept stopping and looking around distractedly, down empty hallways. He almost looked as if he were listening for something, and strangely, he didn't seem to be seeking whatever it was in the direction they were walking. They arrived before Clint could figure it out though, and the doors to the morgue slid open. Natasha entered first, blank-faced, walking straight over to the body shelves and opening up the only full one. She had brought a little blanket along and looked to be re-wrapping the body and rearranging the shelf, before motioning for Tony and Sarmit to bring Loki forward. Clint and Bruce took up peripheral positions, and Heather took the far corner for safety. Clint fitted an arrow to the string, just in case. Ever so slowly, Loki edged his way forward. He looked down at his son's body. His face was unreadable, and his arms were hugged about himself. The minutes stretched on in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice quavered. "He is even more beautiful than I had remembered."
It was uncomfortable to watch, standing in this unpleasantly sterile room, Clint's worst enemy staring at a dead and frozen infant, looking utterly at a loss. Loki was crying, again, silently. Of course he was. And his arms had shifted downward, now clasping his belly, covering an invisible wound to his insides little Njalli had left. Clint really wanted to look away and be able to hate the infuriating alien, like always. But that wasn't an option right now.
Loki reached out one hand suddenly, but then hesitated. His fingers grazed the blanket only, then fell to the surface of the shelf. His other hand joined the first on the shelf, folded into a fist, but Loki was now staring at his toes, unable even to look at the little bundle. Then he stepped back slightly, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face as his gaze shifted to the shadow beneath the shelf. He crouched down, fingertips now resting on the lip of the shelf, staring intently into empty space. As the Avengers watched in confusion, the shadow seemed to darken. Clint drew his arrow back and aimed into the knot of blackness forming in front of Loki. The lights in the room grew much dimmer, and the two closest to Loki flickered out. Loki's eyes widened, but not in fear. "Hela?" he half-whispered.
Even as he said it, the shadows coalesced into a kneeling figure. It was a woman, or maybe just a girl, in black robes reminiscent of Thor and Loki's Asgardian regalia. She had dark hair, which hung half over her face, since her head was bowed and shoulders hunched, with hands held close under her chin. She gradually looked up at Loki, who was now beaming at her. Clint could recognize her from the paintings they had seen - it was, indeed Hela. She smiled warmly at Loki, and opened her hands. Dozens of little lights flew from between her fingers, like fireflies that shone as bright as a piece of the sun. Everyone blinked and squinted against the sudden glare, and Clint muttered a curse as he lowered his bow. It was hard to aim when your eyes were bedazzled. The little lights were casting their own bewildering shadows now.
Loki laughed in delight. "Oh, my little ones!" He held out his own hands, and the lights swarmed onto him, zooming around his arms and chest, in and out of his hair. The Avengers watched in astonishment as Loki greeted the lights one by one, offering each a finger one at a time, then bringing it to his smiling face and whispering to it tenderly with words they couldn't really hear. Hela looked on with a ridiculously happy grin, a far cry from the reserved portraits Clint had seen back at Loki's horrible house. Finally, Loki apparently finished saying hello and now started looking around at the lights, searching for something. The flickering lights continued to explore around him, but settled down a bit.
"Here," Hela said softly. She reached up and withdrew one last small glowing ball that had remained hidden in her hair. With her dead hand, Clint noticed with a jolt. He couldn't really see the dead side of her face from his angle, but the hand was definitely the real deal, withered and scarred down to nothing but blackened tendons and white bone. Hela offered the last little light to her father, who took it reverently, eyes wide and wet.
"Hello, darling. Hello, my baby," he murmured tenderly. The ball of light seemed to spasm with joy, glowing even brighter and bouncing on Loki's palm. Loki chuckled softly, the sound choked with tears. "I missed you too, my love." The light ball flew up Loki's arm to whiz around his head. It rubbed against his neck, almost like a cat against a person's legs. Then it bounced and flew around some more, pausing for a moment in the middle of Loki's stomach before floating back up to his hand. Loki smiled down on it, oblivious to all else, from the confused humans, to his dead daughter, to the other lights dancing around him. "Here," he said suddenly, rising up onto his knees, bringing the little light ball with him. Hela edged out from under the shelf and stood on the other side; Clint was sorry she did. Now he could see the rest of her face, a skull with almost no sinew left, and a yellow-red flame in the eye socket. Her hair on that side was thin, coarse, and streaked with gray. Loki brought his hand up next to Njalli's body, eyes level with the bundle. "Here, this was you!" Loki continued excitedly. "Just look, you were so perfect. Look at your cute little nose! And your hair! You, my little boy, were born with a truly amazing amount of hair..." The single little ball of light obligingly floated over onto the bundle on the shelf, exploring the corpse enthusiastically. At least, Clint reminded himself with a shake of his head, as enthusiastically as a... shapeless glob of energy... could.
Clint's mouth fell open as he watched Loki cooing over the dead baby and the excited (there was no other word for it) light. Finally, it clicked. These little light things were, somehow, unless the god had just completely snapped, actually Loki's kids. Their souls, or whatever, that Hela, he supposed, had brought over from the land of the dead. However the heck she had gotten here. And the light Loki was now obsessed with was... Njalli. Clint looked around and could tell that the other Avengers had all figured it out too. Tony looked as shocked as Clint felt but was grinning like a madman himself. Bruce, and Dr. Sarmit, looked a little taken aback but very interested, the typical expression of a scientist faced with something new, Clint had found. Natasha and Heather both looked to be on the verge of tears, though Nat still clutched a revolver in steady hands, pointed down at the floor.
"Father?" Clint shuddered. Hela's voice had both the high pitch of a child and a crackly rasp.
Loki stood up the rest of the way and smiled at his daughter. "My girl... I am so happy to see you, and so glad you brought the others. Njalli told you where I was? How long can you sustain the shift?"
"Not long. Minutes perhaps."
"Well then." He stepped out from behind the shelf and held out his arms. All the lights gathered up by his shoulders like a sunny cape. Hela smiled shyly at him and stepped into his arms, burying her face in his chest. Loki held her close and kissed her hair. "My sweet lady." She looked up at him happily, but then frowned. She stepped back, staring at him.
"No. No, no, no."
"What's wrong, Hela?" Loki asked. He looked just as confused as Clint felt for a change.
Hela reached out and took his hands. She closed her normal eye for a moment (the other, unnatural orb burned on), and the gloom grew even darker. She opened her eye again, and a mystical flame erupted out of her skin, glowing stark white on her good side and releasing smoky shadows on the other. The opposing flames passed down her arms and hands and onto Loki. They didn't appear to burn; Loki held still, watching with narrowed eyes. The black flame snaked rapidly up his arm to engulf most of his body in a dark umbra, while the white flame seemed trapped at his elbow. Loki stared at it, and sighed. Whatever it meant, it didn't look good. "I know, dearest. It's not your fault."
The flames snuffed out, and Hela hugged her father again. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I should have let you come home the last time. Now, it's too late. I'm so sorry." She sounded ready to cry. The lights - her siblings - zoomed about her head, trying to comfort her.
"Hush. You did what you thought was right. Neither of us could have known this would happen."
"But -"
"No, I won't hear it. Not now."
"Alright."
Clint had no doubt Sarmit for one would be asking all about that exchange later, but no one seemed inclined to interrupt the father-daughter moment just now. Until, that is, there was a crash of thunder and a blaze of blue-white light, and Captain America and Thor appeared in the middle of the room, accompanied for whatever reason by a very big black bird.
"Oohh... Fffffffffffiddlesticks," Steve blurted, as soon as his eyes cleared and head stopped spinning and he saw that he was staring a startled Loki straight in the eyes. Faintly, he could hear both Tony and Clint snorting in amusement at his words, even as the Iron Man visor slammed down, jets whirring into action. But honestly, Heimdall was supposed to set them down outside the room with Loki and Hela, even outside the building if he wasn't sure of his aim. Steve was still helplessly disoriented and dizzy from the interplanetary teleportation as he watched Loki's face morph from shock to recognition, to fear, to a snarl of rage. His wide eyes locked on the raven Huginn on Thor's shoulder.
"You!" he shouted, raising his hands.
"Get out of here, Thor," Steve slurred, lifting his shield.
Thor leaped for the door, and the other Avengers raced towards them, but not fast enough. With a scream of outrage, Loki swiped at Huginn, fingers trailing gold-green sparks. The bird took to the air with a squawk, forced to dodge to the side even as Thor made it to the door and ducked out. Loki ignored his brother in favor of Odin's representative. A burst of green fire blocked Huginn's swoop for the exit. The bird wheeled about and darted to the far side of the room. Loki tried to go after it, but Tony managed to get a hand on him, holding him in the middle of the morgue. Undeterred, the crazed god let loose some more green flames, somehow darker than before, almost muddy. Fortunately, he seemed too weak still for the magical darts to make it to his target. Huginn apparently took this as a queue to escape, flying once more towards the open door. Loki actually growled and lunged forward, dragging Tony with him despite the Iron suit. Steve grabbed ahold too, but watched in despair as Loki still managed to lift his right arm, hand turning a deep blue as a cluster of sharp ice shards burst out to intercept Huginn. Luckily, he missed again, though these missiles flew perfectly straight and shattered one of the ceiling lights. Huginn made it out sans a couple black feathers.
Unfortunately, Loki was still fighting them. Frost was rippling off of him in waves, enough to lock up a couple of joints in Tony's armor. He was shouting at them, but Steve had no idea what he was saying. Maybe Norse obscenities.
Suddenly, the girl, Hela, stepped in front of them and seized her father's head in her hands. Steve leaned back despite himself; he was facing her decayed side. "Stop it, father! You'll just exhaust yourself." Her cracked voice was plaintive, and tears swam in her good eye. A cluster of bright lights floated up to circle her and Loki's heads, for some reason. Steve still wasn't sure what those were, since neither Heimdall, Thor, nor even Odin had remembered seeing them before. Loki stared at her in obvious surprise but settled instantly, reaching out to touch her hair as if he'd utterly forgotten her presence and was now seeing her for the first time. Steve and Tony relaxed their grips slightly.
His hand stopped halfway up, though. He stared at his blue fingers in horror. The cold mist rolling off of him suddenly clamped off. He broke past all three of them in a moment. Before anyone could intervene, he started clawing at his blue skin with his other hand, leaving open excoriations, and ripping loose the new bandage on his forearm while he was at it.
"No!" Hela cried, running to him and grabbing his wrist. "Daddy!" She made a beckoning gesture, and all the shimmering lights swarmed to her, enveloping the blue hand entirely, blocking it from view. Loki stopped still at last, breathing hard and blinking in the light of his dazzling hand. He gave his daughter an affectionate pat and murmured something inaudible to her. She smiled weakly. He waved his right hand, disbursing the lights. Then he turned around and strode straight over to Dr. Sarmit, who was still standing awkwardly by the open body shelf.
He shoved her against the wall, roughly, and waved his maimed, though no longer blue, hand in her face. "What exactly was that, Sarmit? Hmm? Who was that? It certainly wasn't one of the ones you told me about, who were so nice and civilized." Loki was inches from the doctor's face, wearing a venomous glare. Natasha, who was closest behind him, stepped forward to pull him back, but quickly stopped as he raised his left hand in warning. Nobody moved. None of the team wanted to get the psychiatrist killed.
Dr. Sarmit, quivering a little in fear, nonetheless spoke with a steady voice as she answered, "As your doctor, Loki of Asgard, I tell you everything I can, if I think it will help. I do not think I have previously met the person we just witnessed, and I have never believed it to be in your best interest as my patient for me to share mere speculation and incomplete information."
Which meant, Steve surmised, that Sarmit probably had a good idea of what had happened, but just didn't want to tell this Loki about it for whatever reason.
Loki reached the same conclusion, apparently. He fumed silently for a couple of heartbeats, then slapped the doctor, hard, with his grisly right hand. Dr. Sarmit fell, banging her head against the handle of another shelf before catching herself. Bruce rushed forward to help her away. Loki made no move to stop him. In fact, as they watched, Loki swayed on his feet, turned his back to the wall, and slowly sat down on the floor. Hela tiptoed to his side and crouched next to him. Loki smiled and wrapped an arm around her, eyelids lowering. "You have to go, don't you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Next time, I'll be able to help you stay longer."
"Yes."
"Goodbye, sweetie." He opened his eyes just a crack as all the fluttering lights gathered onto Hela's splayed palms. "Goodbye, all my loves." Hela hugged the lights to her chest, hunched a bit more, then melted into the shadows. The electric lights flickered back on as she left.
No one spoke for a moment, just watched Loki in case he started off again. But he didn't. He looked utterly drained, slumped awkwardly against the wall of body shelves. Heather picked her way over from the far corner where she had been crouching behind a desk. Loki followed her with his eyes. As the medic kneeled at his side and took up his injured arm, Loki commented faintly, "I think I will need some help getting up."
Heather nodded, opened the little first-aid kit she had brought along just in case, and made short work of cleaning up his new and nasty scratches. Surreptitiously, Natasha closed up Njalli's shelf. Loki didn't seem to notice. Bruce supported a slightly unsteady and blood-streaked Dr. Sarmit as they made their way over to Steve.
"Bad timing, Captain," the doctor said.
"Yeah... sorry about that. Are you alright?"
Sarmit nodded distractedly, but winced as she did. "I seem to have a bit of a headache, now. But it's all his blood."
"Ah, good. Um, why don't you and Bruce track down... our other guests. The rest of us can handle Loki for now, I think."
The two left in search of Thor, and probably also a chair and an ice pack. Steve joined Tony, Clint, and Natasha in the huddle around Heather and Loki. "How's he doing?"
"Exhausted," Heather answered curtly, without looking up. Then more gently, "Do you want to try getting up, Loki? ...Let's just sit up a bit, first." Natasha crouched to help, holstering her gun, and they slowly drew their patient into a more upright position on the floor. His head promptly lolled forward as he passed out. "Oh, dear. But that makes things easier for us, at least. Could you carry him, Captain?"
"Of course."
As the group filed out of the room, Clint muttered to Natasha, "So, all in all, how do you think that went?"
She burst out laughing, and Tony answered for her, "Well, let's see... My very expensive equipment in there suffered minimal damage, so that's good. Loki got to say bye to all the kiddos properly, so that's good. On the other hand, it looks like our good friends Steve and Thor managed to wake the Loony of Loonies, so that's not so good. But two out of three ain't bad."
"Loony of Loonies might be an even better name than LOJ, Tony, but I don't think Scholar will go for it," Natasha commented. Heather rolled her eyes at the lot of them.
Steve looked askance at his team. He would get the full debriefing later, he supposed, but right now... "All the kiddos?"
"The lights, in case you were wondering."
"Oh." Now Steve felt even more guilty. He really should have trusted his team to know what they were doing and have it in hand, forced Thor and the other Asgardians to wait to send them back. The fact that he probably couldn't have done that was cold comfort. He looked down at the madman sleeping soundly in his arms and started to feel mightily ticked off at Odin, again. Who were they to disturb Loki's peace? Yes, he was a powerful and unpredictable character that could quite easily bring down wrath and ruin and whatnot, but so was the Hulk. So was Tony, for that matter. So were plenty of people, with and without special powers even. Loki was so light, Steve could easily imagine him as being a child, but he could not for the life of him imagine doing what Odin had done, even with his reasons...
They found Bruce and Sarmit waiting on a settee by the elevators. Realizing Loki was unconscious, Bruce got up and knocked on the nearest closed lab door. It opened a crack, revealing Thor's brilliant blue eyes peeking out at them, plus Huginn's long black beak hovering overhead.
"It's alright for you to come out for now," Heather said, "but I don't think you're going to want to be anywhere nearby when he wakes up." The eyes blinked, but Thor and Huginn did follow them contritely into the elevator. Steve winced at Tony's elevator music, the angry chorus of "Damage I've Done." Thor looked equally put out, but he didn't comment. He did reach up to his shoulder and take Huginn onto his wrist as he picked up Loki's damaged arm.
"Careful, Thor!" Clint hissed. "What are you doing?"
Thor silenced him with an irritated glance. "Fear not, I do not intend to wake him." Steve hadn't realized Thor was capable of speaking that softly. He raised his brother's fingers to his lips and murmured, "A gift from Lady Eir, my brother." Huginn flapped his wings, loosing a single white feather from the black. The feather touched Loki's fingers and released a soft white glow. When Thor touched the feather, the glow spread over Loki's hand and arm, then whole body, and Steve could see the tattered edges of his shallower scratches knitting themselves together. He knew the deeper wounds beneath the bandages were also healed. Thor held Loki's limp hand all the way up to the ground floor.
The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Everyone but Thor and Huginn got out. Thor grimaced after them and said, "Sleep well, Loki. I wish there was more I could do for you now. Farewell. And I'll see the rest of you later when you come back to fill me in." He pushed another button to ascend higher in the tower, probably up to his video monitoring room again, and the doors slid shut.
Author's Note: no new chapter for at least 2 weeks - there is busy-work to attend to.
PS: I'm curious as to how many fans of the Marvel Loki have also read up on the mythological one, or are interested in other mythologies. One of my other writing projects is actually a modern novel-esque adaptation of The Niebelungenlied, which is, of course, the story of Sigurd/Sigfried/Sivrit, one of the great epics of the Norse/Germanic tradition. I would probably be pretty content, honestly, to simply have a career rewriting medieval epics for a modern audience, rather than the more prosaic work currently headed my way. It's hard to say what the audience for that would be, though.