Preston, Nicola, Darcy and Loki all arrived home at the same time. They walked into the entryway together sharing awkward glances and tense 'hello's'. After a minute of even more strenuous pleasantries, they parted ways- each citing a different need to be alone. Nicola went to the kitchen, Preston to his study, Darcy to her room, and Loki to the guest room.

The god closed the door behind him and lay down on the bed, wincing at a few bruises where the ball had- not once, not twice, but three times- ricocheted off of trees, the golf cart, and even Stephen, and hit Loki twice on his back and once in his stomach. Loki was not used to pain. He had lived a considerably sheltered life, opting to practice magic rather than combat. And when combat training was unavoidable, he had chosen ranged weapons such as throwing knives, though after a while it became impossible to avoid learning sword and spear techniques. But even in training, Loki was menacing enough to the squires that they would rather take a blade than hurt him enough to incur his wrath. In his fight with Thor, it had been mostly sheer rage and stubbornness that drove him past each blow he received.

"Aren't you a sore sight?" his own voice mocked him from across the room.

"Shut up," the Loki on the bed threw a pillow at his clone, who fizzled at the point of impact as the pillow sailed through the mirage and thudded to the wall, then to the floor.

"I do what I want."

"Then you need to want to go away."

"You know it's been ages since you've done this."

"Done what? Been sore or received a bruise?"

"No, created a clone on accident. How long's it been? Two hundred years? Nice to see you haven't been able to keep yourself in check." Loki had a flash of understanding, realizing that this was what he put Darcy through on a daily basis, but he shrugged it out of his mind.

"Just leave me, please, I need to recover."

"You truly are weaker than him, aren't you?"

"Our strengths lie in different planes," the original god of mischief hissed, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Oh of course, your dischordianship."

"That's not even a word."

"It is now."

"You're the only person that's ever going to use it."

"I've always been one of a kind."

"That's a lie," Loki scoffed at his doppleganger.

"No it isn't. I'm the only clone that's ever been made on accident. That's unique."

"It's pathetic, that's what it is."

"So," the clone paced at the foot of the bed, "When are we going to make the betrothal official?"

"Betrothal?"

"To Miss Lewis. Obviously we care for her."

"You're completely insane if you think I could possibly fall for that thing."

"Oh am I? I'm the one who jumped into water to save her even though we both know you can't swim? Seems rather foolish for someone who isn't blinded by love."

"It doesn't suit me to have her die yet."

"And I'm the one who repeatedly finds my way into her bed, even though one time did the trick well enough?"

"I do what I want."

"And apparently whom you want." Loki glared at his clone. How dare a mere copy question the mastermind? Their green eyes remained locked for several long moments before a small knock on the door broke their concentration.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." Loki vanished his clone and sat up.

"Come in." The door opened and Darcy slipped into the room, shutting it quietly behind her.

"Hey."

"Hello."

"So uh…How was golf?"

"That game is a monstrosity that should be abolished in the harshest sense!"

"So you sucked at it?" she smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I did not 'suck' at it. I commanded it with the skill and expertise that only an Asgardian could wield." He crossed his arms.

"Dude you totally sucked at it." A glint flashed through Loki's emerald eyes. He stood, sauntering over to the mortal. His face was devious as he circled her, causing the breath to hitch in her throat when his head dipped toward hers, his lips just too far away for contact.

"Darcy, my dear," he purred, "You're wearing far too much clothing." His hands reached to the buttons on her blouse, undoing the first one and trailing lazily to the next. Taking his sweet time, Loki attended to the buttons all the way to the top of her skirt, and slowly tugged at the white fabric. It pulled free, revealing the last few buttons which he trailed his fingers around in figure eights. Darcy grabbed her shirt and began to unbutton it, which displeased Loki greatly. He growled at her and pulled her hands away, holding them at her sides.

"Don't. Move." He set back to his task, moving his attention to Darcy's waist belt. Slowly, he unfastened the buckle and slid it down over her hips, guiding it down her thighs, to her knees, to her calves, and to the floor. The god now knelt before Darcy, reaching around at a snail's pace to find the button and zipper of her skirt. At the same excruciatingly slow speed, he unbuttoned it and tugged lightly at the zipper. He loosened the skirt just enough to slide it down her lower body, guiding it with frustratingly devout attention on its path to the floor. Loki returned his attention to Darcy's blouse, which still had a few buttons fastened. His fingers trailed up her skin- feather-light and tickling- before they pulled the buttons through the holes and reached up to Darcy's shoulders, sliding the blouse down to the floor. The god was now on his feet, circling the mortal once again. Once behind her, Loki brushed Darcy's long brown hair away from her left shoulder. His lips were so close Darcy could feel his breath- it was hot and practically burned as her skin tingled, waiting for some form of contact.

She couldn't take it anymore. She turned, reaching toward Loki's neck to pull him into a kiss but the god was too quick. He grabbed her wrists, firmly yet not painfully, and held her at bay.

"Don't. Move." Loki turned her around, put her arms at her sides, and took a step back. Unable to see him, Darcy's stomach flipped as she waited for his next move.

The god, after waiting several long moments, continued on his intended path. He trailed his fingertips along the borders of Darcy's bra straps, his touch once again so light it was barely there. The mortal's skin tingled everywhere he caressed, fighting the urge to turn around and jump on him. Loki's hands finally found Darcy's bra and unfastened it- though Loki had to momentarily stop time to figure the contraption out. As he had done with the previous garments, the Asgardian slid the bra off of Darcy at a torturously slow pace, finally dropping it to the floor and circling around to face the brunette. He knelt once more, his lips placing a soft kiss on her left hip, just above her panties.

Loki slid Darcy's pink boyshorts down her thighs- much like her skirt- to her knees, to her calves, and to the floor. Darcy took that as a cue to participate, and went to kneel with Loki and kiss him fiercely, but the god held her before she could bend her knees more than an inch.

"I said don't. Move." Darcy froze. Loki smirked at her obedience- a drastic change from her usual demeanor- and trailed his fingertips up the outsides of her thighs. He rose to look directly into Darcy's eyes, lifting her quite effortlessly off of her feet and spinning to set her on the bed, looming over the mortal.

"Screw it, Loki, I'm moving."

It was well after dinner when Darcy emerged from Loki's room, dressed in a pair of the pajamas her parents had bought the god. They were baggy on her slim frame, and the pants were at least five inches too long, but the emerald green pj's were better than redressing in her blouse and skirt. Darcy could slip out of these clothes much easier, should the need arise.

Loki followed Darcy down the stairs to the empty kitchen in search of food. Though he'd never been much of an eater, he was quite famished. The two opened the fridge, peering inside at all the different options.

"How about roast?" Darcy suggested.

"No."

"Meatloaf?"

"No."

"Porkchops?"

"No."

"Lasagna!"

"Definitely not."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not even going to think about ingesting something that sounds like it originates in the human body."

"What are you talking about? Lasagna. Lasagna…La…I guess you're right. How about rice pudding?"

"You're joking, surely."

"I like rice pudding."

"You have tastes as refined as a tree branch."

"Well then it's a very manicured tree."

"For the love of…You must have something decent, like something your mother has prepared for breakfast."

"We could make French toast. Or omelets."

"What is an omelet?"

"Y'know those half-moon egg thingies? Those."

"I do like those."

"I know you do, that's why I suggested it."

"What are those wiggly strips things your mother always makes?"

"Wiggly strips?"

"Yes. They're kind of brown, but kind of red, but also kind of white."

"Are you talking Atlantean?"

"One, I'm from Asgard, two, we all speak English and that's what I'm speaking now."

"Wiggly, tri-colored strips? Are you talking about the French in a war or something?"

"No they're wiggly strips with up to three colors, often quite greasy and completely satisfactory to the pallet."

"…You mean bacon?"

"Bacon? Yes…Bacon."

"Well yeah, we could make that. Sure." Darcy bent down and pulled a package of bacon from the refrigerator's bottom drawer. She carried it to the microwave, followed closely by Loki, and reached for a knife. The god instinctively stepped back.

"Chill, dude. I need it for the bacon. What, you think I'm gonna kill you?"

"Nonsense. You're far too frail to do any real damage," he crossed his arms, leaning back on the island's marble counter top. Darcy turned on her heel, still holding the knife.

"Say that again?" Loki brushed off the comment.

"When will the bacon be prepared?"

"You're gonna help me if you want to eat any of this."

"You expect me to cook? That's far too below my station, Darcy."

"Oh but it's not below mine or my mom's?"

"What I mean is I'm a prince. And you're-"

"Buddy you better stop while you're ahead." Darcy gripped the knife tighter, not even realizing she was still holding it.

"I'm just trying to say that I have been raised in a higher standard of living and am not accustomed to preparing my own food-"

"Oh what so living in a mansion with anything I could want isn't a high standard of living?"

"When we had our first encounter, you were in a tiny apartment."

"Y'know what? You can cook your own goddamn bacon you self-absorbed jerk!" Darcy stormed past the god, nearly tripping over the legs of the pajama pants. It detracted from the dramatic exit, but she had gotten her point across.

Upstairs, she slammed her door and flopped onto her bed, lying on her stomach. "Asshole…"

In the kitchen, Loki stared longingly from the bacon to the ceiling, back and forth several times trying to decide which was more important…

"Darcy?" No response. "Darcy?" his voice was louder, but he received the same lack of response. Loki did the only logical thing he could do.

He shape-shifted into a cat.

Jumping onto Darcy's bed, he walked up her body from her feet to her shoulders, sitting and staring at the mess of hair. He pawed, lightly at first, then increasingly more forceful as she continued to ignore him. Realizing his efforts would get him nowhere, Loki moved to sit next to her face and began pawing at her nose.

"Darcy. Darcy." Her breathing became heavier, more strained. Loki grinned as his efforts were finally getting to her. Any moment now and she would wake up and forgive him. Maybe even scratch that spot just above the tail- stop it! It was always a challenge, taking an animal form. Thoughts began to shift as well if Loki didn't remain perfectly concentrated. The god-cat continued to paw at Darcy's face and her breathing grew more ragged, even wheezy. When would she just give up and give him attention? A few more paws to the face, and Darcy's eyes opened. They were wide, frightened. Surely a cat wasn't that scary. Darcy threw herself away from Loki, scrambling toward her bedroom door.

"Oh please, Darcy, you're being melodramatic."

She collapsed to the floor, knocking over a lamp which shattered. The door flew open and Darcy's parents stared, horrified, at their daughter.

"Preston get the car!"