AN: Wrote this chapter while listening to the Rango and two Sherlock Holmes soundtracks…Also, minor note: I haven't been getting many reviews lately. I'm not sure if that just means people are bored of my work, or if people are reading and just not reviewing. In any case, if you have time, please review! (Especially since I tend to look at the profiles of people who review my stories and read their stories if they happen to be part of a fandom I follow). Third and final note: I recently began another Loki-centric fic called "By Virtue Fall," featuring Evil Loki and an OC (soon to be two OCs), so if you're looking for reading material, it would make my day if you could stop by my page and read it.

Anyway, enjoy!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A week later. Buffalo Gap, Texas.

Loki wrinkled his nose. Why anyone would choose to frequent a place such as this—a filthy brick-and-mortar box packed to the gills with overweight men clad in leather and rail-thin woman wearing significantly less leather, not a tattoo-free arm in the entire room—was completely beyond him. The smell alone would be enough to deter any civilized Aesir, and the acrid taste of the cheap liquor would turn away the rest…except for Volstagg, and even he would likely grimace a little bit if he were to choke down a tankard full of the mortals' wretched excuse for ale called "beer."

He grimaced, tugging at his waistband for the umpteenth time that hour. The clothes were horrid, too. He could accustom himself to some modern mortal clothing easily enough. In fact, he had grown very fond of their suits (a fact which may or may not have been the direct result of the lingering looks Darcy sent his way whenever he wore them), to the point that he would almost consider wearing them about Asgard if only the Warriors Three would quit sniggering when he wore them in their presence. But these jeans were absolute murder.

"I ain't never seen you round these here parts."

Loki whirled around and found himself face to face with a very fat man with greasy pink skin and tiny, deep-set eyes. Beneath the bloodshot hue, however, he found a very familiar pair of tawny irises staring back at him. He relaxed immediately, but continued scowling.

"I could say the same of you," he said coolly. "It took me days to find you here. The last I heard you were in New Mexico."

"I was," the man drawled, "till them SHIELD agents done gone pokin' around. I skedaddled right outta there minute they showed up, and I been hidin' 'round here ever since." He snorted, and Loki heard him swallow phlegm. He curled his lip in disgust. The man didn't seem to notice. "You been out of the loop."

"I've been…busy." He raised an eyebrow at a black marking on the man's bicep: a coyote, silhouetted against the moon. "You definitely did not have that the last time I saw you."

The man chuckled. "I got me a couple more of those. I can show 'em to yer in a back room if yer like."

Loki smiled weakly. "Lead the way."

The man closed the door.

"I ain't never seen you round these here parts?" Loki repeated incredulously. "Showing me your tattoos in a back room? That's laying it on a bit thick, Coyote, even for you."

"Oh, come now," the man answered, his drawl abruptly replaced by an even, fluid dialect. He grinned as his skin darkened and shrank until it lay snugly against his wiry frame like a coffee-colored glove. His eyes were the last to change, gleaming a bright golden-orange as the blue-gray film vanished from his pupils, his lids enlarging and stretching until they were each the precise shape of an almond. "I was just having a little bit of fun." He produced a bottle of amber liquor seemingly from nowhere and poured himself a glass. His courtesy suddenly returning to him in mid-sip, he proffered the bottle to Loki.

He poured himself a measure before handing the bottle back to Coyote. "Between you and me, I think we both know that 'a little bit of fun' generally doesn't bode well for those on the receiving end of said 'fun.'"

Coyote smirked and poured himself another glass. "I'll drink to that." He threw his head back and downed the liquid in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a way that was somehow boorish and graceful at the same time. "So, my silver-tongued friend: what brings you to this fine establishment? Come to get away from the prison of marriage for a day?"

Loki froze. "Hardly," he said stiffly. "I'm actually quite happy to be married."

Coyote laughed. "Oh, so she's pretty, then?"

"And many other things," Loki interjected sourly. "But yes. She's…pretty." Understatement. He narrowed his eyes at Coyote. "But how did you know? You weren't invited to the wedding. Raven certainly wasn't."

"The grapevine," Coyote replied, not missing a beat.

Loki stared at Coyote skeptically. "You? Listening to gossip like some crotchety old woman?"

Coyote's smile faded slightly.

Loki shook his head. "Really, old friend. If you're going to lie, go for the obvious way out." He held up his right hand and wriggled his ring finger.

"Damn it," Coyote snapped. All at once, all traces of mirth on his face were wiped away. He glowered at Loki. "I knew the mortals had some odd wedding custom, but I couldn't remember what it was."

"So how did you know?"

Coyote sighed reluctantly. "You are not the first person who has sought to meet with me this week. I haven't done anything too egregious lately, so I began digging around for information to find out who was in trouble."

Loki paled. "Fury?"

"Fury?" Coyote said, raising his eyebrows. "Is that his name? Bald, black man…" He gestured to his own face. "One eye?"

"I'm afraid so." Loki paused. "What did you discuss?"

"We didn't." Coyote took a swig directly from the bottle of liquor before continuing, his voice a touch gravelly with drink. "I told you in the bar, I've been avoiding SHIELD like the Plague of Blankets. I don't like men who claim to have 'authority.' Especially men in authority who think they have the right to walk in wherever they please and own everything they touch."

"So you didn't help them?"

"Of course not."

Loki let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His sigh did not escape Coyote's notice.

"Don't mistake my neutrality for allegiance, Loki. I hate being involved in politics, no matter whose side I'm really on. You know that."

"I do." He turned his wrist about slowly, watching the droplets swirl in the base of his glass. "Unless…there was a fee involved."

He thought he saw Coyote's eyes light up for an instant, but when he looked again, Coyote's face was blank. "What sort of fee are we talking about, exactly?"

"Name your price."

He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment.

Loki knew that look. "Name your price, within reason," he amended.

Coyote peered at Loki intently. "Is Lady Sif still single by any chance?"

"You seem a little unclear on the concept of 'within reason.'"

"No, actually, I think I'm perfectly clear on it." Coyote crossed his arms. "I desire a date with Lady Sif. That is my price."

"A date?"

"It's a modern mortal custom," Coyote said impatiently.

"I know what it is," Loki snapped. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you remember what happened the last time you expressed your interest in Sif?"

Coyote grinned, his eyes glazing over. "Do I ever," he said dreamily.

Loki buried his face in his hands. "Isn't there something else you would accept? Gold? Mead? Firstborn children?"

"No substitutes," Coyote said firmly. "I want a date with Lady Sif, here on Earth, in a place of my choosing, wearing attire suitable for blending in with the mortals. Do we have a deal?"

Loki sighed.

"Deal."

"No."

Loki closed his eyes. I knew this would happen. "Sif," he began.

"No." She crossed her arms. "I am not going on a 'date' with Coyote."

"Oh, come now. Surely he's not that hideous."

Sif gave Loki a glare that would melt steel. "You know perfectly well that that is not the reason for my objection," she snapped. She uncrossed her arms and began sharpening her sword. "Coyote is a beast."

"Anthropomorphic," Loki corrected.

"Beast," Sif repeated stubbornly. "He's a liar, a cheat, and a manipulative scoundrel who uses his good looks for selfish ends. And he's never fought an honest day's battle in his life, the slippery little weasel—always using magic to compensate for his weakness."

"In essence, he is everything you hate about me, sans chivalry."

"Loki, you are a great many things. Chivalrous is not one of them." She drew the blade of her sword along the grindstone with such ferocity that it sent sparks skittering towards Loki's feet with every stroke. "Irksome? Foolish? Soon-to-be-dead?"

"Oh, goody: death threats," Loki said mildly. "I must be getting somewhere."

Sif swung her sword around abruptly, bringing the newly sharpened point to the base of Loki's neck. He stared down his nose at it, his eyes crossing as he tried to focus upon the blade. "I should slit your throat right now for daring to make such an absurd agreement without my consent."

"I had no choice," Loki muttered. He tried to inch away from the sword, only to realize that he was already pressed against the wall. He swallowed heavily; the tip of Sif's sword brushed against his Adam's apple. "He would not accept anything else in exchange for his coming to Thor's aid." Sif's face softened slightly and Loki knew that he had won. Stony-hearted as she was, she was unwaveringly loyal to Thor. Loki swallowed again. He decided to push his luck. "Could you please remove your weapon from my jugular?"

Sif hesitated for a moment. Loki screwed his eyes shut; if Sif was determined to cut his throat, he didn't want to see it coming.

He heard the sound of a sword being sheathed. He opened his eyes and breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Sif slapped him.

"Ow." He glared at Sif resentfully. "Was that really necessary?"

"Be grateful that your blood is not running down your neck at this very moment, trickster," Sif said darkly. She grabbed a quiver from her bedside and stormed out of the room before Loki could retort. "And tell the Warriors Three to make for Vanaheim. I will join them when my torment is over."

Loki called after her. "Thank you!" He saw her shadow against the wall make a very rude hand gesture. He smiled. Five down. More to go.

AN: By the way, good job catching the Riordan reference, Rose1991. If any of my readers are familiar with his series of books, one upcoming chapter might have a little bit of Fridge Heartbreaking for you. If not, that's cool; the story stands on its own, but it has some nifty implications if you work under the assumption that Riordan's Hermes and mine are one and the same.