Author's Note: Well, that last chapter sure got people talking. To be clear (and I try to point it out in this chapter as well), the reason Grace was kept overnight in the hospital was because no one knew for sure whether or not she'd hit her head during her attack, and so they wanted to monitor for signs of a concussion. Also, while it is not common to faint during panic attacks, if you hyperventilate, a lack of oxygen to the brain can certainly cause a short fainting spell. So, I hope that clears up some of the confusion. Sometimes we have to suspend disbelief and just go with it - after all, we're dealing with an alien prince here. ;) Also, so many of you have been asking for Loki to interact with Amy, that I thought this chapter would be pleasing. I try to take my readers' wishes into account, as much as I can. Please enjoy this little bit of fluffy goodness - we're going to start getting into the meat and potatoes of the trial soon, and that... won't be pretty. Oh, there's also a little shout-out to my other favorite fandom, see if you can spot it!

Chapter Twenty-One: Little One

Song: Lullabye (Goodnight My Angel) by Billy Joel

Loki fluffed the bedspread for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd first made the bed that morning. He nervously paced around the apartment, wondering what was taking so long. After the doctors were satisfied she had not hit her head in the midst of her panic attack, Vivian called the apartment to tell him that Grace would be home in the early afternoon. So, he had set about trying to make the apartment as neat, tidy, and comfortable for her as possible. He assumed she would be very tired, as the hospital did not seem conducive to quality sleep, and so he had made her bed for her, adding some extra pillows and washing and drying the sheets.

He sat down on the overstuffed chair in the living room, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees, contemplating the situation. He had stayed with Grace late into the night, refusing to leave her side until the hospital staff forced him out. Vivian had come back and offered to keep Amy for the night, partially, he suspected, because she did not entirely trust her granddaughter with a near-stranger, despite Grace's inclination to trust him.

Suddenly, he heard keys in the front door, and stood up to beat the lock. He opened the door and Grace stood, carrying Amy in one arm and the diaper bag in the other. She looked slightly pale and a bit unsteady, but far better than she had laying in the hospital bed. Instinctively, he grabbed for the bag and took it from her arm, stepping to the side to allow her entrance.

"Hey, you," she smiled weakly at him. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

He shook his head, setting the bag down into its home next to the door. "I have each Friday off, as I will be working Saturday mornings. Perfect timing for you to have had this incident."

"Glad I'm not a total inconvenience," she replied, undoing Amy's outerwear. Amy was fussy this afternoon, probably irritated by the disruption to her normal routine. "Everything okay here? You didn't starve, did you?"

"I may not be much of a cook, but I am more than capable of asking others to obtain sustenance for me," he said.

"In other words," Grace sighed as Amy crawled toward her toy chest with one shoe still on. "You ordered Chinese."

"So perceptive, my Grace."

Loki was just as surprised at his own words as was Grace, whose eyes shot up and looked directly into his as he spoke the words. Both of them had heard it, but the question was, would either of them acknowledge it? The silence seemed to crackle between them, static and heat at once. My Grace.

"I am sure you must be tired," he said after a few excruciatingly weird seconds. "I shall take watch over Amy if you would like to sleep."

She swallowed, rising from her crouched position and steadying herself against the chair to her right. Her head ducked slightly, she nodded.

"Probably a good idea. They still aren't 100% sure I didn't hit my head, and told me to get as much rest as possible. Just make sure she doesn't get into anything she's not supposed to. If she gets cranky, you can put her down for a nap. The baby formula is in the pantry and the clean bottles are above the sink. And if her diaper needs changed-"

Loki cut her off. "I'll call your mother."

Grace smiled, the awkwardness dissipating.

"I don't know when I turned into my mother, but if I've learned anything the last couple days, it's that I really, really need to calm the fuck down," she sighed.

"Do you require anything further of me?" Thoughts of the first time he had taken care of her swam through his head. But she shook her head and picked Amy up from where the girl had parked herself, a collection of toys surrounding her. The shoe was now dangling from her left foot, and Grace plucked it off, tossing it to the floor with the other one. She kissed the child on both cheeks, and gave her a quick squeeze before setting her back down in the same spot. Then, she walked toward the hallway, stopping as she reached it.

"Luke?"

Loki turned to face her. She did not turn around, but instead spoke facing down the hall, toward the bedroom, as if she did not want her face seen.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For staying yesterday, and for taking care of Amy now. It means a lot to know I can count on you."

With that, she walked off down the hallway. Loki heard the click of the bedroom door shutting behind her, and then took a seat on the couch, absently watching Amy play with a colorful set of plastic rings which fit over a plastic cylinder when stacked largest to smallest.

He ran his hands through his slightly oily hair and then let his forehead rest in them. Why did Grace trust him so much in the first place? The only person who had ever trusted him implicitly was Thor, and look where that got him. He had thought it over several times in the last few weeks, but he could not understand Grace's belief in his goodness, when he had never been good. She seemed to look at him without malice, contempt, or fear as most on this planet and his own might have, given his recent past. There were many unanswered questions in his mind. The only conclusion he had reached was one which he could not explain, nor did he want. But the last few days had cemented it: his own feelings for Grace were stronger than his need for vengeance against his brother, stronger than his craving for power. He had been reduced to the same sentimental fool he had long mocked his brother for becoming, but he could not deny it. The more Grace believed in him, the more he wanted to live up to those beliefs.

Somehow, making her bed had seemed like a good place to start.

He suddenly realized Amy was looking at him curiously, staring at him with bright eyes. He considered her for a minute, and rubbed his forehead. The child clearly did not know what to make of him, and he had no idea how to connect with her in a way to help her know him. He had to try something, though, as the last time he'd been alone with her, he had grown frustrated and burst into blue, which he had no doubt scared her. His natural form scared him most of the time.

So, he scooted off the couch and sat on the carpet, knees bent up, back against the seat, keeping a watchful distance. He was on her level now, and that would do for the moment. Baby steps, quite literally.

Amy was still watching him closely, with a curious look in her eyes. The way they sparkled, clear as a waterfall, reminded him very much of his own when he was interested in something - or someone. They caught the light in a certain way, and then he saw Grace reflected in the child's face. He remembered what he had told Grace about the norns, about his belief that Amy would not grow up to look like the father she would never know. He closed his eyes and conjured an image in his mind of Amy as a fully-grown woman, tried to imagine what she might look like. She would keep her fiery curls. She would have the same dimple as her mother and grandmother. She might wear braces to straighten her teeth as a teenager, but the payoff would be a dazzling white smile. Her chin would become slightly pointier, and her nose would be button-sized. Most importantly, her eyes would remain the same as they were - the same as Grace's, greyish blue, changing with her emotional outbursts.

Opening his eyes, he wondered if Grace could now see the same image when she imagined Amy growing up, or if she still feared the unknown.

In the time he had had his eyes closed, Amy had crawled toward him, and was now resting on her chubby knees in front of him. His hands were resting over his bent knees as he watched her reach up, unsteadily balancing on one hand and both knees. Curiously, she grabbed hold of his hand, and at his touch, she let out what Loki could only describe as a coo. Her tiny fingers wrapped around just one of his, just barely able to close a fist around it.

"Child, you know not what you do," he said to her, realizing she had no idea what he was saying. But Amy did not let go. It was as if she was daring him, waiting for him to move. He realized just then that he had been holding his breath, though he knew not why. He also realized had no idea how to entertain this child for the hours her mother would be asleep. He thought back to his younger years, to what his mother would do to entertain him when Thor was busy training. Those were the years when he had first learned his magic, and he could spend hours practicing for Frigga, who reveled in his successes. She would know exactly what any particular child required, even a Midgardian. She could access that child's proclivities and talents, and find a way to draw them out.

It was then he remembered that he had brought home several books from the library, ordered in from another branch. He was not sure if she could understand him, but she had enough books in her room that obviously Grace read to her on a regular basis. It couldn't hurt, at any rate. The only problem was, Amy still had a firm grip on his hand and showed no sign of wanting to let go. Hesitantly, he placed his free arm around her bottom and rose to his feet with, Amy sitting in the crook of his arm.

For a second, he could swear he heard Heimdall's deep, velvety laughter.

Bullocks. If I ever manage to get back to Asgard, I will quite surely never hear the end of this.

He walked with Amy to his bedroom, which he and Grace had finished furnishing the weekend last. He had found a heavy wooden bedroom set for sale at a consignment shop in Midtown, and Leah had graciously donated a gently-used mattress to him. It was not nearly so comfortable as his bed in Asgard's palace - if his bedchambers still existed at all - but it was significantly more comfortable than any place he had slept thus far on Midgard. He had selected his customary colors of green and gold for his bedding, and had procured a bookcase big enough to line the majority of the left-most wall with his and Grace's books. Grace had also gotten her small oak desk from her parents' apartment and given it to him so that he had a place to write should he want to. The room looked more like a mini-library with a bed in it, which made Loki feel especially at home. The baby, on the other hand, was not part of the aesthetic.

He walked to the desk which was placed next to the window, and reached into his shoulder bag which he'd tossed onto the chair after he'd come home the night before. He had been so exhausted he hadn't even bothered to unpack it. Lifting the flap, he reached inside and pulled out three books, one by one, laying them on the desk. Doing this one handed is not as easy as it looks, he observed, Amy shifting in his arm. She was clearly growing weary of having her movement restricted and began to struggle against him.

He recalled the last time he had been alone with Amy, and how she had begun to cry. How he had not known what to do, and so instead became frustrated and sharp-tongued. He tried a different method this time.

"Just a moment more, little one," he whispered. "We don't want to wake Mother, now, do we?" Amy immediately soothed at his words, and he imagined his silver tongue had returned to him for now.

He picked up one of the three books with his free hand and carried it and Amy out of his room, leaving the door open behind him as he had no free hand to close it. How on Earth does Grace do this every day?

As he tiptoed past Grace's bedroom door, Amy reached up and gently took a fist full of his long hair in her hand, not pulling it, just holding it. He stopped abruptly, his immediate reaction being annoyance, even anger, but once again, looking into the child's fact, he saw Grace's innocence reflected in it, and his anger melted away. After all, she was only a child,, and she wasn't causing him any pain. As it was, she was simply stroking his hair in her own clumsy way, almost in admiration.

"You are a very strange child, indeed," he said to her. She smiled back, and shook her head playfully, as if she were tossing her own hair to show him up. He continued on his way down the hall and back into the living room, tossing the book onto the floor next to the couch. As he sat down, he suddenly realized how tired he was, having been up most of the night with Grace and then rising early to prepare for her return. So, he gathered Amy back into his arms, lifted her with both hands, and stretched himself across the couch, laying Amy in the crook of the arm closest to the back of the couch, the same as she'd laid with Grace in the hospital. He adjusted the cushion under his head and shifted to allow Amy enough room, then reached below him and grabbed the book he'd selected, propping it up on his abdomen and opening it one-handed. He cleared his throat and read aloud, his lilting accent rolling from his throat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense…"

Grace opened her bedroom door and looked out into the hallway, adjusting her t-shirt to meet the top of her yoga pants. There was no sound coming from any room of the apartment. Amy's room was dark, and she never would have slept without her nightlight, so Amy wondered where she and Luke could be. Perhaps they went up to her parents' apartment, or perhaps out to get a bite to eat while Grace napped the day away. She wrapped her hair into a loose ponytail at the back of her head as she stepped out of her room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Hopefully Luke remembered to take a bottle for Amy if he had gone to find food for himself, she thought, wandering toward the soft light of the living room. As she reached the doorway, preparing to head toward the kitchen for a glass of water, she stopped dead in her tracks, not quite believing what was right before her eyes. Maybe I hit my head after all.

She knew Luke would take care of Amy's immediate needs, but she also got the sense that he was not comfortable around children. At the very least, she did not think he had much experience with them. And yet, the sight on which her eyes were set left her wordless, breathless, and hopelessly, helplessly melted her heart.

The book still rested on his abdomen, but had fallen face-forward when his grip on it had slackened. His left arm dangled off the side of the couch, while his right cradled Amy, his large hand resting on her tummy. Amy's chubby cheek rested against the side of his chest, her eyes closed in a deep slumber. And Luke's were closed as well, fluttering slightly as they always did when he slept, a tiny but contented smile across his lips.