Despite my fears, Loki did not appear to snatch away the medallion. I changed out of my bloody clothes and into sweats and a t-shirt. Minutes ticked by, and I began to pace, sometimes looking the massive windows, other times gazing at Brita's sleeping figure. She really did look like an angel – when she was quiet. Мой ангел. My angel.

Eventually, I collapsed on the couch and stared blankly at the black sky. Where could Loki be? Why did I care that he was gone? What could he be doing? Lately, his attention had shifted from me to... something else. Honestly, I did not mind the peace, but as another hour creaked past, I became unbearably bored. It wasn't as if I missed his stupid smirks, or his icy demeanor, or his nightmares...

I frowned.

And realized that I hadn't had one of his horrible dreams since Tonsberg.

My eyes began to close. Immediately, I forced them open, terrified of having another nightmare. But then I told myself to relax. Loki wasn't in our loft, and it had been almost two weeks since I had had one. There was nothing to fear. With one last glance at Brita, I allowed myself to fall into a peaceful slumber.

"Na! Na! Brita hungry!" Small feet pushed on my thighs and small fingers tugged on the sleeve of my t-shirt. I moaned and tried to ignore the little girl. Wasn't I too young to be a mother? "Na!"

"Brita..." I blinked my eyes open. The girl's strawberry-blonde hair tickled my face as she bent over me. I grabbed her and moved her to the other side of the couch, where she sat down with a giggle.

"Food?"

"Sure." I stiffly got to my feet, muffling a groan. What a way to be woken up... Although, it wasn't really the worst ever. Gun shots, Barton's terrified face, a mob of angry Canadians, and an explosion made the top of the list. Brita's adorable smile was hardly even bad.

I smiled back at the girl and asked, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Goldfish!" she said, bouncing on the couch cushion.

Loki didn't appear until almost nine o' clock, over two hours later. He didn't teleport into the loft, but rather knocked on the door, waited until I opened it, and pleasantly said, "Good morning, Natasha." Dark circles ringed his eyes and his shoulders slumped a little, but a devilish smile was plastered on his face. He was wearing an expensive suit with a red tie, his staff dangling from his fingers. Brita squealed and ducked behind the bed, peering over the top at him.

"Did you deliver the letter?" he asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Good." Loki cut me off before I could tell him about Coulson. "Prepare yourself and Brita to leave. You must wear the suit in your closet, but Brita may wear… whatever human children wear. I will return in twenty minutes. Is that suitable?" he added after a pause.

There was no doubt in my mind that we would be leaving in twenty minutes, whether it was suitable with me or not. But he was still being courteous, much to my surprise. I nodded in acquiescence.

"Very well. I will look forward to it." He turned and exited, leaving a faint chill in the air behind him.

Loki was in an extraordinarily good mood. That didn't really bode well for the rest of humanity.

It turned out that the "suit" Loki wanted me to wear was actually a black pencil skirt with a matching jacket and fashionably ruffled white blouse. After rifling around the bottom of the closet for a bit, I discovered a pair of matching pumps.

I spent the next fifteen minutes scurrying around, trying to get us both ready for whatever disaster Loki had planned. Was Brita really going to be involved with this? Whatever this was? I fervently hoped that she wouldn't be. Brita had already suffered enough.

I stripped the girl of her dingy yellow dress and helped her worm into a tiny pair of jeans, a pink flower-embellished long sleeved shirt, and a fuzzy pale green sweater. Then I brushed her hair and tied on her sneakers. Throughout the process, Brita remained quiet, lost in her own world.

"There," I declared, proud of myself. "You are dressed, mой ангел."

"What?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"My angel."

"Oh!" And then she said something that sounded like "minnie angley." I assumed it was Norwegian.

I gave her a smile, not sure what to say, and walked back into the bathroom to brush my own hair. For a moment, I considered putting on makeup, then decided it wasn't worth the effort.

When Loki returned a minute later, I stood ready with Brita's hand clasped firmly in my own. He smiled cheerfully at us. "Take this, and we can be off." Loki handed me a leather purse – with an expensive Parisian label – and led the way downstairs onto the street.

London was cast in a dull blue light, with bursts of rotten orange from stubborn, dying leaves. Everyone hurried on their way paying no attention to us. They had no idea what Loki was about to do. I realized that we almost looked like a normal family – apart from our red, strawberry-blonde, and black hair. Brita skipped a few paces ahead while Loki walked by my side. After a block, I could not hold back my questions any longer. "Where are we going?"

"To Pimlico Nursery."

"Why do we need plants?" I asked, confused. "Do they sell man-eating daffodils?"

"Flowers?" Brita asked immediately.

Loki sighed. "No, Natasha. There," he said, pointing ahead. A bright sign caught my eye, all pastel colors and blocky shapes. "Pimlico Nursery". A young woman in an outfit even nicer than mine led her little boy through the open doors.

Oh. That kind of nursery.

I remained silent until we came to the doors. Brita peered through the glass, no doubt drawn by the bursts of laughter from within.

"Her name is Brita White, you are Elizabeth White. You will return around seven this evening for her. If anyone asks, you are a reporter for The Telegraph going to the Palace of Westminster for the House of Commons debate this morning. They will understand."

"Alright..."

"There is money in your purse, as well as any documentation they may require. I will await you in the store across the street."

Without waiting for any questions, Loki walked on up the street to a crosswalk. I shook my head, realizing that I was coming to accept his rather eccentric ways. "Let's go, Brita." Still holding her hand, I pushed open the glass door. A bell tingled. From behind a neutrally tiled desk, a brown haired young woman looked up.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a cheery voice.

"Um, yes. I'm dropping off Brita."

"Last name?" The secretary began to peck at her keyboard.

"White."

"Your name?"

"Na- lizabeth."

"Excuse me?"

Improvising quickly, I said, "No, Brita! Stay here. My name is Elizabeth." My little girl, who had been pulling away, stopped and frowned up at me. "Sorry," I added belatedly.

"It's fine! Same last name?"

I nodded.

"Great. And when will you return, Mrs. White?"

I blanched at the thought of being a "mrs" but didn't say anything. "Around seven."

The secretary leaned a bit closer to her screen, saying "Hm hm... Got it." She punched a final key triumphantly. "Forty-seven pounds, three pence, Mrs. White."

I fumbled with the inside of my bag, mind reeling. Forty-seven pounds? That was over seventy American dollars! Leather brushed my fingers, and I pulled out a wallet. Inside was nothing more than fake reporter credentials shoved into a credit card slot and about a hundred pounds in cash. I pulled out the correct amount and handed it to the secretary.

"Na?" Brita asked.

My breath caught, but the secretary didn't seem to notice. "What is it?"

"Can I go play?" She pointed toward one of the playrooms, and for the first time I let myself absorb the full picture.
Opaque glass walls couldn't completely hide the vibrant colors of the room beyond, nor the running shapes of several children about Brita's age.

"Go ahead, dear," the woman said before I could respond. She got up and wobbled over to the door on ridiculously high heels. Laughter spilled from the room beyond, along with the faint strains of a recorder being played horribly. Brita pulled free of my hand and ran towards the other children like she had just been invited into heaven. Relieved and worried at the same time, I watched her strawberry-blonde head bounce away.

The door closed softly behind her.

"Well, we'll see you this evening, Mrs. White."

"Yeah, hopefully," I said, distracted. If the secretary did give me an odd look for that statement, I didn't see it. Quickly crossing the street, I walked into the store Loki had gone into. What I hadn't noticed before was that it was a clothing store. I grinned at the sight of Loki standing awkwardly by a rack, slowly pushing dresses to the side and watching a woman perusing the clothes a few feet away out of the corner of his eye.

I walked to his side, struggling to hide my smile before he noticed me. That plan failed spectacularly: when he looked up, I laughed out loud at his utterly confused face.

"Do you find this-" he waved a hand, brushing the dresses, "amusing?"

"What, shopping?"

Loki nodded.

"Well, not very often. But occasionally."

The demigod fingered the sleeve of a wool dress, staring at it with eyebrows drawn together. "Will Brita be well cared for?"

"I don't know, you found that place. I assume so. It looked nice."

"Then we may continue." We walked outside and turned left, heading in the direction of Big Ben again.

"Am I really going to help you take over Britain in a skirt and pumps?" I asked after a minute.

"Are you?" Loki's face, which had returned briefly to its normal mask, once more twisted in confusion. "How did you know-"

"You looked extremely happy when you came to get us."

Loki inclined his head to me. "That is true. For this occasion, I will be wearing this suit. You will be wearing that outfit." He smiled. "Do you think this is suitable?" Loki spread his arms. But instead of finding some sort of compliment for the demigod, I found myself staring at his lean muscles as they flexed underneath the black cloth.

The minute I looked back at his face, it was creased into a broad grin. I was sure he suspected what I was thinking, but I knew better than to give him the pleasure of knowing he had guessed correctly. Shifting my gaze to a crosswalk, I nodded. "You look…"

Blast it.

"…like a king."

When I risked a glance back at his face, his smirk had disappeared entirely. He opened his mouth to reply, and had I not been paying rapt attention at that moment, I would have missed the slight hesitation before he spoke. "Thank you, Natasha," he said swiftly, brushing past me and stepping out into the street. He extended his arm, and I took it, though I was careful to keep my gaze from wandering again.

For several minutes we walked in silence. When I realized that we were actually going into the Palace of Westminster, I wished I had put on make up. Something big was going to happen. And I got the distinct feeling that it had to do with the Prime Minister's meth addiction.

I had never actually been inside Westminster, and the grandeur was surprisingly breathtaking. High ceilings criss-crossed with ancient wooden beams, massive stained glass windows, and mobs of anxious men and women greeted us. Loki ignored it all, weaving expertly through the crowd. I wanted to stand for a minute and just look at my amazing surroundings, but Loki latched his fingers around my wrist when I slowed.

Shortly, we entered the back of the House of Commons chamber. Several men nodded to Loki as he seated himself in a corner, underneath the public balcony.

I searched the many members of parliament for Loki's contact, but it was hard to tell them apart when I was looking at the backs of their heads… Within five minutes of our arrival, they were all seated and talking quietly amongst themselves. Tension filled the room like cotton, muffling all noises and making it hard to breathe.

What was Loki going to do? How was he going to take over Great Britain? Why did he have me deliver a letter? Why did he look so tired?

A gavel was pounded twice, loudly. "This meeting will now come to order. The Prime Minister was unable to attend this session of parliament, so I shall open our meeting with the traditional prayer."

Everyone focused on a prune-faced man with thin grey hair and thick-rimmed glasses perched on his rather short nose. The Leader of the House of Commons – his name plate read Damian Walpole – dipped his head and began to speak in a sonorous voice. I didn't really pay much attention to the prayer, scanning the bowed heads of the room for anyone I recognized. After about a minute, I had recognized no one, and Mr. Walpole had ended his prayer.

There was a long pause while Mr. Walpole stared down at his hands, as if unwilling to continue the meeting. "Normally, we would now commence question time with the Prime Minister. But, as he is not here..." Every head in the room swiveled to a plush chair beside Mr. Walpole. "We will proceed into our next matter of business – urgent questions."

Loki looked to our left and met eyes with somebody. They nodded to each other, and then the other man rose to his feet. "I have once such question, Mr. Walpole."

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

"Yes, Mr. McCarthy?"

"Why is the Prime Minister absent?"

Loki got to his feet, rising so smoothly and elegantly. "Mr. Walpole, I request permission to answer Mr. McCarthy's question."

Mr. Walpole hesitated. "Very well."

Loki walked gracefully down the green velvet stairs and began to pace the front of the room. Slowly. Methodically. Hypnotically. "The Prime Minister is otherwise engaged at the present time. He sends his regrets."

The second question was more of a demand. "Where is he, then?"

Loki's eyebrows rose, nearly touching in the middle, and his mouth turned down at the corners. This gave him a sympathetic, almost compassionate expression. "Your concern is understandable, but he prefers his whereabouts to remain unknown." Then Loki said, with theatrical flair, "Due to unfortunate circumstances, it is unlikely that he will be able to resume his duties as Minister in the foreseeable future."

A horrified intake of breath brought an awed silence over the entire assembly. Then the questions began in earnest. The gavel was pounded once again, but the sea of voices only swelled.

"Enough."

The order was calm and deep, resonating through the room. A hush gradually descended upon the parliament once again, as if Loki's voice had renewed the spell of silence.

Then one of the members rose. "We cannot allow the office of prime minister to remain vacant. Mr. Laufeyson, if you could give us an exact date—"

"There is no exact date," Loki apologized. "Sometime next year, perhaps, if the rehabilitation is successful."

A pale Mr. Walpole hid his face from the general assembly.

"Rehabilitation?" cried more than one member of parliament.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I demand to know exactly what is going on."

"I move that we adjourn and reconvene when details can be—"

"—the prime minister must be present unless—"

Then the wheezing voice of Mr. Walpole rose above the tumult: "This is a time for questions, not an official meeting of parliament!"

Somebody else stood as well and declared, "I move that we declare this an emergency meeting." I noticed that his eyes were blank, staring without seeing at Mr. Walpole.

Another parliament member rose. "I second the motion."

The chairman sighed heavily. "All in favor… of declaring this an emergency meeting… raise your right hands and say 'Aye.' All opposed, say 'nay.'"

A loud chorus of "aye"s filled the cavernous room.

A dour frown crossed Mr. Walpole's face, adding still more unfavorable creases to his already wrinkled face, but he pronounced, in his high, quavering tenor, "The motion is carried."

Loki turned to face the chairman and said quietly, "I request the floor to inform my fellow men of the grave circumstances of our situation."

"You have the floor."

Loki turned to face the entire assembly, and then resumed his methodical pacing. "I am not sworn to silence, and I see now that it would be best to share what I know with you, venerable members of the parliament…"

And so, for perhaps a little over an hour, though it seemed days on end, Loki spoke to parliament, weaving a spell with his words and his tone. First warm, then chilling; distant, then confidential. He drew them into a fantastic narration, beginning with the Prime Minister's tragic addiction and wandering gracefully into the enormous potential and bravery of the British people. He referenced several historical events that were indeed ancient, but nonetheless poignant, and ended with a glorious tale of what Great Britain could become, with perseverance… and the right leader. His voice was thrilling, and his actions beautiful—he told the story with his entire body—gesturing, smiling, pacing to and fro—and the inflection of his voice carried his audience to unprecedented heights of excitement.

Throughout his narration, Loki never broke eye contact with the spellbound congregation, and when he was finished, a collective sigh rippled across the room. I realized only then that I had been holding my breath as well, and let it out hastily, gasping. I felt as if I had been held underwater, and just now been allowed to come up for air. Ecstasy shivered through my entire body. I clutched the chair in front of me and blinked, trying to overcome an unreasonable urge to run down the aisle-way and fly into his arms. What a childish thought!

Thankfully, no one else appeared to be quite so violently affected by his speech.

"And now," Loki intoned, "we come to a decision. On one hand is the potential for a well-executed solution. On the other, political upheaval. If a suitable replacement is not found, Great Britain will be scandalized by this whole unfortunate affair. I spoke with Her Majesty several days ago, and she agreed that this situation is most unwelcome and must be dealt with urgently. Therefore, respected parliament, I move that we make a vote of no confidence in the Prime Minister."

Dead silence met his proclamation.

Mr. Walpole gave Loki a basset-hound frown. "You realize, Mr. Laufeyson, that such actions are not in accordance with current parliamentary procedure," he droned. "Such a thing has not been necessary in over a hundred years."

Loki reached beneath his jacket and withdrew an envelope, placing it on the desk in front of the chairman. "I do realize this. That is why I have taken the time to request permission from the queen herself. Therein, you will find her sanction for such measures to be taken."

Mr. Walpole slowly opened the envelope and withdrew the papers within, balancing his glasses on the very edge of his pig nose. "I see. Very well then, Mr. Laufeyson." Looking deeply upset, he called for the members of parliament to vote the minister out of office. Not one person voted for the poor man to stay.

I heard gasps, key clacking, and excited murmurs from the public seats above. Mr. Walpole's face paled even further as the news traveled in an instant around the globe.

"In order to assure the stability of this great country, we must immediately select a new, honorable man to lead," Loki continued, his expression inscrutable. "I move to vote at the present time."

It was instantly seconded by a blank-eyed woman.

Mr. Walpole, now a nasty pinkish-white color, muttered, "This is moving too fast."

"These men have decided, sir," Loki said a little sharply.

Mr. Walpole winced. "Very well..."

As the chairman had not actually protested beyond making rather horrible faces, I did not feel much sympathy for him. If he didn't like what was going on, he should fight to change it.

Oh no... I'm supporting Loki's takeover of Great Britain. What have I come to?

Loki, smiling just a touch, faced the men and women again. "You may nominate no more than one man from this honored body."

The first man in the left row stood. "Loki Laufeyson," he said stiffly, sitting back down.

"Except for me," Loki corrected him gently. "I am afraid that my political knowledge is not sufficient to govern this great country."

There were murmurs of discontent.

I smiled wryly, impressed by his subtle manipulation of the politicians. He looked wholly comfortable with the situation. It was obvious that he had indeed dwelt among nobility for the majority of his life. Being revered was nothing new to the demigod.

"In my humble opinion," Loki said, "I would vote for Mr. Jeremy Quinn."

Behind the first man who had spoken, a lantern-jawed, white-haired man cleared his throat nervously. "Me, sir?"

I recognized him immediately, and half-stood, gaping soundlessly for a moment—he was the man from the limousine! Then I closed my mouth and thumped back down into my chair, resolved to wait until the session was at a close before I bombarded the demigod with questions.

"Of course," Loki said smoothly, bowing a little. "There is no worthier man."

Wow. That demigod is smooth as silk...

"Jeremy Quinn!" somebody cried, standing up. Mr. Quinn turned a darker shade of red, which made his unearthly pale eyes stand out.

A second man stood. "Jeremy Quinn," he echoed.

"Jeremy Quinn."

"Jeremy Quinn."

"Jeremy Quinn."

I shook my head, disbelieving. Loki had wrapped all of parliament around his finger. He caught my eye briefly, and I saw that little self-satisfied smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth. I smiled tightly back.

A minute later, all the votes were cast.

…All of them were for Loki's chosen pawn.

Co-written with Alassiel

Happy Holidays!

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