"And which titles are you looking up?"

Carolyn looked up in alarm to see Loki standing over her, looking weathered and taunt. The book cases he was lined against made him look like an aristocrat in an impoverished bookstore. In a way, he was. But he was also alone. She fumbled to put down the books in her hands and got up at once, looking him over. He wearily let her check him for injuries or signs of a fight, which of course she would not find. Of course, he was entirely uninjured, and seemed to only be damaged in another way. Once her brief investigation was complete she looked into his stormy eyes. He stared her down and she sighed.

"I'm not usually wrong." She mumbled.

"I do that to people," he shot back, "Take me away from here, girl. And spare me your opinions, for I want nothing of them."

Carolyn bit back a retort and looked at him again as she nodded. An understanding passed between them. She took his arm and lead him out. She opened his door and made sure he was comfortable before shutting it again. Then she slid into the drivers side and pulled into the street, merging into London's traffic.

"I need rest," he said, looking out the window. "I won't be disturbed."

"Of course." Carolyn replied quietly.

Sherlock's phone rang as Mrs. Hudson came back from the market and John ran to calm her as she called out asking why her door was shattered. The tall detective answered it and stalked in the livingroom. "My son could be dead right now," he shouted. "If that man had even so much as decided to pluck a hair from his head-"

"Relax, Sparky. I had my man watch out for your son."

"None of you were here. Not a soul."

"Oh, he was there, all right. He's quite a good shot."

"Sherlock!" John called. "We've another one."

Sherlock ran to the top of the steps, where Hawkeye was standing in the doorway in civis, a bow and quiver strapped to his back. "Sup," he said, lifting a hand to wave.

"You sent a bloody archer, Stark?" Sherlock demanded.

The phone crackled with a sigh. "Holmes, look, the FBI commandeered his service from us the second he was turned loose from the Avengers. The guy is the best in the world."

"You assigned us a bodyguard?"

"Of course I did."

"Then who will pursue Loki?"

"We will. As soon as I find 'we.' "

Sherlock paced the flat, infuriated. "And until then a master of genocide walks the streets free?"

"If you feel you no longer need protection, send Hawkeye."

"If you won't come yourself its obvious it isn't safe to send an archer to do a god's job."

"I heard that!" Hawkeye called.

"Shove it," Sherlock yelled back, and turned back to his phone call. "If Hawkeye can't take on Loki, sending him alone to protect the life of Loki's own child was foolish."

"Would you rather I'd sent no one?"

"Stark."

"Look, if he didn't take the kid, that means he's weak, right? So he's going to recover, but not yet. He's not strong enough to kick over a flowerpot, let alone kidnap your son."

"You sent the bodyguard simply to appease John?"

"And you. Doesn't seem like it worked, though."

"No, for I am not a dolt."

"Hey!" John snapped.

"Not you," Sherlock called.

"Fine, you're too smart for me. Congrats."

"The longer you banter with me, the longer I have to wait for you to gather your peers and recapture a villain you so easily lost custody of," Sherlock said coldly. "Get him away from my boy, Stark. And do it now."

Click.

Loki lay in the darkness of his room. His son, with a bloody English name like Hamish. Vali was much more suiting. A god's name. Strong, unapproachable. Not a boy's name. Tea and biscuits over the life of the first grandson to the king of Asgard. The world was going mad. And he was at its center. Well, he would change all that. Strong enough to walk and be cordial today, strong enough to tear down the city tomorrow.

No, he was not going to let this lie. He knew Stark was coming for him, and he needed leverage. Holmes had called Stark - and at the moment he could just see that arrogant sod recruiting his little team only moments after his departure. Hawkeye, the man with the bow and twigs, against him? Fat chance. He may be weak, but he still had his senses about him. He could have crushed the man, easily. Made him think he was falling, fling him off the building he was standing on. He smirked. He'd taken him over once before, he knew the man's fears.

Eventually he was going to have to leave the custody of Carolyn. She knew too much, she had to be sacrificed. A useless human female anyway. She would back talk a god, in his very presence, and expect no rebuttal? His pale blue eyes shone in the darkness. Taking in every detail of the dim room, he memorized the titles on her shelf. Peter Pan. Treasure Island. Many more he did not recognize. Stuffed toys and blankets, chairs his cape was draped over, as well as his armor. He turned his head and looked at the door. She had called no one, told no one. She had remained here and cleaned and sat in her room reading silently. An obedient human.

But she had wished to assist a murderer, it was her own fault. She'd known the risk taking him off that corner step. And now here she was. Despite her caretaking, she was just a puppet, an empty shell. She did not and would never understand his endeavors. Not at this moment, not even in her weak mind. No matter how many times she fought him tooth and nail over the matters, she would never fully be a part of his darkness.

But did he want it that way? In his steadfast plots, in his attempts and failures at a throne, who asked questions? Who queried him in earnest to wish him to cease? None. Who did act to attack and kill him, lock him away? Drag him through the mud?

He had dragged himself through the mud, deceiving those who claimed to be his family. And who did ask? Thor, he supposed, but who tried to convince him otherwise?

Who didn't try to?

Loki lay staring at the ceiling a while longer. The wind had stopped last night. Maybe it was time to go outside again.

Shrouded by darkness would probably be best.