Things feel blurred. Jane has absolutely no idea where they are and, truthfully, the world seems to lag when she turns her aching head. Whatever she's been hit with had been potent and its making it difficult for her to think. She knows that something important has happened and from the way Loki is glaring at her with daggers in his eyes, she suspects she's finally let her mouth run away from her. She tastes the words on her tongue. She's definitely brought up his least favourite topic: him. Which means she needs to do damage control, except that its really, really hard to focus and play nice when her head feels like it is about to split open.
"Why does my head hurt like hell?" she finally blurts. It's a pathetic attempt to change the topic, but its true, and she really wants to remember why she feels like this. Fractured images cross her mind and Jane shakes her head. She feels vaguely dirty, like she's been somewhere she doesn't really approve of and seen things she'd rather not recall. Loki's eyes are still hard and closed off and the whole situation is just making her angry now. "Why do I seem to recall being in a strip joint?" she exclaims, stamping a heeled foot slightly. Her pride is injured and she's caused trouble that she can't remember and she's more than a little disappointed in Loki right now. The idea that the gulf between them might be so wide that he doesn't even feel a need to fill her in on whatever has just happened stings.
He turns his head from her, ignoring her yet again in his haughty, arrogant way. Jane almost wishes that he would get angry at her instead. This reaction of his dumps ice water on whatever fires of rage or frustration she's stoked against him. She'd rather be a toy or a pawn than mean nothing to him at all, and its an admittance that she hates herself for. She swallows hard, willing him to look at her and just let go of whatever she's foolishly babbled on about. Moments pass slowly, and she aches inside, unable to cope with his silence. "Loki?" she prompts, hating herself a little more for how meek and pathetic she truly sounds.
It takes him a long time to turn and acknowledge her and even longer to speak, and when he does, Jane can tell that he's leaving things out. "Embra and Bryn are presently performing in an adult entertainment situation," he tells her, his expression flat, "I suspect it was rather overwhelming for you."
Jane bites her lip. There is more going on than her being overwhelmed. She can barely stand up straight and she feels faintly dehydrated. She has no idea how much time she has lost or what has happened to her during it. The soft flesh in the angle of her elbow feels bruised. He's purposefully leavings things out. It's probably punishment for whatever she said about him being not-actually Asgardian. It's moments like this that force Jane to remember that Loki is a monster and that he prefers to understand himself in that way.
"I feel like I'm missing things," she says quietly, the desire to fish for more information already ebbing out of her. She is tired, and he is what he is. She has no power to change him. When his arms curl around her possessively, she doesn't even question how she has gotten back into his embrace, choosing instead to simply linger within it. Everything hurts, and she doesn't just mean physically.
Even like this though, full of hollow self-recrimination and defeat, Jane still can't stop her brain from working away at the problems they face. She recalls the raven and the conversation that now feels a thousand years old. In vague, half-remembrance, she can see two young women with shockingly innocent eyes. Embra and Bryn, she thinks, wondering at what possible subterfuge could have given anyone cause to leave two creatures with names like those in Loki's care. There are a hundred people she would trust to look after young and inexperienced alien girls. Loki doesn't rank among the top thousand.
Which can only mean that things are hanging in a painfully fragile balance. Loki is already stretched too thin, and if these two girls have been causing him a headache, she can only imagine how much more he could accomplish if he didn't have to worry about them. There is a solution to this, just as there is a solution to getting the protection they will need to open bridges here and on Asgard. Jane sees it, tastes it, understands that this must be inevitable. After all, it is Thor who has been locked into dungeons by this ridiculous Empress and he has friends here on Earth.
"You said," Jane says carefully, knowing she is on thin ice already, "That you can't keep watching them and get the negotiations done too." Loki sighs quietly, adjusting his arms around her and burrowing his face into her hair. He nods against her head. There is something in this moment that fills Jane with pain. He needs her, so much more than he even lets himself acknowledge. And, if she understands any of this, the fate of the entire universe is resting on his shoulders. If he were truly evil, certainly he would have run and saved himself, wouldn't he? Jane channels the emotions that grip her heart into making herself convincing. He cannot suspect that she's considered this option before.
"The Empress, she's watching?" Jane questioned aloud, careful to ensure that her tone suggested deep thought and consideration, "So someone needs to watch them." Jane struggles to conjure up their faces in her mind. She's flooded with a sudden, inexplicable urge to protect these girls, and it gives her words more feeling than she had originally set out with, "They can't stay where they are… they're teenagers!"
Loki leans back slightly, loosening his grip upon her to gaze down her with amused eyes. "The equivalent of, yes," he admits, the shadow of a smirk telling Jane that whatever this protective feeling is, its probably rooted in whatever events she can't quite remember. "Are you offering?" he drawls, as if to dismiss her and whatever ideas she might concoct. His tone suggests the sort of tolerance one feels for the drunk or drugged, and Jane finally lets herself acknowledge that the pain in her head is accompanied by the taste of magic in her mouth.
Her eyes drop to the pocket of his suit jacket. Her fingers flex against the fabric beneath them. "They're very powerful, aren't they?" she hears herself say quietly. They might be just girls, but they are from other worlds. It only reinforces her belief. The two alien girls should not be running wild across Earth's surface. There's just too much at stake. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, letting the logic of her argument flow forth, "You would need very powerful people to protect them."
She feels his body stiffen against her. He's already stressed and feeling icy towards her, no matter the tenderness and need in his embrace just a moment ago. He's smarter than she is and Jane expects him to see through her careful construction of arguments to the ruse that lies beneath them. She's trying to make the obvious solution more palatable, but it is entirely possible that nothing could make him seek aid from his enemies.
"There are some groups that could do it," he snaps, his tone bordering on vicious, "But I can't imagine that they would protect anyone for me. I can't see them believing they owe me any favours."
The moment is tense. Jane knows she could keep trying to herd him towards the obvious solution, straining against her own blunt nature, or she could just say the words that will bind her fate to his. She hates herself for having come up with the idea. She has almost zero faith in her ability to actually pull it off. She knows that her idea will put her directly in the centre of a wasp's nest, and that it wouldn't take much for said wasps to turn against her. But she says the words anyway, "The Avengers could do it, you know. And they might not do it for you, but they would certainly protect innocent young women from you."
It's a leap into the abyss, because he hates them. They are the cause of one of his greatest failures. It's also the perfect plan for a god of mischief and chaos. Manipulating the hatred and suspicion of one's enemies into a tool for accomplishing one's own ends? It's brilliant. It's perfectly him. He won't be able to resist it. Especially since he can reveal himself as their puppet master when it has all unfolded. It's his chance to one-up them and reclaim his superiority.
His eyes flash with emotion. Jane sees it all and her breath catches on the awe and respect that he shows to her in the moment before he sweeps her off her feet and twirls her through the air and closer to him. "You are brilliant, Jane Foster," he whispers across her lips in the second before he captures them. She doesn't think he knows that he's tearing her heart apart. Tearing her very being apart, really. Though it is entirely possible that he is aware that he is rebuilding her in his own image.
The past twenty-four hours have gone by in a blur and Jane feels absolutely sick to her stomach. She sits quietly in a waiting room now, her ankles crossed and her hands a tangled, writhing mass in her lap. If she turns her head, she'll be able to see Embra, with her dark hair and mocha-toned skin, leaning across the poor male assistant's desk. He seems to be babbling incoherently and Jane can't quite blame him. Embra exudes confidence and sexuality and a saucy personality that sparkles and snaps without warning. Bryn, for all her fair, blonde-haired beauty, is much more demure. Her blue eyes hover on Embra protectively and uncertainly all at once. The pair have not made Jane's life easy since Loki deposited them at her door a mere fourteen hours earlier.
He wasted no time throwing her plan into action, taking her back to Puente Antiguo without preamble and leaving her there without a second glance. Ten hours passed without sleep as she grappled with the ramifications of her idea. Ten hours of regret and fear and guilt and apprehension. Ten hours that had left her about ready to crumple into an exhausted ball of tension and terror. She should have spent the time sleeping. Loki had things to do and people to meet. Briefing Embra and Bryn was apparently her job. As was getting them to New York. After all, he told her with a bitter smirk, "Isn't this exactly what Thor would have done?"
Jane had stared at him helplessly, accepting the truth of the statement. Dumping two strangers in need of protection on her doorstep probably was the sort of thing Thor would do. She understood the need for things to look convincing. She also understood the weight in Loki's expression. She would be no better off with Thor than she was with him, his eyes told her, daring her to disagree. It was a challenge to live down to his expectations, though Jane couldn't tell whether he was aware of it. It seemed to her that he should know by now that she is his.
Jane is catapulted out of her thoughts when a pair of doors swings casually open. It's the wrong pair, for her purposes, seeing as it's the one leading into the waiting area, but they have been waiting for what seems to be an interminably long time and any change is preferable to the continued mental recitation of the lies she must tell to survive this.
The man who has entered is handsome in a very all-American way, a fact that Jane notices only after realizing that both Embra and Bryn's eyes have drawn towards him in rather appraising ways. To her, he looks a bit worn out. The brown leather jacket he wears seems to have been worn into comfortable smoothness and his sandy brown hair is tousled in a careless way. His face searches the room with open, earnest eyes, and Jane feels a momentary pity for him. Embra looks about ready to pounce, her previous flirtation with the assistant already forgotten.
"And who are you?" Embra purrs, rising from the desk to stalk closer to the helpless man. Jane sighs quietly, raising one hand to her face in embarrassment. This same stunt had been pulled on no less than four attractive men since they had arrived in New York City. It was already getting old.
To her surprise, however, the man pays Embra little attention. "Rogers," he replies distractedly, his eyes settling squarely on Jane. He tosses a questioning glance at the assistant, who looks rather confused and bereft by this point, and turns his gaze back to Jane.
He approaches her slowly, one finger raised in supposition and a curious look on his face. "I know you," he says quietly, his voice certain and strong, "You're Dr. Jane Foster. I've seen your picture."
Jane looks up blankly at the man. She can't imagine that she is anywhere close to important enough to have her picture on file anywhere. Unless, of course, the man is some sort of SHIELD agent… it takes Jane a moment to remember that he has, in fact, mentioned his name. "Wait," she murmurs, pausing in disbelief, "Steve Rogers? As in, Captain America?"
If Jane's voice is a squeak, Steve Rogers is enough of a gentleman to ignore the fact. His face erupts in a genuine smile that seems to radiate warmth as he extends a hand to Jane. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Foster," he tells her in a voice that rings with honest intent and sincerity.
Jane stares at his offered hand for a moment longer than necessary. There is a whispering Chinook breeze wandering through the iced-over parts of her brain responsible for social interactions. She's forgotten that people can be earnest and kind. And polite. Which might just be a personal weakness. Jane realizes she's gaping and grabs hold of his offered hand in the same awkward instant. "The pleasure is all mine!" she says just a little too fast. "You're a hero!" she exclaims, wincing at her inability to stop talking as she keeps an almost mechanical hold on his hand, "Please call me Jane. No one calls me Doctor."
He laughs, a sound that sweeps good-naturedly through the room, softening the critical glare Embra has pinned on her and causing Bryn to lean forward in her seat just a little. "I'm flattered that I can impress Thor's girlfriend," he admits in a humble way, freeing his hand from Jane's grasp just a second before her muscles go slack in shock.
There's an awkward silence in which Jane can feel Embra and Bryn exchange a judgmental look behind Steve Roger's back. The assistant behind the desk is suddenly looking extremely alarmed, his eyes almost comically wide as he snatches up a phone and begins speaking into it rapid, hushed tones. Jane swallows against the almost painful lump in her throat. "Is that… how people know me?" she manages to choke out. "Is that… what he said?"
And if her question has a hint of hysteric despair to it, she hopes that everyone will quietly ignore it, because she can't quite cope with the fact that The Avengers might just believe she is dating Thor, or that he might have been the one to lead them to such a conclusion. Not when he didn't stop to visit her, or call her, or give her any sort of sign that she had any place in his life. The idea that there might be something or might have been something once was one that filled her with guilt. Would they all smile at her this openly and honestly, believing that she was loved and in love with Thor, when all the while she felt like her heart might as well have an accompanying certificate of ownership with Loki's signature on the line?
If there is conflict in her expression, it goes unmentioned. Rogers lets his smile soften, obviously sympathetic to her reaction. "Well," he looks at her a bit rueful, "He didn't say it. But he didn't really need to either. The way he worried about you was enough."
The dagger in Jane's gut twists painfully. "Oh," she breathes, smiling wanly in an attempt to seem pleased. "He…" she pauses, cutting off the words that would destroy their cover story, "Never said," she finishes instead. If her tone sounds displeased, let them think its because she has always felt unrequited. It was true once, after all.
The smile Rogers has worn slips away and Jane sees a familiar pain in his eyes. There's an unspoken acceptance in his gaze that tells her that he's let love pass him by to protect others before. It's Thor's presumed actions that he empathizes with, not the cruel hurt of taking away someone else's choice. "What brings you to New York, Doctor Foster?" he asks finally, patiently ignoring the frantic machinations of the assistant in the background.
Jane smiles, "I had a visit from Thor," she says smoothly, if a bit bitterly. "May I introduce you to Embra, the younger sister of the Empress of Muspell, and Bryn, a Vanir princess?"
Rogers now looks at the two seemingly-young women who have been watching him like a hawk during the entire exchange. His expression has shifted again into something different, something both suspicious and protective all at once. As if he can read Jane's mind, he has already surmised the only reason alien royalty might be deposited on Earth's doorstep. "They're in trouble?" he asks in a sideways way, as if seeking confirmation from a senior officer before addressing civilians. It isn't the first time his military past haunts his habits.
Jane nods slowly, unwillingly, stretching the moment until Rogers makes proper eye contact with her. It's important for this next part to be perfect. It's the only thing Loki has made her practice for him. Eyes can give it all away, Jane thinks in his voice, or perhaps she hears it. She would like to think that he is watching her from somewhere, ready to swoop in if she needs him. She doubts it though, relying instead on only herself for this.
She stretches the syllables of his name so that it sounds unfamiliar on her tongue. In this moment, it tastes like fear and suspicion and unwanting. "Loki," she begins, the moment catching in the widening of Rogers' eyes and flaring of his nostrils. She doesn't need to finish the sentence or the thought.
Instead, the double doors she has waited for three hours to open are flung wide to reveal a very unhappy Tony Stark who has no trouble sounding demanding, "Who what now?"