Chapter 35
Sanctum Santorum
Loki stared pensively at Anne Sauer as she slept. Clea had gently washed her face and then magicked away her bruises. The maid was no beauty, but neither was she ugly. She was just...plain.
Not that it mattered. Loki had grown up surrounded by Asgard's glittering whores and otherworldly concubines. They bored him. Once the cosmetics were removed they all became mewling quim, spreading their legs to obtain some favor from the royal house. He had tired of the lot centuries ago.
He had mistaken the Romanov woman's plea for Barton as the beginning of such a seduction, he recalled, and named her a whore. She had surprised him, goading him to boast, and he had let slip his play with the Beast. Humans were a surprising lot, for all that they lived and died within the blink of an eye.
"What is she to you?" Clea had returned to check on their patient. Loki raised an eyebrow, and the Firenze motioned to Sauer with her head. "This woman: what is she to you? You rescue her, and then threaten to kill her, and then rescue her again, and then threaten her..." Clea shook her head. "I've known many Aesir, and they have ne'er acted so...so..."
"'Wishy washy' is the Midguardian term," Loki answered dryly. "You are correct; indecision is not tolerated in Aesir philosophy."
"Then why?"
Loki sat back (he had conjured a chair for his bulk) and stroked his chin. "To begin with: I am not Aesir, but Jotun. I am not bound by Aesir philosophy, even as the Aesir are not bound to their oaths to my kind," he explained sourly.
"I did not realize..."
"Neither did I. I discovered the truth but a few years ago, and that by accident. Odin hid it from me for, all the while flaunting his oafish golden boy in front of the entire kingdom as Heir Presumptive." He scowled. The memory was still bitter.
"So the girl?"
Loki smiled ruefully. "She made me laugh."
"What?"
Loki nodded. "I floated through space for two seasons before Thanos found me. After that..." his face became unreadable. "I was a year in Thanos' 're-education system', eating and drinking at his table, and proving myself superior to the rest of his boys. I impressed him..."
"?"
"Do not ask how," Loki cautioned her.
Clea looked down at Sauer, peacefully resting. "And she..."
"Made me laugh," Loki nodded. "Quite by accident, I assure you. She is a guileless creature. She spoke to me with respect, as to any other person, and told a simple tale. I found it amusing. I had not drawn a breath for half a year, and then was revived in torture. Treasuring laughter may seem like folly now, but I did. And I pay my debts."
"You treasured the laugh, or the respect?"
"Both."
Clea nodded. "Treasure is subjective." She frowned. "I am concerned about the spirit called 'Speaks Between Peoples'. She has bound the girl's tongue."
"A geas of silence?" Loki blinked. "Against her own hostess?"
"Indeed."
"I must take council with Strange," Loki said darkly. "This relationship is toxic. Humans were ne'er meant to act as such vessels. T'was bad enough she faced death after Thanos had his way. What Speaker does to her now might be worse."
"Worse than death?" Clea shook her head. "How can what Speaker does be worse than death?"
"The haunt warps the maid's very being, Firenze. The price for her survival may be her humanity. Speaker changes the Hostess' body to suit her own purposes," Loki explained coldly. "She promised to leave the girl when her onus is abated. She does not mean to keep that promise."
Clea looked at the sleeping girl, alarmed. "You think she lied?"
"No. I know she lied." Loki gave Strange's lover a stern look. "I did not gain the title "God of Lies" for my ability to spin wild tales: not in a household politic."
"Miss Sauer will still be alive..."
"But imprisoned within: a living death. Speaker might slaughter everyone she holds dear, and there will be nothing the girl can do to stop it. She has already shown great potential with sorcery, as well as battle prowess, though she has been inside the girl but a day or two."
"Did you not take over the minds of several SHIELD agents on your last visit?" Clea looked stern.
"I did," Loki admitted smoothly, "dozens of warriors-including Sauer's friend Barton-and several scientists." He gave Clea a calculating look. "I was bent on conquering the realm, and in war people die. But puppetry is different from outright possession, and none of my puppets were turned against their own kin. Ask Barton, if you wish reassurance."
Clea shook her head. "I do not see much difference." She paused. "Who is 'Oathbreaker'?"
Loki shook his head. "I do not know," he sighed. "That vexes me."
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Triskelion
"Grandad carried his tips home in his lunch bag," Fury said. "Sometime a punk would try him. 'Hey, old man. Whatcha got in the bag?' So he opens up the bag and shows them a wad of one dollar bills, and a loaded .22 Magnum." Fury chuckled at the memory, and Cap smiled with him. "Grandad loved people, but he didn't trust them." He motioned to the scene unfolding out of the elevator windows as it dipped below bedrock. "I don't either."
"What the...?" Cap's eyes widened.
"This is Project Insight," Fury nodded to the astonished Cap. "Three top of the line helicarriers, designed and built by order of the World Security Council after Loki invaded New York. A bit bigger than a .22 Magnum, you think?"
Crowds bustled around the trio of helicarriers. To Cap's amazement, all of them sported glowing discs where their propellers should be. Fury nodded when he pointed them out.
"Stark's on board as a consultant. Good thing, too, since propellers won't work in space," Fury rumbled. "Once they're launched, they never need to land. These guns can take out a thousand hostiles in a minute."
They talked a little longer, but Fury saw that Cap wasn't pleased.
"Come on, Cap. SHIELD takes the world as it is, not as we would like it to be. It's about time you got with that program."
"That's what's wrong with your program, Director." Cap pointed to the underbelly of the nearest helicarrier. "We're preparing for another invasion from outer space, remember? All of your guns are pointed at the ground. This isn't protection. This is control. This is...fear."
Fury's head started to throb. Deep down, Cap always made sense. Then again, so did Project Insight.
So what was the problem?
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The Bus...28,000 feet over Portland, Oregon
"That's odd," Coulson frowned as he hung up his communicator for the third time.
"Something wrong, sir?" Ward looked keenly at his boss. He still felt anxious about losing Sauer. Garrett was counting on him.
"I can't reach Fury."
"Have you tried sending him an email?"
Coulson gave the young man a withering look. "I'm not that old, Grant. I did that before we left the Greenhouse. Fury hasn't responded yet, and it's been 12 hours."
"You think he could be sick?"
Coulson's face...stiffened. "I don't know. That would be bad." He glanced at his Security Officer. "How do you feel? Minus the hypothermia, I mean."
"Embarrassed," Ward admitted freely.
Coulson assumed Loki had cocooned Ward in ice-he was the only Frost Giant within several parsecs-but a chattering Ward had confessed something worse. The possessed Sauer had bested him, and entombed him in the ice shell "to teach him a lesson". Security footage confirmed the fight, including who struck first, but a microphone glitch meant no audio recording.
"It just isn't like her," Coulson shook his head, "lashing out like that. We have to get her contained somehow, but Loki..."
"Don't the Asgardians have some way of tracking him?"
"Most likely," Coulson nodded, "but there seems to be some problem in reaching Thor as well. Our communications array is blocked by some sort of static. Fitz thinks it could be a solar flare, but the timing is..."
"Not bloody likely," Ward finished in a passing Scottish accent.
"Exactly."
"So, why are we flying to Hawaii?"
"Because we have a job to do."
"Right."
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Lower Manhattan, Charity Able's apartment...
He had broken the bed frame. And the box spring. And the sofa. Hopefully he had enough credit with House Stark to replace the girl's furniture. Someone really needed to teach these backwards people sturdy craftsmanship.
Fandral lay back on the mattress, which he had moved to the floor, and stretched lazily. A light film of sweat coated him where the girl (what was her name?) had lay after passing out, and he dabbed at it with the sheet.
He glanced down at the girl tangled around his nude form. The wench was energetic-he gave her that. She wasn't as experienced as the ladies-in-waiting at court, but the royal concubines did have a 300-year head start on their education. With a little training...
She stirred under his hand, and moaned softly.
"Good morrow, darling," he rumbled, rubbing small circles in the middle of her back. "Do you feel better after your rest?"
"Mmmm" was the groggy answer. Charity stirred a little more as she woke up, nestled on his chest as she was, and inhaled sharply. Suddenly she scrambled, and he stopped her with a well-placed hand.
"I have not given you leave to rise," he rumbled playfully.
"Fan-fan..." she began to plea.
He cut her off with a raised finger and a warning look.
"Please, my lord, I need to relieve myself," she panted.
"You may go, but clean yourself thoroughly before you return," he commanded imperiously.
"Yes, my lord."
The girl (what was her name?) was a few minutes in the water-closet. He used the time to rummage through her cold storage box for victuals.
Charity found him lounging against her kitchen counter in the nude, stuffing the last of her lunchmeat into his mouth. After scrubbing herself clean she had donned her bathrobe out of habit. Discovering the living erotic sculpture in her kitchen, calmly munching, was a bit of a surprise. Most men couldn't get dressed fast enough when they were done with her-or she with them.
He smiled at her. "Like what you see?"
"Yes," she admitted, blushing a little, "very much."
"That shift is unsightly. Remove it at once," Fandral ordered crisply.
"Um...what is a shift?"
"The garment wrapped about you like an ill-fitting dress," he replied. "It hides your form, which I would admire. Remove it."
She did so, draping her robe over a nearby chair, and he twirled a finger.
"Turn about, slowly."
She did so, stopping when he told her to, and heard him grunt with displeasure.
"What is it?"
He raised his eyebrows again at her lack of decorum.
"What is wrong, my lord?" she added (she rapidly tired of his royal pretense).
"You are bruised. I shall have to be more careful in the future. I confess, in my eagerness, that I forgot how delicate Midgardians are." Fandral rinsed his hands off and motioned for her to approach. "Come, there is something of import we must discuss."
"I'm on birth control, if that's what you're worried about," Charity offered as she joined him in the kitchen.
"Nay, conception is not my concern. I would discuss the name you shouted but an hour ago, whilst we sported."
"Oh," Charity was suddenly alarmed. "I'm sorry, Fan-Fan. I didn't mean to..."
That finger was up again. "How many times must we discuss proper decorum?" His face was cold, and stern. "If you wish to remain as my consort, proper behavior must be maintained."
"Fancy manners are for fancy balls and public events," she finally snapped, "not for a private chat with someone you've spent the last four hours fucking. We're standing naked in my apartment, thank you, not in a board room with their Majesties."
Fandral pulled himself up to his perfect 7 feet and advanced on her, until Charity squeaked in fright and backed into a wall. He raised a hand to her face, and she flinched. Even naked, a pissed-off Aesir was an imposing sight.
"Do you wish this to be a one-time event?" He spoke softly, but Charity felt odd electricity in his words. "If that is your wish, then so shall it be."
"Fan, I.." she choked out. He silenced her with a gentle finger on her lips and a direct gaze.
"Say my name properly. I despise that ridiculous butchering."
"Fandral," she sighed, deflating a little and casting her eyes away.
He caught her chin with a finger. "All of it," he commanded softly.
"Fandral San-nur-blað-son," she stumbled over the odd syllables, and looked up into his eyes, confused. She could feel the heat rolling off of his body; his scent toyed with her nose.
"Say your name," he commanded again, his finger tracing around her face and over her lips.
She found herself unable to look away from his eyes. "Charity Able," she whispered.
"Charity, Able's-dottir, my consort you have become. Do you wish this to end tonight? It shall be so. I take naught but what is freely given. You have given me your pleasure, and I have given you mine. Wish you to end here? To go our separate ways? I hie to Asgard once again, and you to your lowly message taking?"
Charity Able's head was spinning. Odd electricity in Fandral's voice made her shiver. Go? She didn't want him to go...she needed him in her life...in her bed...
"What do you wish? Speak, lass, and speak truth."
"I want...I want to be with you," she breathed.
"It is well," he breathed into her ear, and nuzzled down her neck. "Would you leave all this? House and hold and kith and kin: would you leave them all to be with me? Speak, Charity," he whispered into her ear. "What do you wish?"
Her head buzzed. Wishwishwish. "You," she stammered, "I want you."
Fandral gave her a winning smile. "It is well," he gave her an approving nod. "I like a woman who knows her own mind. Shalt do well in Asgard, with me," he purred.
"With you," she echoed, "forever?"
"If you wish."
"Yes," she breathed. She reached up to touch his face, and he caught her hand and kissed it.
"I am pleased," he nodded. "As my consort, you may speak your mind, but control your tongue. You have shown some skill with it already: just not in your speech," he rumbled. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, my lord."
"It is well. Now: the man. Who was he to you?"
Charity flushed and glanced away from Fandral's blue eyes. She felt ashamed.
"Who was he?"
"It's not what you think," she muttered. "He wasn't special."
"Charity, as my consort, I need two things from you: obedience and truth," Fandral said quietly. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," she sighed.
"Speak now, and do not be silent." A rogue tear crept down her cheek, and he brushed at it tenderly. "Dost weep now? Art unhappy with thy choice?"
"Nnn...no. I am happy..." the buzz filled her ears...it was so good to relax into Fandral's embrace...
"Speak, Consort of Fandral. Clear the air of this Midgardian boy, and let us take our fill of love until morn," he purred. "We shall be happier then, I deem."
She lay her head on his sculpted chest, and sighed. "I am already happy, my lord. The man...he was...my teacher."
Fandral looked down at her curiously. "A schoolmaster? What did he teach you?"
"To comply."