A/N: Special thanks to my friend, hvittsalt, for the Norwegian in this chapter. Translations are in the end notes!


CHAPTER SEVEN
Show Me That You're Human


So, it turned out that Hallmark didn't make a card decorated with hearts and rainbows, and with the inscription, "Hey, I heard a rumor that you got a girl in the family way and sent her to Sweden to deal with it. Let's talk about that." Not that it would have made the topic any less uncomfortable, but at least it would have been a conversation starter.

Jane was a chicken. A total clucking chicken.

She had ample opportunity to get Loki's side of the story during the next week, but she faltered each time she tried to screw up her courage. This would have been so much easier if she still hated him. (She tried and failed at that, too.) Then she could tell him to go do unmentionable things to himself and leave her alone. Those were the days.

She almost confronted him on Wednesday when he came over unannounced while Uncle Erik happened to be out helping fine tune the software upgrades at the planetarium.

"Did we have a study date that I forgot about?" she asked with crossed arms. They had become de facto lab partners in Physics for the rest of the term, thanks to both their success with Young's experiment and the fact that they were a "power couple"—since they both had top grades. Some of the other kids had taken to calling them by a ludicrous amalgamation of their names: Lokane. Like they were the Brangelina of the school or something idiotic like it. Loki thought it was hilarious. Jane was not amused.

"Movie night," Loki announced, holding up a pair of blu-rays. He had a paper sack cradled in his other arm, and before she could object, he stepped past her into the house.

"Hey, you can't just—" She scrambled after him as he strode toward the family room. "We're supposed to keep this—" she waved a hand helplessly, "—whatever it is to public appearances." It was a totally lame excuse because this was so not the first time they'd spent time together outside of prying eyes— and not to study. But she hadn't made sense of her conflicting feelings for him (extra conflicting after Sif's bombshell), and it was hard enough to pretend at school that everything was the same as before.

Loki rolled his eyes. "That old song and dance again? And when I've come bearing gifts." He sighed dramatically as he fished something out of the bag. "Now what am I to do with this?"

There were very few things Jane loved in this life with a kind of crippling passion where she lost all rationality: Uncle Erik, science (particularly physics), and Mexican Style Cinn-Chili chocolate bars from Olive and Sinclair Chocolate Co. And Loki was dangling the last one from his hand with a big, fat grin on his stupid face.

How did he—

Darcy. Ugh. Jane's best friend was such a traitor.

"Fine," Jane said, licking her lips (dammit, she hated being so weak in front of him). "You can stay." She grabbed at the bar, but he swung it up out of her reach.

"I think a little gratitude is in order first." He tapped a finger against his cheek.

Jane groaned, but she stepped forward anyway. Because Mexican Style Cinn-Chili chocolate bar. Still wearing that rude grin, Loki leaned down to accommodate her petite height (stupid beanpole boy bribing her with her own personal Kryptonite), and just as she placed a chaste kiss on his smooth skin (why did he have to smell so good?), he turned his head. Jane leapt back when her lips met his.

"Seriously!?" She scrubbed at her mouth. It was just a peck—nothing compared to the occasional show they put on at school or Hal's—but things were different. She liked him, and she was scared to like him because this was all supposed to be fake. And because of Sigyn.

Loki, oblivious to her inner turmoil, was bent over with laughter. She snatched the candy from him with a "Jerk!" and settled on the couch. "I'm gonna kick you out if you keep this up."

"I'm shaking with fear." He unloaded the rest of the goodies—another chocolate bar (that better be hers, too), a bunch of Reese's, a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, and a six pack of ginger ale in old-fashion glass bottles. He screwed the lid off of one of them and passed it over to her.

"So, what new torture are you subjecting me to?" she asked as she tore open her chocolate. Slow down, girl. Nibble so it lasts longer. (But it's so good.)

"I'll have you know that I chose a film specifically for you." He held up a copy of Amélie. "Some silly foreign thing that I will suffer through for your sake. My only consolation is that it's French, and therefore, there will likely be nudity."

She flung one of the throw pillows at him which he dodged easily. "Behave," she warned, though she almost laughed. Almost. And the movie he picked for her was surprisingly thoughtful. She didn't know how to react when he got weird like this.

Except, this was Loki, and there was always a catch.
"And the other one?" she asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Only the best cult horror film ever to grace the silver screen." He displayed the other blu-ray with a brilliant smile like he was a hostess on a game show. "Hysterical. Mine first."

The movie was bad. So, so bad. But bad in all the right ways. By the time they reached the Zomboogie, she was laughing so hard, she couldn't breathe. It took another half hour after the movie before she was able to go for ten seconds without breaking down again. (Loki made it harder by quoting some of the best lines like "Would you still love me if I had hideous eyebrows?" while waggling his.)

He unfolded himself from the couch and put the next disc in. "And now for subtitles," he said with a sigh.

"And nudity," Jane quipped, though her face flushed a little to joke about something so…yeah, that. With the guy who was pretending to be her boyfriend.

He went rigid, his face falling slack as he said in a monotone voice, "What difference does it make?"

She dissolved in a fit of giggles again over the Hysterical reference, and then sobered immediately when he stretched out on the couch with his head in her lap. Her heart rate went from a steady stroll to world championship sprinting. It was so unfair that he had this effect on her when he could possibly be the shameless bastard she originally thought he was.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, proud that she sounded stern in spite of the mild freak out attack she was currently having.

"Making myself comfortable," he said with a wink before turning to face the television.

"Loki—"

"Hush." He pressed a hand over her mouth without looking back at her. "The movie's starting." He pulled her arm against his side and laced his fingers with hers, and she decided not to argue. Mostly because everything inside of her had short-circuited.

She didn't get much out of the first twenty minutes of the film, between his thumb caressing her forefinger and her fear that all of this would lead to Very Bad Things. Not that she would ever do what Sigyn apparently had done, but just that this nice little bubble of something between them was going to shatter.

"Loki?" she asked in a near whisper. Starting this conversation was terrifying, but not knowing was worse.

"Mm?" He gave her hand a brief squeeze, and she wavered. Wouldn't it be easier to pretend that she didn't know what she knew and let the chips fall where they may?

Probably not.

"I heard something," she began with the tiniest hint of a quiver in her voice, "about you. And I kinda need to know if it's true."

He didn't reply—which made this even more awkward.

"Did you hear me?" she asked.

No response.

"Loki?"

Nothing.

She bent over him to get a better look at his face, and yep, he was asleep. Of course. Of course when she finally stopped being a coward about this, he would conk out on her. Literally. The universe was laughing at her.

She left him undisturbed, though she watched him more than she did the movie. Because she'd never seen him so relaxed before. Everything about him was so…calculated. Yeah, that was the word. The closest unbridled emotion other than mischief (which was not really an emotion) she'd ever seen him display was when one of Marcus' friends told him to leave Loki alone out of fear that Thor would intervene.

She wondered when he had become like this, cunning and controlled. She'd suspect his family, as he implied that night he took her toilet papering, except Thor seemed so normal and happy. Loki was a riddle wrapped in mystery, surrounded by an enigma—or however that Winston Churchill quote went.

The credits began rolling; Jane had missed the ending which was kind of a bummer because she actually had wanted to see this movie. Oh, well. Another time.

"Loki?" She gave him a gentle shake.

He made a muffled noise of complaint and snuggled deeper into her thighs. She ignored the responding heat rising in her cheeks (this was way more intimate than his open-mouthed, wet kisses when other people were around), and she shook him again. Harder.

"Loki, wake up!"

He grumbled, rolled on his back, and opened one bleary eye. When he saw her, his face split in the most natural smile he'd ever given her, and it made her chest ache. Why, oh why, did Sif have to ruin everything with that stupid secret?

"You fell asleep," Jane said.

Loki half-sat up and glanced at the television. "Damn. I missed the nudity."

Jane shoved him off her lap. "You are the worst, you know that?" Her comment didn't sound as disapproving as she intended.

"Oh, yes," he said, flashing her another grin. He rose from the couch, pulling her up with him. "I regret nothing."

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and her body went into full system overload again. His gaze dropped to her lips, and this was it. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him despite her "no practice make-out sessions in private" rule because this would be the real deal. And she wanted it, Sigyn or no Sigyn, even if she wasn't quite ready for it.

She closed her eyes as he leaned forward. (It's happening. It's happening!)

And apparently, it wasn't.

He kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Jane," he murmured before leaving her standing in the middle of the living room, dazed.

(And leaving her a mess of candy wrappers and empty bottles to clean up. Typical.)

Ugh, that boy!


Because she didn't have to buy a dress, Jane had money to splurge on getting her hair and make-up done with her best friend on the day of the formal. She let Darcy's mom dictate her look; Jane was never really good at this kind of girly stuff.

In moments like this, she wondered what it would have been like to have her mother around instead of an absent-minded (but loveable) godfather. Jane didn't know much about her parents except what Uncle Erik had told her, and he tended to stick to details on their research or anecdotes from her father's time as a professor. Her own memories of them were blurry like an old photograph; she'd only been five years old when they died. Aside from Uncle Erik, project journals and recordings were the only glimpses she had of them, and they didn't exactly tell her if her mother would have been giddy about Jane's first formal or if her father would have grilled her date.

"Jane?" Darcy asked, concerned. "You don't like it?"

Jane glanced in the mirror. The stylist had curled her hair in soft waves, then pulled it all back in a loose, messy up-do with wisps artfully falling at the nape of her neck. The eye make-up was much darker than she would have done (mascara and lip gloss were the extent of her glamor skills). She looked so different—almost grown up.

"No, I like it," she said. "I like it a lot."

Darcy grinned. "You're going to knock Loki's socks off."

Jane laughed, though the idea made her stomach flutter with a queasy kind of anticipation. There were too many variables when it came to Loki, and she couldn't decipher the equation to make them all fit properly (and she didn't know if she'd like the final result).

"You're one to talk," she deflected as she gave Darcy a pointed look (the girl was absolutely gorgeous). "Ian won't be able to function when he sees you."

Darcy cringed. "I'm not going with Ian."

"What?" Jane's mouth dropped open. Darcy and Ian weren't exactly a couple, but they weren't exactly not, either.

"Someone else asked me first." Darcy shrugged as if it were no big deal.

Jane couldn't believe her ears. "Who?"

Darcy's face took on a red hue. "Fandral," she said in a small voice.

If Jane was shocked before, she was positively bowled over now. "Fandral? Fandral, the senior on the football team, the school's biggest player, and one of Thor's best friends—that Fandral?"

"Yes, that Fandral." Darcy rolled her eyes. "Don't have a heart attack, Jane. Some of us can land hot dudes with British accents, too."

"That's not what I meant," Jane stammered, face burning with shame for unintentionally insulting her best friend. "It's just… Why didn't you tell me?"

"Plausible deniability? In case Ian asked you why I turned him down." Darcy gave her a tentative smile. "And I sort of didn't want to jinx it. I'm so nervous, Jane. Fandral's, like, really, really hot and funny, and he could have asked any girl, but he asked me. I don't even know why."

Jane nodded. The part about Fandral being able to ask any girl was true enough. He was handsome and hilarious and easy to be around—which was exactly why he always had his pick. While he always seemed respectful enough, despite being an unrepentant flirt, he never, ever dated anyone seriously. He liked have fun and the periodic hook-up. ("I love the ladies," he'd told Jane once when they were all at Hal's, "and the ladies love me. I'm never opposed to any of them showing me precisely how much they enjoy my company.")

"I'm happy for you," she said to Darcy. "Just…be careful, okay?"

Darcy pulled a canister of pepper spray out of her purse. "Way ahead of you." She shoved it back in the bag. "I don't think he would actually force himself on me, though."

"Probably not," Jane agreed. She was more worried about Fandral breaking Darcy's heart.

Mrs. Lewis declared their looks complete—minus their gowns and shoes—and Darcy gave Jane a hug before they parted ways. "Knock 'em dead," she said.

Jane wished they were going to the dance together in a big group, that they were doing the clichéd things of a rented limo and bringing tablecloths and flowers to a fast food joint. Having dinner with Loki's family made her feel like Eliza Doolittle pretending to be sophisticated while at the horse races.

She was putting on her earrings when the doorbell rang, and every nerve in her body suddenly crackled with anxiety. She draped the faux-fur shrug Darcy had lent her over her arm and headed to the stairs.

Here we go.

Voices drifted up from the floor below, but Jane couldn't make out what they were saying until she was halfway down the staircase. Uncle Erik told Loki to have her home by one a.m., and Loki was in the middle of saying something about being a perfect gentleman when his gaze landed on her.

His mouth stretched in a smile that made her legs unsteady. (The heels were already a huge challenge.) He stepped forward and offered her a hand as she reached the final few steps. "Best investment I've ever made," he said. "Lorelei can eat her heart out."

Curse him for making her all tingly with comments like that. (She so wouldn't mind if she made Lorelei jealous.) "You clean up okay, yourself," she said. More than okay. Loki was definitely rocking that tux.

"Jane," Uncle Erik said, sounding a little flummoxed. "You look… Wow."

She was seriously going to combust from blushing this hard. "Thanks."

Uncle Erik snapped a few photographs before Loki ushered her to his car, and Jane's adrenaline shot back up again. She wasn't sure was going to be able to eat a bite of food.

"Are you ready for this?" Loki asked as he drove to his house. (Jane hadn't been there since the fateful party.)

She gave him a shaky laugh. "Not really," she answered honestly. "Is there anything I should know?"

He considered her question with a furrowed brow. "Mum's absolutely delightful," he said after a beat. "Dad's an utter ass."

"Must be where you get it from." She meant it as a joke, but it clearly missed the mark by the way the muscles in his jaw clenched.

"I'm nothing like him."

Okay, touchy subject. Note to self: avoid all comparisons between father and son in the future (at least, in said son's presence). She muttered an apology; he shrugged in return. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Loki was tense, no doubt about it, and she tried to ignore the worry that it had something to do with her—specifically her impending introduction to his parents. What if she used the wrong fork for the salad? What if she laughed at something that wasn't supposed to be funny? What if she accidentally offended them because her mouth decided to work independently from her brain (which happened a lot more than she cared to admit)?

Whatifwhatifwhatif

By the time Loki pulled into long driveway, Jane had practically worked herself to the point of puking. (That would be a super great way to start things off, wouldn't it?)

Loki parked among a line of other vehicles and let out a big sigh. "This ought to be interesting," he said with a sardonic expression. So much for words of comfort from her (sort of) boyfriend. (Yeah. Like he would ever.)

A beautiful woman, tall and willowy, greeted them at the front door and introduced herself as Frigga, the boys' mother. She clasped Jane's hands and held them apart as she examined her. "My sons have not done you justice, Jane Foster," she said. "You're a stunning young woman."

And the blush was back. "It's all an illusion," Jane demurred. "The hair, the make-up, the dress." She cast a glance at Loki at the last word. Did his mother know he paid for it? Eleven hundred dollars had to be a lot of money, even for the ridiculously wealthy.

Frigga laughed, and it was a magical sound. (Loki was so right about his mother.) "Oh, my dear, it's not an illusion." She linked her arm with Jane's. "Come in. Dinner is nearly ready."

As she swept them through house, she asked Jane questions about school, about her aspirations, and little things like her favorite color (blue). Loki followed wordlessly behind as if he was as dazzled by his mother as Jane was.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

Frigga led them to an ornate dining room (Jane had a vague memory of the long mahogany table being the center of the beer pong tournament) where Thor and Sif were standing beside their high-back chairs.

Frigga went through the perfunctory introductions, and Jane avoided Sif's gaze. This situation was uncomfortable enough without Sif's judgment—she had to be wondering why Jane was still with Loki after knowing what he'd done.

Odin Borson (not Odinson as Frigga corrected Jane earlier—something about an old Scandinavian tradition) joined them shortly after everyone was settled. He was, quite frankly, scary—with that severe expression on his face as he scrutinized the teenagers with his one good eye (the other was hidden behind a silver patch). Jane could see his resemblance to Thor with his thicker build and square jaw, but where Thor was jovial, his father seemed like he hadn't laughed in years.

Odin raised a hand and snapped his fingers, and the dining room became a bustle of activity as servants brought out bowls of soup and poured drinks for the dinner guests—wine for the adults, sparkling cider for the underaged.

Frigga introduced Jane and Sif to her husband, and Jane wished she could make herself as small as possible when his flinty gaze swept over her.

"Hvem er hennes foreldre?" he asked in a gruff voice.

Next to Jane, Loki's entire body seemed to become taut like a coiled spring, and her gut told her that his father's simple question was a spark struck precariously close to a powder keg.

Who are her parents?

Here was the funny thing about being orphaned so young and raised by a Norwegian godfather: Jane knew the language—well enough to understand it, even if she could only speak a halting approximation of it.

Frigga answered her husband, explained Jane's background, but from the frown drawing deep lines in her husband's face, it was apparent that he thought Loki had brought home the rabble of humanity to dine at their mansion.

He made a noise of derision. "Jeg burde ikke ha forventet mindre." I should have expected no less.

Loki turned to his father, the movement languid and precise—just like his tone as he addressed him with a raised brow. "Hva mener du med det?"

"Loki—" Thor interjected, but Loki waved him off.

"No, brother. I want to hear what our illustrious father has to say." He gave Odin a brittle smile and repeated the question in clipped staccato. "Hva er det det skal bety, far?"

What's that supposed to mean, Father?

The stillness in the heartbeats that followed was acute, like the elongated second before a catastrophe strikes—when everyone comes to the collective conclusion that nothing can be done to prevent it, no matter how badly they want to. Frigga placed a hand on Odin's arm, but he ignored her unspoken warning.

Instead he shook his head and, with disdain, gave Loki the answer he asked for. "Du samler på bortkomne barn og tillater dem å ødelegge deg." The words came too fast, too biting for Jane to catch them all. (Something about collecting stray children.)

Thor began to rise out of his chair. "Father—"

Odin growled over him, glared at Thor until he retook his seat, and then his attention was back on his youngest. "Si meg, sønn, er dette din nye Sigyn?"

Jane's hand went to her chest, as if she could somehow ease the sudden constriction of her airways. Because Odin's scornful question cut right to the heart of her own fears. In her periphery, Sif was staring at her with a canted brow. "I told you," her look said.

Is this your new Sigyn?

Loki's false calm cracked as he slammed a fist on the table, rattling dishes and silverware as he rose. "Ikke snakk om henne, noensinne!" he yelled, veins protruding in his neck. "Du vet ingenting!"

"Jeg sier hva jeg behager i mitt eget hjem!" Odin returned in kind.

Loki sobered abruptly with an unsettling smile. "Quite right, Father." He grasped Jane's hand and pulled her up with him. "Mother, I'm sure dinner is lovely," he said to Frigga, "but I can't seem to stomach the company any longer."

His mother sighed as if this turn of events was not entirely unexpected. "Loki, please."

He offered her a formal bow and said, "Good evening," before dragging Jane out of the room, leaving his parents to argue in their wake.

"Wait," she protested as he led her to his car. "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere but here," he said, swinging the passenger door open for her. "Get in."

They drove for what seemed like forever in strained silence, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. She'd seen him angry once before, but not like this. This was less rage and more frustration—maybe even pain. Like an exposed nerve.

"Loki," she began, surprised at how calm she felt, all things considered, "what just happened back there?"

He glanced at her. "A typical family dinner," he said. "Aren't yours just like it? No? Don't tell me you actually have cordial conversations where you're not accused of bringing shame to the family. How dull." His laughter was brutal and raw.

She stared at him, thorny ache taking up residence next to her heart just as it had the night they argued at the butte—when he let his mask slip enough to show her that there was something deeper festering inside of him than cruel pranks and sarcasm. Was it guilt over he'd done before coming to the States?

She inhaled a shaky breath and broached the subject she'd been avoiding all week. (Just rip it open like a bandaid.) "What happened with Sigyn?"

His mouth fell open, brows pulled down in shock. He gave her a side-long glance, and she thought she saw tears glinting in the rims of his eyes. "What?"

She licked her lips. "Sigyn," she said. "The girl back home."

His gaze darted between her and the road. "What do you know?" She didn't miss the whisper of resignation in his voice.

"Your parents are still upset about it." At his obvious confusion, she explained, "Uncle Erik is from Oslo. I've lived with him since I was in kindergarten."

Loki made a noise that wasn't exactly a laugh. "Aren't you just full of surprises, Jane Foster?" he said. "It's a pity you didn't tell me that little secret sooner. We could have had so much fun speaking in tongues at school. Well, except in Thor's presence. Or Sif's." His lip curled in a sneer when he said her name.

Speaking of his brother's girlfriend… Jane swallowed another gulp of air; she might as well go for broke. "Sif is the one who told me about Sigyn."

He worked his jaw, hands tightening on the steering wheel. Jane knew this expression; it was the same homicidal look he wore when he tried to beat the pulp out of Marcus. "Of course she would," he hissed through gritted teeth. He jerked the car to the right, pulling off to the side of the road with screeching tires.

Before she could say anything, he was out of the car, slamming the door shut. He sat on the hood and ran a hand over his face.

Jane opened her door. "Loki?"

When he didn't answer, she decided to join him. It was cold outside—too cold for the gauzy fabric of her gown, but she worried that he wouldn't get back into the car without some prodding. He didn't say anything as she did her best to climb up next to him. (The dress and heels weren't conducive to scaling a chrome fender.)

She hugged herself, trying to keep warm. "Is it true?" Her question was almost lost in the dull roar of passing vehicles.

Loki snorted. "It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it kinda does," she countered.

"Why?" he asked, turning to her—glaring at her. "Why do you care? I blackmail people into dating me, remember? Sounds exactly like the sort of callous bastard who would screw some girl and pay her off to get rid of the consequences."

Her stomach churned with disgust at his remorseless confession. She opened her mouth to demand he take her home and then lose her number for good, but before she could express some choice words, a tiny pinprick of a light bulb went off in her mind.

He hadn't actually answered her question.

And because she liked him against her will, she latched onto that thought. "Is it true?" she repeated.

"God, Jane." He rolled his eyes. "Weren't you listening?"

Still not an answer. "Is it true?"

He did that thing with his jaw that meant he was exasperated, but didn't respond.

She wasn't going to give up, though. "Is it true?"

"Stop it. Just st—"

"Is it true?" she asked, louder, not bothering to hide her frustration. (Because, dammit, she was freezing her butt off.) "Is it true? Was she your girlfriend? Or just some girl at a party? Did you get her pregnant? Did you send her to Sweden to deal with it?"

He pressed his hands over his ears, leapt off the hood of the car. "Shut up!"

She scrambled down after him. "No! You wanted a girlfriend, and guess what? You've got one." She poked him in the chest. "Fake relationship or not, telling me whether or not you made a baby with your ex—or whatever she was—comes with the territory!"

"IT'S NOT MY BABY!" he yelled, his voice echoing off of the trees that lined the side of the road. Everything seemed to go deathly still as he inhaled in an attempt to calm himself. "It's not my baby. Are you happy now?"

It was a start. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Did you take a test or—"

"Do you ever quit?" He groaned, rubbing his palms over his eyes. "I never slept with her—not for lack of desire."

"Then why—"

"She told them the baby was mine when they discovered her, and I didn't bother to correct her story. It shouldn't have surprised me how easily everyone believed it—my parents always thought her a bad influence," he said, leaning back against the hood. "And before you pester me further, yes, I gave her the money."

Jane tried to process everything. So much didn't make sense, though. If he wasn't the father, why did he let everyone believe he was? And why had he paid for her trip out of the country? She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud until he answered.

"Because I loved her," he said with a dry laugh. "I was trying to protect her."

An infinitesimal bead of jealousy began to swell in Jane's chest, but she stamped it down. This was so not the appropriate time for her burgeoning crush to rear its stupid head. "Protect her from who?"

Loki watched several cars pass before speaking. "The real father. Her mother's fiancé."

"No." Jane clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. She couldn't even begin to imagine how desperate Sigyn must have been. And they had found her. "Is she—?" Jane couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

He shook his head. "The last I heard, she was sent to a boarding school—a reform school, really. I suppose she's safe enough now."

Jane had wanted the truth, but she hadn't realized that it would hurt so much. He carried the weight of someone else's secret for months, allowing people to believe the worst about him. How many family dinners did he suffer through as his father cut him down for something he didn't do? Good grief, no wonder he was messed up.

She hugged him because what else could she do after she found out her jerk of a fake boyfriend was actually capable of something so saintly? "I'm so sorry you're stuck in this crappy situation," she murmured into his chest.

"Oh, god," he grumbled. "Don't get all sentimental on me now, Foster."

She squeezed tighter. He would just have to put up with her sympathy; she wasn't letting go until he reciprocated. It took several misty breaths before he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. She would have been happy to remain like this for hours, except her entire body started shivering.

Loki released her, brushed a tear from her cheek (her make-up was probably ruined). "After all this excitement, a ball seems kind of anti-climactic."

She laughed. "A little bit," she agreed. "But this princess still wants to go."

He took her hand in both of his, and with a hint of a smile, placed a kiss over her knuckles.

"As the lady wishes."


TRANSLATIONS:

Hvem er hennes foreldre? = Who are her parents?

Jeg burde ikke ha forventet mindre. = I should have expected no less.

Hva mener du med det? = What do you mean by that?

Hva er det det skal bety, far? = What's that supposed to mean, Father?

Du samler på bortkomne barn og tillater dem å ødelegge deg. = You collect stray children and allow them to destroy you.

Si meg, sønn, er dette din nye Sigyn? = Tell me, son, is this your new Sigyn?

Ikke snakk om henne, noensinne! Du vet ingenting! = Do not talk about her, ever! You know nothing!

Jeg sier hva jeg behager i mitt eget hjem! = I'll say what I please in my own home!


A/N: This is all I'd written before I took a long hiatus from fandom. Future updates might be a bit slow, but I do plan to finish it. Thank you for coming on this journey with me! It would mean a great deal if you would leave a quick (or long or something in between) review. Those help feed my muse!