^ ^ ^ ^
Loki was not in the best of moods. He wasn't sick. In fact, he felt fine; better than fine. He felt good. Things were going quite well for him. His life as a mortal had been changing, but changing for the better, he thought. Living with Bethany and Kirsten and Grace made Loki feel welcome and almost . . . home. And Kirsten. Loki wasn't certain what he was feeling for Kirsten, but he was certain that he liked it, and that he liked her. But still, as Loki walked to work on the dull, gray, chilly morning, he was not in the best of moods. He was worried about Bartleby.
On the surface, Bartleby seemed fine. Loki noticed how well Bartleby acted out the part of being content and at ease and happy, but Loki didn't spend his entire existence with Bartleby to be so easily fooled by his friend's facade. Something or someone had hurt Bartleby. Maybe not physically (like with a baseball bat to the ribs), Loki thought, but hurt him nonetheless. Something had changed in his friend – like a flame of hope had been doused from his soul. And the thought of it was eating Loki up inside.
And Bartleby had been acting strange and detached lately; like when he asked Loki to take a different route to work from now on, but didn't give a reason why. Or like when he told Loki to be very careful when out alone, even in broad daylight. And Loki *was* careful and he thought that maybe Bartleby was just being a bit too overprotective . . . that is unless Bartleby knew something that Loki didn't.
All of these thoughts ran through his mind as he strode along the sidewalk towards the steel mill. He was dreading work. He loathed it. Bending steel for a living didn't seem quite as glorious or as fun as laying entire cities to waste, but if a dramatic career change was part of the compromise when he became human then so be it.
Maybe it was out of curiosity, or maybe Loki was just being defiant, but he didn't change his route to work as Bartleby had asked. Besides, he liked this route and it was familiar to him and it was the fastest way to the steel mill, and in Loki's mind, fast equaled good.
But as he walked, tightness in his chest and a strange feeling of trepidation overtook him. He saw nothing to make him feel this way. All was calm and peaceful, and the row homes were not threatening to come alive and chase him down the street. But still, as Loki took more steps past each of the houses, his gait slowed and his confidence dwindled.
And then he stopped.
Loki took a good look around. There wasn't a soul to be seen. He was alone in the street . . . but he didn't *feel* alone. Then his gaze settled on the house beside him. It was a simple ranch house; pale yellow with white shutters. It didn't look any different or any more special than the other homes Loki passed, and he knew he must have passed this very house a hundred times on his way to and from work. So why did he feel uneasy standing in front of it now?
Then, Loki felt an aching pain in his hand. Startled, he looked down to find that he was gripping the charm of his necklace painfully tight; so tight that his knuckles were white with strain. He could feel the markings of the inscribed words on the sun-shaped piece burning into his fisted palm: In Darkness There Will Be Light.
Loki took a deep breath and then let go of the charm. He looked at the ranch house again, studying it carefully. It looked harmless and even normal. Frustrated, he sighed and turned from the pale yellow house and continued on his way. But the feeling of anxiety that churned in the pit of Loki's stomach didn't diminish as the house faded into the distance behind him.
^ ^ ^ ^
Twilight was fast approaching as Loki made his way home from work. He could make out the hint of shimmering stars peeking through the haze of the pink and purple sunset sky. The cold evening air was settling on his goosefleshed skin, urging him to walk a little faster while he thought of the loving warmth of the Sloan household.
But unavoidably, there it was: the pale yellow house with the white shutters. Loki didn't want to stop and look at it again, but he felt compelled to do so. What was it about this house that intrigued him? Maybe "intrigued" wasn't quite the right word to describe his feelings. Frightened? Yes, the house frightened him and he felt the tightness creep back into his chest.
Was this the reason Bartleby asked him to change his route to work? Loki wondered if the ranch house "frightened" Bartleby too. He decided he'd ask Bartleby about it when he got home.
Loki turned from the house, ever eager to put distance between it and himself, took one step and stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat as he eyed the slender figure standing before him . . . and Loki immediately *knew* why Bartleby didn't want him to walk the route past the pale yellow house; he *knew* why Bartleby had been acting so strange; and he *knew* that Bartleby, and all who were close to him were in grave danger.
"My, my, my. If it isn't The Angel of Death!" Lucifer cried. "Woops, I mean the *former* Angel of Death. So nice to see you again, Loki." Lucifer grinned wildly and crinkled her tiny nose at Loki.
Loki felt white hot anger boiling through his veins. He was aware that it was wrong to hate, but if there was one person who he couldn't feel *anything* but hate for, it was Lucifer. His eyes were blue flames of fire as he glared at her. "What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Lucifer ignored his question and turned her attention towards the house. "I see you were admiring my humble abode. It's lovely, don't you think?" She chuckled and then winked. "It's not much, but it's a lot cooler than Hell, that's for sure!"
Loki was increasingly disinterested in Lucifer's small-talk. He decided to cut straight to the chase. "You've talked to Bartleby." It was an accusation, not a question, and Lucifer understood the difference.
The glimmer in her eyes and the wicked grin tugging at her lips revealed the disturbing answer. "Bartleby," she let out a long breath of air. "Yes," Lucifer began, "We've chatted. We had a lot to discuss."
"What did you say to him?"
Lucifer found Loki's question to be rather amusing. She had just realized one little detail; probably the reason Loki was acting so angry and betrayed. "Bartleby didn't tell you that he saw me, did he?" Her smile widened. Lucifer turned and murmured to herself: "He was keeping it our little secret."
"What did you say to him?" Loki shouted the question this time.
"What does it matter, Loki? Why is my exchange of words with Bartleby so important to you?" Lucifer was having fun. She circled Loki as she spoke, loving the fact that he wouldn't take his eyes from hers.
Many emotions were channeling through Loki's body, but one emotion emanated from him far stronger than all of the others combined: Anger. It was a "stupid human emotion" that Loki found not very easy to control. His teeth clenched tightly together, causing a lightning jolt of pain to shoot through his jaw and down his neck. It took every ounce of strength for him to keep himself from lunging at Lucifer. He had to get away from her before he did something he would regret . . . or maybe worse, before he did something he *wouldn't* regret. They were all foolish thoughts, Loki knew. He was mortal now. As an angel, he may have been a great adversary, but Lucifer had the edge now. He had no power over Lucifer and was clearly no match for her anymore. And he knew that it was Lucifer who was helping the current of anger course through his veins. And anger made one careless in battle. Loki needed to calm himself.
He took a deep breath of the cold, dusky air and let the coolness of the breeze empty his head of mangled thoughts of violence. "Stay away from him." Loki was almost startled by the sheer lividness he heard in his own voice.
Lucifer laughed heartily. If she felt threatened by his words, she didn't show it. "Silly, Loki," she giggled, "You know I can't do that."
Loki turned from her and began to walk away. He knew what she meant, or even more so, what she was implying. He knew of Lucifer's and Bartleby's past, and he realized that his argument could not be won. But Loki was as stubborn as a mule, and no matter who his opponent was, whether he could win the battle or not, no matter what the cost or consequence, he would fight for Bartleby. "You can't have him, Lucifer." And he continued to put distance between himself and The Keeper of Hell.
But Lucifer would not let the conversation end there. She had to have the last word and she had to plant a seed of misery able to grow and tangle in Loki's mind. "Ah, Loki: naïve and stupid to the very end." She paused for effect; willing to let her words of stinging ardor drift effortlessly along the bitter wind. "He's already mine."
^ ^ ^ ^
Loki was not in the best of moods. He wasn't sick. In fact, he felt fine; better than fine. He felt good. Things were going quite well for him. His life as a mortal had been changing, but changing for the better, he thought. Living with Bethany and Kirsten and Grace made Loki feel welcome and almost . . . home. And Kirsten. Loki wasn't certain what he was feeling for Kirsten, but he was certain that he liked it, and that he liked her. But still, as Loki walked to work on the dull, gray, chilly morning, he was not in the best of moods. He was worried about Bartleby.
On the surface, Bartleby seemed fine. Loki noticed how well Bartleby acted out the part of being content and at ease and happy, but Loki didn't spend his entire existence with Bartleby to be so easily fooled by his friend's facade. Something or someone had hurt Bartleby. Maybe not physically (like with a baseball bat to the ribs), Loki thought, but hurt him nonetheless. Something had changed in his friend – like a flame of hope had been doused from his soul. And the thought of it was eating Loki up inside.
And Bartleby had been acting strange and detached lately; like when he asked Loki to take a different route to work from now on, but didn't give a reason why. Or like when he told Loki to be very careful when out alone, even in broad daylight. And Loki *was* careful and he thought that maybe Bartleby was just being a bit too overprotective . . . that is unless Bartleby knew something that Loki didn't.
All of these thoughts ran through his mind as he strode along the sidewalk towards the steel mill. He was dreading work. He loathed it. Bending steel for a living didn't seem quite as glorious or as fun as laying entire cities to waste, but if a dramatic career change was part of the compromise when he became human then so be it.
Maybe it was out of curiosity, or maybe Loki was just being defiant, but he didn't change his route to work as Bartleby had asked. Besides, he liked this route and it was familiar to him and it was the fastest way to the steel mill, and in Loki's mind, fast equaled good.
But as he walked, tightness in his chest and a strange feeling of trepidation overtook him. He saw nothing to make him feel this way. All was calm and peaceful, and the row homes were not threatening to come alive and chase him down the street. But still, as Loki took more steps past each of the houses, his gait slowed and his confidence dwindled.
And then he stopped.
Loki took a good look around. There wasn't a soul to be seen. He was alone in the street . . . but he didn't *feel* alone. Then his gaze settled on the house beside him. It was a simple ranch house; pale yellow with white shutters. It didn't look any different or any more special than the other homes Loki passed, and he knew he must have passed this very house a hundred times on his way to and from work. So why did he feel uneasy standing in front of it now?
Then, Loki felt an aching pain in his hand. Startled, he looked down to find that he was gripping the charm of his necklace painfully tight; so tight that his knuckles were white with strain. He could feel the markings of the inscribed words on the sun-shaped piece burning into his fisted palm: In Darkness There Will Be Light.
Loki took a deep breath and then let go of the charm. He looked at the ranch house again, studying it carefully. It looked harmless and even normal. Frustrated, he sighed and turned from the pale yellow house and continued on his way. But the feeling of anxiety that churned in the pit of Loki's stomach didn't diminish as the house faded into the distance behind him.
^ ^ ^ ^
Twilight was fast approaching as Loki made his way home from work. He could make out the hint of shimmering stars peeking through the haze of the pink and purple sunset sky. The cold evening air was settling on his goosefleshed skin, urging him to walk a little faster while he thought of the loving warmth of the Sloan household.
But unavoidably, there it was: the pale yellow house with the white shutters. Loki didn't want to stop and look at it again, but he felt compelled to do so. What was it about this house that intrigued him? Maybe "intrigued" wasn't quite the right word to describe his feelings. Frightened? Yes, the house frightened him and he felt the tightness creep back into his chest.
Was this the reason Bartleby asked him to change his route to work? Loki wondered if the ranch house "frightened" Bartleby too. He decided he'd ask Bartleby about it when he got home.
Loki turned from the house, ever eager to put distance between it and himself, took one step and stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat as he eyed the slender figure standing before him . . . and Loki immediately *knew* why Bartleby didn't want him to walk the route past the pale yellow house; he *knew* why Bartleby had been acting so strange; and he *knew* that Bartleby, and all who were close to him were in grave danger.
"My, my, my. If it isn't The Angel of Death!" Lucifer cried. "Woops, I mean the *former* Angel of Death. So nice to see you again, Loki." Lucifer grinned wildly and crinkled her tiny nose at Loki.
Loki felt white hot anger boiling through his veins. He was aware that it was wrong to hate, but if there was one person who he couldn't feel *anything* but hate for, it was Lucifer. His eyes were blue flames of fire as he glared at her. "What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Lucifer ignored his question and turned her attention towards the house. "I see you were admiring my humble abode. It's lovely, don't you think?" She chuckled and then winked. "It's not much, but it's a lot cooler than Hell, that's for sure!"
Loki was increasingly disinterested in Lucifer's small-talk. He decided to cut straight to the chase. "You've talked to Bartleby." It was an accusation, not a question, and Lucifer understood the difference.
The glimmer in her eyes and the wicked grin tugging at her lips revealed the disturbing answer. "Bartleby," she let out a long breath of air. "Yes," Lucifer began, "We've chatted. We had a lot to discuss."
"What did you say to him?"
Lucifer found Loki's question to be rather amusing. She had just realized one little detail; probably the reason Loki was acting so angry and betrayed. "Bartleby didn't tell you that he saw me, did he?" Her smile widened. Lucifer turned and murmured to herself: "He was keeping it our little secret."
"What did you say to him?" Loki shouted the question this time.
"What does it matter, Loki? Why is my exchange of words with Bartleby so important to you?" Lucifer was having fun. She circled Loki as she spoke, loving the fact that he wouldn't take his eyes from hers.
Many emotions were channeling through Loki's body, but one emotion emanated from him far stronger than all of the others combined: Anger. It was a "stupid human emotion" that Loki found not very easy to control. His teeth clenched tightly together, causing a lightning jolt of pain to shoot through his jaw and down his neck. It took every ounce of strength for him to keep himself from lunging at Lucifer. He had to get away from her before he did something he would regret . . . or maybe worse, before he did something he *wouldn't* regret. They were all foolish thoughts, Loki knew. He was mortal now. As an angel, he may have been a great adversary, but Lucifer had the edge now. He had no power over Lucifer and was clearly no match for her anymore. And he knew that it was Lucifer who was helping the current of anger course through his veins. And anger made one careless in battle. Loki needed to calm himself.
He took a deep breath of the cold, dusky air and let the coolness of the breeze empty his head of mangled thoughts of violence. "Stay away from him." Loki was almost startled by the sheer lividness he heard in his own voice.
Lucifer laughed heartily. If she felt threatened by his words, she didn't show it. "Silly, Loki," she giggled, "You know I can't do that."
Loki turned from her and began to walk away. He knew what she meant, or even more so, what she was implying. He knew of Lucifer's and Bartleby's past, and he realized that his argument could not be won. But Loki was as stubborn as a mule, and no matter who his opponent was, whether he could win the battle or not, no matter what the cost or consequence, he would fight for Bartleby. "You can't have him, Lucifer." And he continued to put distance between himself and The Keeper of Hell.
But Lucifer would not let the conversation end there. She had to have the last word and she had to plant a seed of misery able to grow and tangle in Loki's mind. "Ah, Loki: naïve and stupid to the very end." She paused for effect; willing to let her words of stinging ardor drift effortlessly along the bitter wind. "He's already mine."
^ ^ ^ ^