Chapter 34 - Happily, We Roll Along

AN: I didn't get as much done as I wanted to this week, so to compensate for how short this chapter is, I included a bonus scene at the end. It's from my archive of unused material, and I just dusted it off and rewrote it a little at the end. It's meant to take place after the end of Eat, Pray, Loki, and though it's unrelated to what's currently going on in the story, I hope you'll enjoy it ^_^;;

"Must you stare at me?"

The ironically nicknamed "Happy" watched him with a maddeningly unreadable expression. "Ms. Potts asked me to keep an eye on you two while she had a private conversation with her fiancé, so that's what I'm doing."

"I'm not sure she meant it literally."

"If I'd taken it literally, I would have had to pluck out my eyeball and glue it to your forehead," the man in front of him pointed out.

"Touché," Loki acknowledged, then stood up.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"The restroom. Surely I'm allowed to relieve myself?" Loki didn't really need the restroom, but he was tired of being stared at.

"If you really need to go, we'll all go."

"I don't need an escort," objected Loki.

"Yeah, I'm thinking you do."

He felt the comment like a cut from one of his good daggers, which come to think of it, he would have to ask after the next time he was in Asgard. "Of course, you don't trust me because I look like this."

Happy's expression didn't change. "Enough weird stuff has happened in the past few years that the blue thing doesn't really bother me. I don't trust you because you're a known flight risk. Just how many times have you tried to run off since Tony took you in?"

Loki felt a little better. He had a feeling he ought to be annoyed by the man, but there was something about his blunt manner that appealed to him. He felt like he could trust him, if only because the man didn't seem to care if what he said rubbed Loki the wrong way.

Happy stood, then looked down at Wanda. "Hey, mopey girl in the red coat—get up, we're moving."

Wanda glared at him. In the next moment, she had lunged for him with her arm outstretched.

Loki caught her arm, instinctively neutralizing the magic with his own. "No, bad Wanda. You can't attack everyone who makes you angry with your magic. Do you know what will happen if you do? Eventually you're going to kill someone close to you, and you'll be very sorry. If you kill your brother, how will you feel then?"

He had only parroted the words Frigga had said to him when he was very young and had difficulty controlling himself, but maybe he should have been more careful. Wanda wailed like a banshee and slumped to the floor.

He took a step away from her, then looked to Happy. "What do we do now?"

"Don't ask me. You're the one that made her cry."

"But you were the one that provoked her! How would you like to be called 'mopey girl in the red coat?' She almost killed her own brother today. She had a reason to be mopey."

Wanda's volume increased.

"You know, maybe you should stop bringing up the thing with the brother," said Happy.

Obviously, the man was determined to make a point of being no use whatsoever. Loki had no choice, then—he would have to try to be a good older brother and comfort her himself. Frantically, he tried to think of what Thor would do in one of his rare moments of being a decent older sibling. Loki knelt on the ground in front of her, and cautiously, put a hand on his shoulder. "There, there," he said, forcing himself to smile.

Wanda glared coldly at him and made a gesture with two fingers; while it wasn't one used in the part of Midgard he was accustomed to, he didn't need All-Speak to figure out what it meant. At least her tears had slowed a little.

Loki decided he had better approach things from a different angle. This time, he tried to think of what he would want someone to say to him if he were in her position. "What happened wasn't your fault, Wanda. You haven't had anyone to teach you how to use your powers, which were thrust on you all at once. I had hundreds of years to develop mine, and I'm just as responsible if not more responsible for what happened. Besides, Pietro is going to be fine. The doctor said we can go see him when he wakes up."

"Knowing I hurt him makes me feel sick."

"I know," Loki commiserated, though he wondered if he ought to get out of the way, just in case she meant it literally.

Wanda looked down at her hands, which had been the instrument of her brother's near-murder. "I feel like a monster."

"I know," Loki repeated, taking one of her hands in his blue one. For a long moment, they just sat there on the floor of the hospital waiting room, staring at their conjoined fingers.

"So, did you still need to go to the restroom or not?" asked Happy, ruining their moment.

( ｡･_･｡)_.._(｡･_･｡ )

"So I'm not dead?" asked Pietro Maximoff.

Hela closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment, sending a tendril of her magic to feel along the string that connected the boy to Yggdrasil. "No, it looks as if you'll live. Pity."

"If I'm still alive, why are we hanging around down here? My body is upstairs, isn't it?"

Hela looked around the brightly lit hospital morgue, which was currently empty—the morgue technicians had gone to lunch, and everyone else present had simply gone on, with the exception of the tenacious child in front of her. "You don't like it here? I thought it felt kind of homey."

"I want to see my sister and make sure she's alright."

Hela shook her head; she would never understand mortals. "Here you are, your body lying in what could have been your death bed, your soul lingering in a hospital morgue with the queen of the dead, and you're concerned about the person who nearly killed you."

"She didn't mean to hurt me. You saw how upset she was."

"You're free to go anywhere you wish," Hela pointed out with an exasperated sigh. "You're the one who's been following me around like a lost puppy—how is my father finding his Yule gift, by the way?"

The boy scowled at her. "He isn't house trained, and in the last week he's set fire to the window dressings in the common room twice."

"The dog or Loki?"

The boy frowned. "I'm sure that Loki feels bad about what happened to me as well."

"For a Loki, this one is especially tender hearted," Hela agreed. "All of them are sensitive, mind you, but that doesn't always translate into regard for others."

The boy got a wistful look in his eye. "I think Loki is wonderful. I'm going to marry them one day; I suppose that will make you my stepdaughter. And what a beautiful stepdaughter you are. Another green eyed, raven haired beauty, like your parent."

"You know, it's a wonder my father hasn't killed you before now," Hela deadpanned.

(ㅍ_ㅍ) ヽ(ー。一)

"Karla, you aren't responsible for your father's death."

"I know that! I don't need you to tell me that." Karla had torn the kitten poster from the wall in a pique of rage, and was now in the process of ripping the poor kitten to shreds. Leonard took a step back. At least she wasn't pointing that gun of hers at him anymore. In fact, she had left it lying on the sofa—while she had her back to it, he stepped to the side, picked it up, and tucked it into the front of his trousers.

Karla turned to the desk that was crammed in the corner and picked up a handful of pens that had been sitting in a mug emblazoned with the words, "Trust Me, I'm a Psychiatrist." She threw them at the wall, then screamed and kicked the chair Leonard had been sitting in when she couldn't find anything else to throw. Leonard started to back out of the room, but when she picked up the mug and seconds later, it had ended its life in an explosion of knife-like ceramic shards, he changed his mind. Before she could hurt herself, he doubled back to where Karla stood, grabbed her, and easily pitched her over his shoulder.

Karla kneed him in the chest and scraped her claw-like fingernails over his back. "What do you think you're doing?"

"We're going to find Betty and Bruce and get out of here. Then, with any luck, you can go somewhere where you can get the help you need."

"I don't need help! I'm quite capable of helping myself."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

Karla stopped struggling. She reached down and groped him an area she wished she would leave alone, but which in her position was within easy reach. "When did you get so strong, by the way?"

"I've been working out," Leonard answered dryly. "And cut it out, that's sexual assault."

Karla ignored him, continuing to touch him inappropriately. "Swimming, I suppose? Though I thought chlorine only turned blond hair green."

"Where do I find Betty's room?" Leonard asked her, cutting her off before she could make any more comments about his new found muscle power, or take her flirting any farther, if that was what it was.

"What will you do if I refuse to tell you?" Karla purred.

"Wander around and knock on every door in this place until I find it, I guess?"

She sighed. "How boring of you. In that case, down the hall, to the left. It's the largest cell—I mean, dorm room. There's even a nameplate on the door, you can't miss it."

He didn't have much trouble following Karla's directions. Before he saw the nameplate on the door, he saw Betty's "dogs," which had disappeared after their initial encounter with Karla, lying in front of the door. He leaned over them and knocked.

A few moments later, the door opened a couple of inches. "Leonard?" The dogs leapt up and pushed their way into the room, nearly knocking Betty over.

"We need to get out of here," he told her. "Do you have Bruce with you?"

Betty opened the door the rest of the way. "I do now," she said, somewhat cryptically.

Karla still slung over his shoulder, he followed her into the room, where Bruce sat on the bed. His eyebrows shot up. "Leonard, what are you doing here? And what are you doing with Doctor Sofen?"

Before Karla could start groping him again, he put her down, at the same time grabbing her wrists and holding them behind her back. "She's been manipulating you, Bruce."

"Yeah, I know. That became apparent when she gassed me—what was that stuff anyway?" Instead of looking at Sofen, though, he looked at Betty.

Betty looked away. "If you're thinking it was something I developed, you're right. I'm sorry, it wasn't supposed to be used that way."

"How was it supposed to be used?" asked Bruce.

"It's a chemical compound that can suppress the gamma radiation in your bloodstream. That's why you couldn't transform into the Hulk, until I gave you the antidote."

Bruce stared at her blankly for a few moments. "And you developed this for the military, at your father's request."

"No, of course not. I did it for you, Bruce. I thought you wanted a way to control your, um, transitions. I thought I was helping."

"Until recently, I've been able to control them on my own."

"That's fantastic."

"Until recently," Bruce repeated.

"Oh."

"Betty, what have you been doing here, really? And what are those?" he asked, pointing to the dogs. "What you've been working on—is it related to our research from before?"

Betty fidgeted and looked away again. "I didn't have much choice."

"There's always a choice, Betty."

"I told myself that at least, the research I was doing might benefit you, and anyone else who has already been or will be exposed to high doses of gamma radiation. That at least understanding more about what happened might mean I could find a way to reverse it—"

"I've given up on finding a way to reverse it."

Leonard felt the need to say something to that, because regardless of his own feelings about it (in his professional opinion, he thought it would be healthier for Bruce to accept Hulk as part of himself), he'd been under the opposite impression. "If you have, what is it that you've spent all your time researching since I've known you?" The man had a large collection of his own tissue samples taking up an entire wall of his lab. So either he had been studying his condition, or he had a serious problem and they needed to find him another psychiatrist ASAP.

Bruce's eyes flicked to the side, and he licked his lips. He took a breath, but before he could say anything, Leonard interrupted him.

"Don't lie."

"I wasn't going to—"

Leonard smiled at him, tight lipped. "Your body language says something different."

Bruce winced. "Look, is this important right now? Shouldn't we be trying to find a way out of here?"

"Bruce, if you weren't trying to find a way to reverse it, then—" Leonard bit his own tongue; Bruce was right, they could focus on finding a way out first.

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...

(This completely unrelated scene takes place around seven months earlier, shortly after the events of Eat, Pray, Loki.)

After dinner, Bruce decided to sit down in the common room for a while. Leonard had gone up to his office. He had said that he needed to organize some paperwork, but Pepper had left the table shortly after he had, and he suspected they were having a session. Unlike the other residents of the tower, she had a "real job" and couldn't see him during the day. Bruce might be the only one left in the tower who wasn't seeing Leonard professionally.

Loki sat on the carpet in front of him; he had his laptop out and seemed to be completely absorbed in whatever he was typing. "What is it that you've been writing, Loki?"

"Doctor Samson suggested that I turn my hand to writing as a way of exploring my feelings," Loki told him, without even looking up.

Thor, who had been sitting on the other side of the sofa watching the television with glazed eyes, looked down at Loki, frowning. "You're not writing poetry again, are you?"

The click of Loki's laptop paused long enough for him to scowl up at his brother. "Don't worry. Even if I was writing poetry, I wouldn't subject you to it. I am well aware that you do not appreciate my artistic efforts."

"I'm sorry Brother, but it wasn't just me, everyone agreed—"

Loki snorted. "Yes, and by everyone, you mean you and your friends. You're all such authorities when it comes to art."

Tony had just sat in the chair across from them. He leaned towards Thor. "So how bad is it? I mean, are we talking Vogon level—?"

"Tony," Bruce warned. Thor might not know what a Vogon was, but Loki was better at picking up on those kinds of references. And even though he appeared to be preoccupied with his writing, Bruce knew there was no way he wasn't listening to every word they said—not when he seemed to hear everything that anyone said about him when they weren't less than five feet away from him.

Thor shook his head. "I do not know what you speak of, but—it was just so depressing. And morbid; even mother agreed that Loki should not be allowed to write it anymore, and she has always supported him in his pursuits, even the ones that were considered unmanly by Asgard's standards."

"So what are you writing?" Bruce asked, purposely interrupting Thor and Tony's discussion.

"Doctor Samson suggested that as an exercise, I might rewrite a past event in the way I wished it to have happened," Loki told him.

"Oh," Bruce said, a little surprised that Loki had actually taken the suggestion. "Would you consider letting me read it?" In a way, it felt a little intrusive to ask, but if Loki was willing, it might give him a little insight into his recent state of mind. It might have been Bruce's imagination, but it seemed that ever since his "death" and subsequent resurrection, he had been quieter than usual.

Loki looked up slowly, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a way that made him a little suspicious. But then again, maybe Loki was just happy to have someone take an interest. "You really wish to read it?"

"Of course."

"Very well. I shall email you what I have so far, and you can give me your opinion."

A few moments later, Bruce navigated to the email app on the smart phone Tony had practically forced on him a year ago, and found the email. He opened the attachment, and begun to read. Apparently, the subject he had chosen was his fight with Steve at Stuttgart.

Loki deflected the mortal captain 's shield with ease. Still, he was putting up a good enough fight for a mortal. And Loki had to admit to himself that there was something about the pompous patriot that he found appealing. Perhaps it was the sort of raw power that the captain exuded. It was something primitive, just as one might expect of a lower life form.

Loki was suddenly overcome with the desire to surrender to his foe right then and there. "Let us fight no more," he cried. "As you can see, your flimsy little shield is useless against my superior physical and magical prowess. If you wish to conquer me, you must do so with your sword."

"Sword? Steve no carry sword," said the mortal, perhaps confused because his brain matter, unlike the rest of him, was only of average size for a mortal, if not somewhat smaller.

"I beg to differ, for I can very well see that you are indeed blessed with one of the largest swords I have ever seen," said the rightful king of Asgard, licking his lips. Indeed, the captain's uniform was made of the Midgardian material known as 'spandex' and left very little to the imagination.

The captain blushed like a maiden as he attempted to cover himself with his shield.

The most powerful god in the universe blinked in and out of existence, and appeared directly behind the good captain. "No, you mustn't hide," he whispered gently. "I will agree to be your sheath—ahem, I mean, prisoner—but I have some very specific conditions."

Loki reached around the Captain and his hand slid down the man 's rock hard, spandex covered abdominal muscles. He felt them quiver beneath his clever fingers…

It only went downhill from there. Bruce nearly choked on his words when he was finally able to force them out of his mouth. "Loki, what is this?"

"It's the exercise that Doctor Samson suggested," Loki said casually.

"Somehow I doubt he told you to write this."

"He suggested I rewrite an event from my past in the way I wished it had happened, so I did."

"Uh-huh." Bruce supposed that in a way, Loki's approach to the exercise was actually quite telling. Or it would be, if he wasn't sure that Loki had written it for the sole purpose of screwing with him (or possibly, with Leonard, since he was the one who had given him the writing prompt). At least he hoped that was what it was. Otherwise, he might be beyond help.

Bruce arched an eyebrow at Loki. "You know, maybe I should forward this to Steve. He might find it interesting."

Loki blushed—like a maiden, thought Bruce. "You wouldn't."

Loki was right; he wouldn't, but Loki needed to learn that if he was going to mess with people, they could mess with him back. He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Steve ought to know how you really feel about him."

"What are you talking about? Obviously, it was a joke! I don't feel anything for Steve."

"Really? Because from what you wrote, it sounds like you've been thinking a lot about his sword."

"Um, sorry, would you two like to share with the class?" Tony interrupted. "Did I miss something? When did Steve get a sword?"

"Don't you dare show it to anyone," Loki growled.

"Or what?" Bruce felt a little disappointed, but not entirely surprised that Loki had resorted to threatening him.

"Or I'll never trust you again!"

Now Bruce was taken aback by Loki's choice of threat, mainly because he hadn't considered that Loki trusted him in the first place. "I'm not going to show anyone," he promised. "I was only teasing."

Loki looked at him wearily, and nodded. "Very well. Just so you know, that was all I was doing as well."

"I believe you," he told Loki. Though really, he wasn't so sure now. Did Loki really have a crush on Steve? Then he wondered, even if he doesn't really have feelings for Steve, was this Loki's way of broaching the subject of his sexuality with him? He wondered what the rules were about sexuality in Asgard's masculinity obsessed culture, and what might be considered taboo. Loki might really need someone to talk to, and maybe he didn't know a better way of bringing it up.

While he was still trying to figure out what to say next, Loki got up and walked out of the room, taking his laptop with him.

Tony looked over to Bruce. "So, was what just happened something we should worry about?"

"You don't need to worry about it," Bruce told him. "I'll take care of it—or maybe I'll get Leonard to talk to him, actually."

Thor seemed to be content to at least pretend to have been absorbed in the infomercial he had been watching the entire time, though Bruce wasn't sure he could blame him. "Perhaps we should purchase one of these juicers for the common kitchen. Bruce, you are always saying that Loki should get more nutrients. Juice is a healthy beverage, is it not?"

Tony squinted at the television. "I feel like I had a juicer like that at one time. Pretty sure U broke it, though."

Thor blinked at him. "I didn't break your juicer."

Tony's eyebrows scrunched together. "No, I mean—you know what? Never mind."