Chapter Five: Tortuga II

After a long morning of overseeing the removal of the ship's goods by Luis and his men and finishing the acquisition of supplies for the journey, Loki found himself wandering the streets of Tortuga. Not that there was much to wander through, exactly, but it was better than returning to the ship and dealing with Thor's less-than-pleasant mood. It gave him time to think.

With a bitter huff, Loki kicked at a rock on the path, sending it skittering out into the street. He was starting to doubt that time would help at all. He was completely out of his element here. Even the basics of ordering supplies had mostly been done by Peter; he had just handled the money. Everything was beyond his control, yet he had no one to rely on but himself.

It did not help either that the hollowness of his magic's absence only seemed to amplify with each passing day. It was like a strange emptiness in his chest, a hole that left his mind unable to reach its usual limits. How could he plan a course of action without knowing that he had something to fall back on? What if his magic never came back at all?

Loki sighed as he turned the corner, absently noting that he had entered what could charitably be considered the "nice" side of town. Thinking about things like that would not help. Let Thor be the one to wallow in self-pity. Though, to be fair, apparently the only things Thor seemed to miss so far were his hammer and his ability to drink a cask of ale without side effects. If nothing else, this adventure might actually teach his brother some restraint.

A snort escaped him. It would take far more than a headache and sore stomach to accomplish that feat.

Wearily shaking his head, Loki prepared to cross the street to continue his aimless path when he felt… something. He stopped in his tracks, rubbing a hand against his chest. Was that…? No. Maybe? Had he just felt a flicker in that horrible hollowness? He shook his head again with more force. This state of quasi-mortality was making him delusional.

Or was it? Loki hesitated, thinking it over as a cart barreled down the road. Midgard had already proven itself to be more bizarre than his lessons had taught him; was it so improbable that he could be further surprised? The possibility was simply too much to ignore. Reaching inward, he desperately stretched his senses, begging the sensation to be real.

There it was. That flicker came to life for a brief moment again, but it was enough. Relief flooded through him, a heady emotion that weakened his knees, forcing him to catch himself against the side of the closest building. Loki smiled so widely his cheeks hurt, letting himself bask in it. Who cared what the passersby thought of him, eyeing him up as if he were a loon? His magic was not gone, not completely, and none of these fools could do a thing about it.

But almost as quickly as it had come, his relief vanished, replaced by intense curiosity. What had caused that flicker? He certainly had not done anything.

Scanning the area, Loki turned to read the sign on the building that he was leaning against. Stephen Strange, Physician. Hmm. Midgard's healers did not use magic – as far as he was aware – and yet, an ineffable something was drawing him toward the door. Cautiously, Loki reached for the knob and opened the door just wide enough for him to slip inside.

The plain room was much cleaner and brighter than any of the other places he had seen so far, with white walls and only a desk for furniture. A curtain partitioned the room, a low voice from behind it calling out, "I'll be with you in a moment!"

But Loki barely noticed any of that. There was magic in this place. The flicker became an ember, glowing warmly in his chest. Reaching inward again, he tried to grasp it, but it was elusive. The magic was not his magic; it did not want him to find it.

Did the universe always have to be so cruel?

The curtain flipped open, finally drawing Loki back into the present. A tall, darkhaired man emerged, freezing for a moment as his blue eyes ran over Loki. "You're not here for medical services, are you?"

Frustrated at the interruption, Loki snapped, "What makes you say that?"

"For one thing, no local would ever walk around dressed like that." The man gestured vaguely in his direction. "If the Masters have sent you to bring me back, I'm afraid I won't be going."

Masters? Loki struggled to recall anything about Midgardian magic associated with the term, but he came up with nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care." He glanced around the room, wishing that the source would make itself known. "I just want to know what magic is being kept here."

The man raised a brow, asking, "No one sent you?"

"No."

The man relaxed his stance, a perplexed expression creasing his features. But the man's issues were his own. Ignoring him for a moment, Loki reached inward again. Wait… The pull was coming from the man himself.

Damn.

"There is no magic here, is there? Only you?"

The man nodded, still a bit dazed. "I don't do that sort of thing anymore. In fact, I'm surprised anyone but one of the Masters would even notice what I am." He cocked his head quizzically. "Who are you?"

"No one you need concern yourself with." Dismissively, Loki turned to go. Reaching for the handle, he glanced back at the man. What a pitiful waste. There was power there, buried deep, and he hated the envy he felt. "Not that I care about how you choose to live your meaningless, little life, but magic is not something you simply stop doing. It's part of you; don't fight it. Feed it."

The man said nothing as Loki let himself out. The ember in his chest faded away, leaving the hole even more painful than before, but it was not in vain. Even if he could not use magic, he could still sense its presence. Mortal magic was weak, and a single man's even weaker, so an island filled with his and Thor's enchantments? Oh, there was no way that he would not be able to feel that.

For the first time, something almost as powerful as magic flared to life in his chest. Hope.

Knock knock.

Thor groaned at the solid pounding that echoed through the room and into his ears. His head throbbed at the onslaught, begging him to burrow even more deeply under the covers of the too-short bed and hope that whoever was making that dreadful noise would just go away.

Knock knock.

"Go away," he tried to yell, but the words were nearly smothered into his pillow.

There was a screech as the door opened, the squeal possibly one of the worst noises Thor had ever heard. Feeling utterly pathetic, he let out a whimper.

"Um, Captain Thor, sir?"

"Leave me be," he managed to mutter, not even opening his eyes to acknowledge Peter's presence. What could the boy possibly need from him that Loki could not handle?

Peter was silent for a moment, his hesitance almost as grating as the talking. "Sorry, sir, I just wanted to ask if it would be alright if I left for a bit to find us something to eat for luncheon."

Thor weakly raised a hand and waved it toward the door, revolted by even the thought of food. "Just go."

The floorboards creaked as the boy approached the bed. "You don't look too good, sir."

At last, Thor managed to crack open an eye, squinting against the sunlight pouring into the room. Peter was wringing his hands, shifting from foot to foot in a way that made the floor squeak even more. "I hate rum," he muttered bitterly.

"Oh." Peter looked even more nervous. "Well, when the prior captain had a bit too much to drink, he always said that 'the hair of the dog' helped him."

His stomach rolled as he tried to interpret the phrase. Dog's hair? As a cure? "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think he drank some more rum. And sometimes beer."

Nauseated, he was almost too afraid to ask, "And the hair?"

The boy bit his lip. "I'm not sure if that part was literal. We didn't keep dogs aboard, so I don't know how he would've gotten it."

Taking that bit of relief, Thor sighed. Without Loki's magic, his only options were to suffer through this misery for who knew how long or to be brave and try this strange, Midgardian remedy. An easy decision, honestly. "Peter, bring me some more rum."

"Right away, sir."

As the sun started its slow descent across the beautifully blue sky, Loki made his way back onto the ship. He most certainly was delusional now; even the rocking of the boat beneath his feet seemed less awful than it had been that morning.

Peter was nowhere in sight, likely taking advantage of the few amenities the city provided before they left port tomorrow. But Thor was supposed to be guarding the ship. Loki's mood soured instantly. Where had the idiot gotten off to now?

As it turned out: nowhere. A groan met Loki's ears as he started to cross the deck, and he turned around to find the source of the wretched sound. Thor was sitting against the railing of the far side of the ship, head hanging over his chest and legs splayed out in front of him like a ragdoll.

Loki approached him, nudging his foot with the tip of his boot, using a bit more force than strictly necessary. "What are you doing?"

Thor finally seemed to notice him, his head flopping to the side to squint up at him. "Peter brought me more of that drink. Said it would help." He burped. "It didn't."

Exasperated, Loki rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you thought it would." Standing over his brother, Loki reached down a hand. "Come on, you'll feel better if you lie down on solid ground."

After what looked like considerable effort, Thor managed to clasp Loki's hand. Loki hauled him up. "You'd better hope you sober up properly soon; we still have a crew to recruit."

Thor wrapped an arm around his shoulder, staggering slightly. "Don't have to. The knife man came back while you were gone."

Loki waited for Thor to continue, but his brother had gone silent, nuzzling his shoulder in a disconcerting manner. "And?"

"And what?"

"And what did the knif-ugh, Barton want?"

"Oh!" Thor's head jerked up. "He brought by a few men who wanted to join. So, we're up to…" he trailed off, flicking his fingers as he mentally counted. "Six."

"Six," Loki repeated. At Thor's affirming nod, Loki fought back the urge to roll his eyes again as he not so kindly reminded him, "Six is the bare minimum of what we need. Twelve is what Peter recommended. And as much as I don't like relying on the word of a boy who can't even spell his own name, twelve is what we will get."

Loki shuffled them a step toward the gangplank. "I swear, that rum has addled your tiny brain faster than Volstagg downing a leg of mutton."

"I'm not an idiot, Loki," Thor muttered under his breath.

"Then stop acting like one."

Thor grumbled something even less intelligible, but Loki let it pass as they made it another few steps across the deck. He unwrapped Thor's arm from his shoulder and placed it around the mast instead. "Now that you're upright, you can make your own way to the beach."

"You should be nicer to your captain."

"And you should stop pretending that you have all of your abilities intact."

Loki held Thor's glare easily. The lack of a verbal response could mean that Thor's braincells had run out of energy again, but Loki was sure that he was right. Thor was not heeding his own limits – or at least was unwilling to acknowledge that they had been reduced. Neither of them could afford to do that in this savage place.

The creak of the gangplank finally broke their stare down. A stranger had walked onto the deck with an uncertain step, looking around with wide eyes.

"Can I help you?" Loki asked with false pleasantry, quickly hiding his annoyance at the interruption.

The man startled at being addressed but recovered quickly. "Yes." He took a few steps closer, keeping his gaze downward. "I heard you were hiring and wondered if you still had need."

Well, that was rather convenient. And yet, that voice… there was something not quite right about it. Loki peered more closely at the stranger. A floppy hat hid most of the face, and loose clothing hid most everything else, but there was no denying it: their newest candidate was a woman. A woman who apparently did not want to be detected as one.

Loki glanced over at Thor to see if he had noticed, but his brother looked half asleep. Biting back an irritated huff, Loki returned his focus to the girl, examining her again. She was young and rather small, but so was Peter, and he had proven himself to be useful. And besides, it might be entertaining to watch a girl pretending to be a boy and see how long it took for everyone else to notice. "What's your name, sailor?"

"John Cooper, sir."

The affected gravely tone of her voice nearly made him laugh now that he was paying it proper attention; did she really think she was fooling anyone? "Welcome to the Black Raven, John Cooper. We leave tomorrow morning."

He gestured for her to leave, and with a vague look of surprise, she went back the way she had come.

"What's the smile for?"

With a start, Loki realized he was smiling. He looked at Thor, shrugging at his brother's confusion. "Just… mortals. They're very odd, aren't they?"

Thor nodded but still looked confused. Loki sighed and pulled him from the mast. "Let's just get you to the beach. I'm sure you'll understand soon enough."

A/N: Poor Thor is just having a rough go of it, isn't he? But hey, at least Jane is finally coming back into the story!