RATING: K+
GENRE: Modern AU, Humor
SUMMARY: Every night, she rushes into his library, pulls out stacks of books, and then leaves a mess for him to clean up. Tonight, he's getting revenge.

NEVER CROSS A LIBRARIAN

She's a slob. A hopeless, inconsiderate slob, and it drives him mad.

Every night, she rushes into his library, pulls out books on astronomy, physics, historical weather patterns. She takes over one of the larger tables, papers and tomes in messy stacks (how the devil does she get any actual research done being so disorganized?) as she flips through pages and scribbles illegible notes in a leather notebook.

And when she's finished, she leaves. Without putting a single book back. Not even to the return cart. As if he's got nothing better to do than clean up after her. (There's more to being a librarian than putting books on shelves, she might be shocked to learn.)

It's unconscionable, and Loki's had enough.

He waits, legs propped up on his desk, War and Peace open in his lap, for her to make her nightly appearance. She bursts through the doors at 10:20 p.m. like clockwork, flying toward her favorite stacks like the mini-tornado she is. He ticks off the seconds until—ah, there it is. That lovely curse of frustration coming from the physics section. Oh, and another one two seconds later when she hits the astronomy shelves.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six—

"Hi," she says, patting a hand against his desk. "Excuse me."

He turns a page in his book before looking up at her with a polite smile. "Yes?"

Her eyes widen fractionally, and he wonders briefly if he's inadvertently inspired a sexy librarian fantasy. (He is quite dashing.) She clears her throat. "There's a problem with some books."

He feigns concern. "Oh? What seems to be the trouble?"

"They're missing. All of them." She sounds just the littlest bit desperate, and he likes it.

"All of them?" he asks, leaning back to glance past her at the well-stocked library (minus two sections).

She blushes. "No, I mean… The physics and astronomy books are gone."

"That is odd," he agrees with a grave nod. "Perhaps they're all out at the moment. You can check back with us tomorrow."

"But I can't wait until…" She trails off as her gaze passes over him to the neatly stacked volumes behind his desk. "Wait," she says, pointing at them, "aren't those… They are!"

He keeps his expression neutral, though it is a challenge. "I beg your pardon?"

"The books! From the shelves!" she hisses. "They're right there!"

He makes a show of turning around. "Oh, yes. Those," he says, once again giving her his full attention. "I'm afraid those are reserved."

"They're all reserved?" Her question drips with disbelief.

"Every one." He turns back to his novel, waiting for—

"By who?"

"Whom," he corrects, enjoying the pretty shade of red that colors her cheeks. She's rather attractive when she's angry, he decides. Perfect fodder for a racy student fantasy—if he went in for that sort of thing. (He didn't. Usually.)

She lets out a noise of exasperation. "By whom, then?"

"Me."

She gapes at him. "You?" And then: "You! Why would you take every physics and astronomy book?"

He shrugs. "Perhaps I've developed a passion for those particular subjects."

"Bullshit!"

He shushes her with a finger against his mouth. "Inside voice, please."

She looks as though she's on the verge of leaping over the desk and strangling him, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from laughing. This is far more entertaining than he anticipated. (Who knew the mousy researcher was such a firebrand? He idly wonders what other buttons she has that he can push.)

"I'm so going to file a complaint," she says. "Where's your superior?"

"In bed, I should think," he replies with a glance at his watch. "She'll be in at seven in the morning, if you would care to wait."

She glares at him. (Oh, yes. Quite beautiful when in a fit of temper.) "Fine. What's it going to take to get the books back?"

He rubs his thumb across his lips. "I'll give them to you on one condition."

She scowls, but nods for him to go on.

"You shelve them. Every single one—in proper order"

She gives him a flat look. "You're kidding."

"I'm quite serious," he says with a grin. "You do know how the Dewey Decimal System works, don't you? Or do you need a lesson?"

Her flat look becomes flatter as she folds her arms across her chest. "Do you randomly torture grad students when you're bored, or am I just that special?"

"Most definitely the latter." He extricates his legs from the desk and leans forward with a smirk. "You see, Miss…"

It's a beat before she fills in the blank for him. "Foster. Jane Foster."

"Miss Foster," he repeats, "I have my doubts as to whether you are, in fact, capable of re-shelving books. The evidence up until now has been less than favorable on your behalf."

Her mouth falls open in outrage. "That's why you're doing this? Because I didn't put a few measly books away?"

He could argue that her "few measly books" (few? hardly) keep him well past his shift every night, but being reasonable is so dreadfully dull. Instead, he looks at his watch again. "You best get to it if you want to get any studying done before the library closes."

Her face turns a brilliant shade of crimson, and he gives her his winningest smile. "Go on, then."

With a huff, she steps around the desk and starts filling the empty cart he so generously left out for her. "This isn't over," she says as she takes the first batch of books back to where they belong.

He laughs. Oh, no. It most certainly isn't over, Jane Foster.

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts!