The torturous heat abated to a more manageable sizzle for the remainder of the summer—though it was no less muggy. As time passed, Loki grew more comfortable with the fact that he was somewhat fond of Book. It amused him that he of all individuals in the nine realms had picked up a stray human. Though he rather imagined that Book viewed it the other way around.
For Book's part, there were no more guarded looks, careful distance, or subtle checking of the knife in his pocket. Loki realized just how far they had come when he surfaced from a novel he had borrowed and found that Book had slumped against his shoulder in sleep. Completely unguarded.
Rain straggled in toward the end of the dry summer, but not early enough to give color to the surrounding trees—or so said Book's research. The leaves simply shriveled to dead husks and dropped in thick carpets. The limbs stood naked well before the cold came.
Then the holiday season arrived. Through subtle conversations with Book and, of course, the library, Loki managed get a grasp on things without revealing the fact that he had no idea what was going on. At first he had been under the impression that Thanksgiving involved the worship of some turkey god which was slain as an offering for good luck on the rather bloodthirsty shopping excursions the following day.
Christmas proved especially perplexing. It seemed almost two holidays at once—one worshipping candy canes and a fat man in a red suit, the other predominately interested in a peasant child born some two thousand years ago. When Loki investigated further he found that this Jesus was meant to be both God and the Son of God, somehow eventually paying for the price of all mankind's wrongdoings by dying in their stead.
Loki couldn't help but wonder which realm this Jesus had come from—he had had great power, but obviously didn't know how to wield it if he had allowed himself to be executed. Though apparently that wasn't the end of the story. Loki scoffed at his doctrine of forgiveness. Some sins were too great to merit it.
Loki bore up more easily during the winter season. The cold drove Book down into the Pit to sleep and set him researching new ways to conserve heat. Then he was trying to convince Loki to stuff his coat with newspaper. Apparently to simulate feathers on a bird. Loki had declined, but happily lent his height to rigging an old canvas tarp over the Pit to lower the ceiling.
Before he had even realized their passing, months had gone by and the heat of summer had once more come and begun to fade. The realization of how much time had passed sent a thrill of panic through him. It didn't help when he realized that the babyishness of Book's face had receded and he had gained some height—paltry though it was. On Asgard, similar changes would have taken years, if not a full decade. Unease settled across Loki. He feared that if he blinked Book would suddenly leap from boy to man. Such rapid change unnerved him. He'd always complained that nothing on Asgard ever changed—it was the realm eternal—but on Midgard, everything was always changing, blurring through life before you could catch hold of it.
It was toward the end of summer when Loki felt a shift in his world. He never saw Her, but he felt her influence radiating through his life. Though he tried to predict her next move, she was still too unknown for him to be more than generally wary.
His good luck that particular day had taken the edge off his unease. Loki smiled as he pocketed the candy bar. The past few weeks had been spare and neither he nor Book had much luck finding work or stealing meals. It had also turned into a fight to get into the soup kitchen—there were just too many new mouths to feed. It was a string of particularly bad coincidences that had led to what Book called "hollow nights." Far too many of them recently. Loki felt herded and kept imagining he saw black eyes watching him. His mysterious "benefactor" was finally moving.
As his thoughts danced around the issue, he wasn't watching where he was going. Somewhere he registered a man suddenly in his path. Muscle memory kicked in and he slid around, unable to keep from clipping the stranger roughly. Loki grunted and threw his hands up in irritation: observe the path! The irritation melted into shock as he found himself staring straight into the equally startled face of Steve Rogers.
For a long moment neither of them moved. A hundred scenarios slid through Loki's mind as the Captain processed exactly what he was seeing. Even while Loki discarded option thirty-seven as patently absurd—Rogers shooting him without any questions—Loki rolled his shoulders and fell back into the stiff, familiar stance of a god looking down upon a mere mortal. He'd long sense abandoned such trappings as they made him too conspicuous, and according to Book, look like a 'tight-assed snob with delusions of grandeur that wasn't going to win them any friends or handouts.' But he would not be seen lazing about like a mortal by one of Thor's comrades. He was a prince!
A prince whose stomach worried him with constant reminders that his meager breakfast was long gone and who was draped in grimy layers of secondhand clothes and hadn't been able to properly bathe in over a month. He'd walked for miles in shoes that didn't fit and could feel the blisters oozing through the rags he'd tried to cushion his feet with. Condescension and a withering sneer were all he had left.
Unsurprisingly, the first words out of the good captain's mouth were particularly uninspired, "Loki?" Steve Roger's eyes kept flitting from Loki's face to his ragged layers of clothes to the general lack of chaos in the streets.
Loki couldn't help himself. He gave a mocking half bow in acknowledgement. Congratulations, Captain. You have seen through my masterful disguise.
Silence stretched between them as he settled in to wait for Roger's next move. Of course Loki could move first—a number of options actually ended with him losing the captain and not having to nurse this fragile shell back to health—but he much preferred to let the man out of time flounder. It wasn't that Rogers was inherently stupid. Rather he was much like Thor, lacking creativity to deal quickly with a situation for which he had no training or reference. His thought patterns were simply too linear and neatly arranged so that his sluggish mental engine could easily categorize and then respond to a given situation. Unfortunately for Rogers, Loki was not easily contained or quantified on a good day. Loki living as a homeless man in a small town and refusing to speak was indefinable.
Tilting his head to the side, Loki peered down at the Avenger in nearly innocent patience; his eyes were wide and searching, but he couldn't keep the amusement from the corners of his lips. The smile only broadened as Rogers started first one sentence and then another, only to let each fall into silence.
The clock above the old railway station began to chime. Five already? Book would be waiting. The wrapper crinkled under his fingers as Loki ran his hands over the Snickers. Somehow he knew that fate would not have smiled on the boy any more than it had the past few weeks. He would be hungry and wondering where his "uncle" was.
Somehow Loki couldn't seem to match up the two parts of his life—only two? Surely he'd fractured into so many versions of himself that that he couldn't keep track of them all. Prince. Trickster. Not-brother. Patricide. Conqueror. Murderer. Monster. Mortal.
Captain America brought shades of a very different Loki to the surface than did the thought of Book. Facing the captain, Loki could feel his armor about him and the incessant craving for adoration, for recognition. But with the strike of the clock he realized it was simple, empty hunger that nestled in his gut.
In the end it was Loki-the-mortal-in-exile that won out. Captain Rogers was taking far too long to choose a course of action. So Loki chose it for him. He simply turned on his heel and walked away. He wished for all the world he could have seen the mortal's face, but he didn't dare risk a glance behind him.
"Whoa. Now hold on just a minute. Loki, stop," Rogers called after him. Suddenly something in his voice shifted and he was no longer the kindhearted Steve Rogers. It was Captain America, soldier, calling after Loki now. "Halt!"
Loki paused and looked eloquently over his shoulder at the Captain who was reaching under his jacket. Digging for his weapon, Loki thought. Even without his shield, the soldier may well carry a gun-the benefits of super soldier serum were of little use when a ranged weapon was called for. Loki raised one eyebrow and allowed himself a small smile. The Captain caught the expression and followed Loki's gaze as he rolled his eyes lazily across the milling forms of civilians going about their errands, blissfully unaware that death waited across the street.
Rogers wasn't as skilled as Agent Romanov at reading the subtle stories betrayed in the flick of an eye or set of the shoulders, but Loki's meaning was clear, echoing across the space between them: Really? You'll confront me here? With all of these people? His gaze narrowed ever so slightly as the smile thinned. These fragile people?
The captain's hand dropped back to his side as the muscles in his jaw tightened. He couldn't risk sparking something, especially when, to all appearances, Loki was just walking down the street. And in serious need of a change of clothes.
Loki saw the path of Rogers's thoughts before the captain even dropped his hand. So, it was finally here. The captain would find a way to call in the Avengers and make sure Loki didn't vanish before they arrived.
His brother was coming for him.
Somehow Loki knew this was inevitable. The threads of destiny had been pulling ever tighter, weaving toward their ultimate conclusion. His benefactor would have to act soon if she wanted him to fulfill his purpose. What he wasn't sure of was whether this turn of events would force her hand, or if this was her hand.
Shoving his fists in his pockets, Loki sauntered away, very much aware of the captain trailing after him. There were a dozen possible scenarios that presented themselves as the villain and the superhero walked quietly away from the center of town. But Loki abstained. He didn't have to act. His benefactor would act for him, and her actions would finally shed some light into the shadowy maze of her motives. She may sit in her web and spin out her plans with patience. But he knew something of webs himself and how best to snare someone in a net of their own making.
A/N: A bit of a bridge chapter. When I was first writing this story, there were so many aspects of Book and Loki's relationship that I was really excited to explore in this first fourth of the story. But I was also chomping at the bit to get to the rest of the story. In the end, though, I needed Book to push Loki, and I didn't want to rush the shifts in outlook that we've seen from Loki so far. It happens far too often where his character is concerned, and I really wanted to avoid that if I could. A big thanks to everyone who's gotten this far and was willing to take a chance on a story that initially had so much focus on an OC with really only one canon character front and center (flashbacks excluded). Now we're going to get to see more familiar faces.
Also, to all the Steve Rogers fans out there, remember that this is through Loki's perspective, and his views of Steve might be just a touch skewed.
Next week: The two different aspects of Loki's life collide, and She finally tires of Loki testing her patience and makes her move.