Chapter 3! This chapter was much more fun to write xD I love writing from Loki's point of view.
I'll be so happy if you leave me a review! (No, seriously. I'm ridiculously worried that you don't like it.)
Anyway, this chapter was fun to write, so I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
-o-
Chapter 3 – I'm Just Cooking Spaghetti
She was exhausted. She was exhausted, but it was over. The Avengers – flashy name – had defeated the evil aliens, sealed the hole in the sky, and the only thing remaining was locating Loki. He was still on the run. She had seen news reports – Thor had been holding the bloody sceptre, so that was something, at least.
But Loki was gone. Worrying, to say the least. But then again, if he was found, he would be executed, from what she understood. No one had said it directly, but it was there, between the lines. She didn't quite know how to feel about that.
She didn't quite know how to feel about any of it, quite frankly. And when she found a certain God of Mischief outside her door three days later, she had absolutely no idea what to feel about anything.
-o-
It was Friday night, and she was ready for a relaxing night in the sofa with glass of wine, a book, and generally the things that made life worth living, but then there was a knock on the door.
Strange, people usually used the doorbell. Not to mention they used to use the doorbell outside. It had to be one of her neighbours. She walked over to the door, and looked through the peephole.
And froze.
What? she thought. That can't be right. It just can't.
She couldn't have the God of Mischief standing outside her door. She was seeing things, surely.
She opened the door, still with a look of utter disbelief on her face.
"Good evening," the God of Mischief drawled.
"Good evening?" she replied.
"It is, is it not? Evening?"
She was about to reply – basically say 'what the actual fuck' in ten different ways, but then she heard a door open down the hall, and grabbed the arm of the God of Mischief, pulling him inside.
She slammed the door shut, and let go of him, finding him standing there with a look of utter displeasure over being mandhandled in such a way.
"Mrs Williams is the most curious being in New York, I'm sure of it," she said, gesturing at the door. "And she would have put up quite the fuss if she saw you." He just looked at her, so she shook her head. "What are you doing here? I mean – what the hell are you doing here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Hiding, obviously."
She flung her hands in the air. "Obviously."
He actually snickered. "See? Not that difficult to figure out, now is it?"
She shook her head before looking at him. He had green eyes. Not a hint of blue. And he looked...tired. Exhausted, more like it.
"How did you find me?"
He produced something from his pocket - her wallet, she realised. "You happened to leave this."
"Oh," she said, shaking her head again. "So, you are hiding. Does that involve me getting murdered?"
"That is not my current agenda, no."
She exhaled in relief. "Well, then. That's something, at least. Would you like a glass of wine?"
"Pardon?"
She rolled her eyes. "I was having a perfect Friday night - wine, book, comfortable sofa, no aliens trying to kill me - until you showed up. And now I definitely need that wine. So, would you like a glass of wine?"
"Are you not going to 'alert the authorities' as they say?"
"I'm exhausted, and I'm not particularly fond of the death penalty," she said, turned around, and walked back into the living room.
She walked into the kitchen, standing behind the kitchen island to open another bottle of wine when he entered the living room. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he looked around - apparently, her flat was utterly fascinating, and she found it rather amusing, to say the least.
"Do you prefer red or white wine?"
He looked at her. "Red."
She gave him a small smile and opened the bottle of red wine. "Me too. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Sometimes I rather prefer purple drinks with tiny umbrellas in them."
"Pardon?"
She shook her head. "Never mind. Red wine it is."
She grabbed the bottle and two glasses before trailing over to the huge sofa, put the glasses and the wine on the table, and sat down.
"Are you not going to ask questions?"
"Of course I am," she said, rolling her eyes. "But for now, all I ask is that you do not sit down in the sofa wearing that cape and leather armour – thing – whatever you call it. It has a whole lot of dust and blood on it."
He looked almost perplexed – a combination of outrage, confusion, and amusement. Amusement won in the end, and he gracefully removed the cloak, the leather armour, and eventually, he was standing there, wearing a very snug pair of leather trousers, and an extremely stylish green tunic, with black and golden embroideries.
"Thank you," she said, nodding at the empty glass on the table. "Would you like to sit down?"
He sat down, and she poured wine into the glass – he eyed the glass with suspicion. She rolled her eyes.
"What, do you think I would try to poison you?" He raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes again. "I'm not. I hear they say poison is a woman's weapon of choice, but I like a more direct approach, should the situation demand it. And I suspect the only thing I would achieve is to annoy you – something I'd rather not do. Then there is the fact that it would be a much better idea to just 'alert the authorities' as you say. I could have done that in ten different ways since you walked in the door, after all." She paused. "What are you doing here? Here, I mean?"
"Yes, because my options were practically endless," he quipped as he picked up the glass, eyeing the content doubtfully.
She wanted to say 'well, you could just hide somewhere where there weren't any people, or generally not here' but something made her stop.
"Tell me what the sceptre does," she said instead, and ignored his surprised look. "Your eyes are green now, it's not very difficult to figure out that the sceptre did something to you."
"Many would disagree with you – including my so-called brother."
"Well, luckily they aren't currently here to disagree with me. What I need to know – and I don't want the entire story, because I don't think you are very keen on telling me, but I would like the core subject – did you try to take over the world purely based on your own opinions? Or did that sceptre have a puppeteer in the other end?"
He looked angry now. "Do you insinuate that I am a puppet?"
She shrugged. She was just too tired to walk on eggshells. "I don't know – are you?"
"No," he said, giving her a dark look. But then, he looked away. "Not any longer."
She almost exhaled in relief. So there had been something more involved than just Loki's desire to take over the world.
"All right," she said, sighing. "One more thing – would you do it again?"
He turned to look at her – gazing at her for a long moment. "No," he eventually said.
-o-
After an hour or so with careful prodding, she had put the pieces together – as well as she could.
Loki – before arriving on earth – was…traumatized. She didn't know how to put it. Something had happened – something bad – and he was basically out of his mind. He hadn't told her any of this, but it wasn't hard to figure out. Something bad had happened, and that was when he had been given that sceptre. Then he arrived on earth, and the rest was history.
And now, he was on the run – green eyes and all – and he had come to her, for some reason.
She didn't know what to do. She couldn't make herself call the authorities. They would execute him, or he would be sent to Asgard, where he would be executed. He would just generally be executed. And she couldn't be the one to cause that.
I suppose I'll just…let him stay, she thought. Until I figure out what to do.
"All right," she said, and he gave her a confused look. "The whole 'hiding' thing? All right."
"Many would question your sanity at this point, I believe," he said, giving her a surprised look.
"Indeed," she quipped. "Including myself."
He actually looked amused, and she couldn't help the amused look she gave him in return.
"I'm starving," she said out of the blue. "Are you hungry?"
His face said 'yes, but I'm not about to admit that', so she shrugged, and got up from the sofa, heading for the kitchen.
-o-
She had been roaming around the kitchen for a few minutes, and was in the process of measuring spaghetti when he entered. She had spent those few minutes contemplating what to do, and eventually realised she was too tired to put up an act. Murder was not on his current agenda, and even if it was… Well, she would probably regret not alerting the authorities. But then again, she would probably not have a lot of time to regret anything, considering how she would be dead and all.
She was generally too tired to put up an act, so she focused on the spaghetti instead.
"Shame that I'm a menace in the kitchen," she said while looking at the spaghetti with narrow eyes. "I never get this right."
"What is that?"
The God of Mischief didn't know what spaghetti was. And if that wasn't just utterly hilarious, she didn't know what was. Not that she was about to tell him.
"Spaghetti. I tend to make enough for half a person - or ten people. There is no in-between." She studied the spaghetti for a moment. "This is probably enough, though. Or too much. Who knows."
She put the spaghetti in the casserole, poured water on it, and hummed as she proceeded to roam the cupboards for spices.
"I'm making spaghetti and meatballs. Sounds utterly delicious, doesn't it?" She looked at him, and laughed when she saw his frown. "I know. It sounds somewhat gross. It really isn't, though. And it's one of the few things I'm able to make without burning the kitchen to the ground."
He just watched her with amused eyes, and she smirked as she found the ground beef in the fridge.
She put the ground beef in a bowl, and was about to add some spice when she changed her mind.
"You should perhaps get a say in this," she said, and walked over to him with the spices, holding them up to him. "What smells nice?"
-o-
Loki looked at the strange creature in front of him. What had she just said? What smells nice?
"This one," he said after smelling the offered spices. This was ridiculous. Nothing had gone as intended this evening. He had intended to show up, demand that she obliged to whatever he said – because or else – and she would reluctantly agree, but ask no questions.
Well, that didn't happen, now did it? It had all gone awry the moment she manhandled him inside and slammed the door shut behind him.
She wasn't supposed to do that - to react like that. She wasn't supposed to just accept him showing up here, nor was she supposed to ask questions. And he was most certainly not supposed to answer said questions.
And yet, he had. Her careful prodding had resulted in him sharing much more than intended.
She hadn't asked the questions he would have expected - why didn't he just hide away somewhere alone, or why did he come to her, of all people? She had just accepted his 'I didn't have many options' explanation. Foolish, naïve human. Except…she wasn't. She wasn't naïve. Her questioning of him had been so perfectly executed that he couldn't have done it better himself. She had managed to get the information she needed without making him angry. Without touching too sensitive subjects. She was rather brilliant. For a human, that was.
Said rather brilliant human was currently humming. Humming. As if this was completely normal, and she wasn't harboring the most wanted criminal in the world.
If she had prodded more – asked him why he had come to her – he didn't know if he would be able to answer. He was losing his mind from being alone. He had finally managed to get free of that bloody sceptre, and then he had managed to escape before they caught him – he had even shielded himself from Heimdall.
And then, he had run around like a husk in the shadows, for three days. Restless, angry, exhausted – broken. He felt broken. And so alone.
And then, he had found her wallet – he had kept it, for some reason – and there he had found her name, her address – before he knew what he was doing, he found himself in front of her door.
He had prepared for quite a lot of different scenarios to what would happen when she opened the door, but being manhandled inside because of 'Mrs Williams' was not one of them. Her first instinct was to hide him, and he didn't understand it at all.
"I'm not particularly fond of the death penalty."
That had been her explanation. It was naïve. But she was not naïve. He had come across her many enough times to realise this.
"Oh, I am. Terrified. I know the chances of me getting out of this alive are slim, so of course I'm terrified. I don't want to die, after all," she had replied in the museum, when he asked her why she was not afraid. She was not naïve.
Shrugging off his thoughts because they were getting rather gloomy, he opted to watch the humming female in the kitchen.
"Oh sweet Merlin," she said, and he had to stifle a laugh. "I didn't mean to cook spaghetti for twenty people." Shaking her head, she moved over to the cupboard, getting a frying pan – still humming when she flicked a tad of butter into it. Suddenly, she turned around to look at him. "Would you like to shower or something? Not that I think you need to shower, it's just that I spent like an hour in the shower when I got back three days ago. It was rather nice."
Thankfully, he knew what a shower was. And yes. He truly wanted to shower. Desperately, in fact.
"That would be…acceptable," he said, instantly feeling like a moron. But he was too tired, and she just smiled.
"I don't blame you. I'll show you the bathroom and whatnot."
-o-
A little while later, he found himself in the shower, shaking his head at the surrealism of it all.
Outside of the shower – waiting for him – towels, of course, but not only towels. Clothes. Clothes. Clothes he was willing to bloody well wear. A black shirt with a high collar, and black trousers – surprisingly shapely. Even underwear. He didn't quite know how to feel about 'boxers', but very well. He was practically covered in dirt, grime, and blood, so clean clothes seemed like heaven at this point.
'It was supposed to be a gift for my brother,' she had explained when he asked about why in the world she had male clothing lying around – he had felt like a fool the moment he asked. She might just have a – what did they call it? Boyfriend? Something like that.
He hadn't even thought about that. He had panicked there for a moment, because perhaps this 'boyfriend' would show up at any point. But no. The clothes were for her brother. This did not mean she didn't have a 'boyfriend', however.
What are you doing? he thought as he plucked a colourful bottle of something from a shelf – it smelled strawberries, and he quickly put it back – finding a more neutral soap instead. She is probably calling the authorities in this moment.
He hadn't thought about that either, and the thought made his blood go cold. By the nine realms, why hadn't he thought about that? He just assumed she wouldn't do anything of the kind, because she said so. Of course that had to be a lie. Her whole act had to be, well, an act.
He had – for some insane reason – assumed that he would shower, put on these ridiculous clothes, and then walk back out, and find her in the kitchen, just as before. That wouldn't happen, now would it? If she was right in her mind, she was alerting someone of his presence.
He was not thinking clearly, that much was certain.
He quickly finished the shower, and hesitated for a moment before putting on the clothes she had found for him. He couldn't bear the thought of putting on the filthy clothes he had been wearing for all too long, and he could just change them with magic anyway. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head, and carefully opened the door.
Well, her home was not filled with government, that was something. But he could hear her voice. She was talking to someone. He had seen people use small, square things, and they were apparently communication devices.
His heart sank. How could he be so foolish?
"No, no," he heard her say, "it's fine. I'm just cooking spaghetti."
Was she telling the police about cooking spaghetti? This woman made no sense.
"How was your day, sweetheart?"
She wasn't talking to the police, apparently. She was talking to her boyfriend. Said boyfriend was probably already informed about his presence.
"I'm sorry to hear that. I would throttle them all, had I only been there. Yes, I miss you too, dearest." There was a pause. "Of course I would throttle them all, you are my sister. I would go to hell and back for you, sis. Yes. Yes, I know I am ridiculous. Deal with it."
She was talking to her sister?
"Like I said, I am cooking spaghetti. No, I am alone, why?" He heard her laugh. "Yes, I am actually cooking a meal only for myself. Spaghetti and meatballs. Mhm, I know – but you know, I would put fire to the kitchen if I tried anything else."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not only was there no police here, she was actually lying – saying she was alone. What was wrong with this woman?
"Yes, I love you too, sis," she said, and he could hear the soft warmth in her voice. "Say hi to mum from me. Bye."
There was a pause, and then he heard that infernal humming again.
She seemed so…unfazed by his presence. Nothing of this made any sense.
-o-
Amber heard the bathroom door open, and close again. Loki, the God of Chaos and Mischief was done showering. It almost made her laugh out loud.
She didn't understand why she was so relaxed about the whole thing. She should be - well - terrified. Or something. And here she was, cooking spaghetti, not terrified at all.
She should have called the police when he was in the shower. But she hadn't even considered it. She was an idiot, apparently, because sane people did not act like this when a person who tried to take over the world just a few days ago showed up.
One did absolutely not cook spaghetti and meatballs for such a person.
This spaghetti you are currently making begs to differ, she thought, and shook her head.
-o-
Loki had gone back to the bathroom and opened and closed the door, feeling once again like a fool. He proceeded to walk back to the kitchen, hesitantly, and found her there, just like he had foolishly assumed.
"They suit you," she said, and he realised she was talking about his clothing. "I'm glad."
And ridiculous, he thought. Glad and ridiculous. This is all ridiculous.
"I have every intention of eating in the living room, unless you greatly oppose of it."
Did he greatly oppose eating in the living room? He had no idea.
"People usually eat by a dining table, but I kind of hate that, and I'm much too fond of my living room to eat at the dining table. I don't even know why I have a dining table."
Loki didn't know anything about anything at this point, so when she walked past him, he merely followed.
-o-
He didn't understand how this had happened, but later that evening, he found himself sitting on a soft bed, with instructions of letting her know if he needed anything.
The spaghetti had actually tasted rather nice, the foolish woman was undeniably amusing, and she hadn't asked any further questions. She needed to 'sleep on everything' apparently, whatever that meant.
And so, here he was, in a bedroom, sitting on a soft bed, and she had just hummed herself out of the room after waving and saying goodnight and 'please don't kill me in my sleep, I will be very upset if you do.'
He couldn't help the snort of laughter he had let out.
The world didn't make sense any longer.