Bozhe moy, it's been a long week! Sorry I haven't been able to update as often as I should have. I just got a job and coupled with school it's making it hard to write, but don't worry yourselves, I will try and post an update whenever I can! (usually once or twice a week)
Also, I do hope you like this chapter, it took me FOREVER to figure how it would pan out and I must say I'm rather pleased with the outcome. It's a bit lengthy but there's a lot of character development that's happening and to my mind it's a bit of an important chapter.
If you're interested in the position of Editor-in-Chief, please message me, I'm still looking for one!
The car ride through the valley was silent; an awkward one that stretched on for seemingly endless minutes before the mud-spattered pickup nosed into the dirt driveway. Nala opened her door and walked around to open the man's door, holding it open.
"We're here." she said, a slight smile on her face. The man stepped out, not unwillingly, but not enthusiastically either, his expression blank as he surveyed his surroundings. It was dark, and the drenching rain didn't help, but the house was medium-sized and white, built in the characteristic 1700s look with a wraparound porch and bay windows. He was nonplussed and allowed himself to be led inside.
Never before had Loki gone without powers. Even if he wasn't using them, they always thrummed on the periphery of his mind, begging, it seemed, to be used. They had always danced upon his skin, making him seem to glow with inhuman energy, like a warm cocoon. Now he was stripped of that, and it felt like he had been dunked in an icy bath after a pleasant warm one. He felt even more naked than he did without clothes. His powers had been an integral part of his identity, and he felt as though there couldn't be a separation. Not only did Odin deprive him of a way to protect himself, but one of the very bases of his identity.
It shook him to the core.
Nala led him to her house, sat him down on the old couch, and went to the next room to get a few rags and a bowl of water. As she rifled through the linen closet, scrounging around for something more than the threadbare old towels, she paused, glancing down the hallway.
"What am I doing?" she growled under her breath, gripping one of the wooden shelves and leaning her head against the doorframe. Bringing home a strange man, not even knowing or asking his name? He seemed all the world like a psychopathic lunatic or serial killer at that moment. Then she remembered her training, and snaked her hand behind the towels, feeling for the latch. The hard protrusion was, with some difficulty, yanked down, and a secret cubby was revealed. Reaching inside, Nala felt the worn leather and cool metal of her father's old .32 caliber pistol and holster.
Strapping the holster on, she grabbed a blanket and peeked into the living room. He was still in the same relative position. Unbearable sadness was etched on his face and form, long black hair in disarray. Blood stained the front of his shirt and face. His green eyes were downcast, his long pale hands resting on his knees, chiseled mouth somewhat open.
Nala stepped over the threshold and sat down beside him, setting the bowl on the coffee table and wringing most of the water from the first rag. "Hold still." she murmured, tilting his chin towards her. His upper lip curled in a slight snarl as he turned away, unwilling and unmotivated to do much more. Nala rolled her eyes. "I'm just trying to help."
"I don't need your help." his voice was cold and distant, though there was some resignation that led Nala to believe he didn't care either way. She tilted his chin back and carefully sponged the blood from his nose, noting the break didn't seem as bad as before. Loki looked away from her eyes; they were gold and reminded him too much of Heimdall. He instead focused on the room. It was small yet airy, with warm beige walls, and a bay window directly behind him that housed several hardy plants in wicker baskets. Lace curtains were drawn over, filtering a meager amount of sunlight. The floors were a light oak, polished, with a persian area rug on top. A well-made yet deceptively simple coffee table stood in the middle of the carpet, just within hand's reach. The walls were minimally decorated with things like vintage posters and a row of china on a shelf above the kitchen door. Another couch stood opposite of his, and a fireplace to the left. Warm light from a lit candle flickered off his skin.
"Who are you?" Nala asked, dipping the rag back in the water and returning to his face, snapping him from his examination. When the man remained mute, she continued unperturbed. "I'm sorry for hitting you. It was an accident." She bit her lip, having finished his nose and worked her way down to his chin, lifting it up so she could wipe the crusty blood from his neck. "Are you sure you don't need a hospital?" the man remained mute. Nala continued in silence, noting the distinctly foreign design and quality of his green tunic. The blood had already seeped into the collar, and it would probably need to be washed. Not a priority right now, she decided, unwilling to strip a stranger in her living room.
"The bathroom's down the hall, first door on your right, if you need it." Nala said quietly, getting up and grabbing the bowl and rags. "There's some blankets under the table." she added, silently hoping he would leave in the night.
Apprehensive, Nala backed away and went down the hall to her own bedroom, changing so quickly she was sure it should have broken some record. She held the leather-encased pistol in her hand, unsure what to do. Sleeping with it on was certainly out of the question. Not only did her father leaver her a gun and some training, but instilled respect for the weapon itself. She debated about leaving it on the oak nightstand, but it would have been easy for someone to see it and turn it against her, the exact opposite of what she wanted. She instead decided that she would place it under the pillow next to her in the large double bed. Crawling beneath the covers, she snuggled in her pillow, an old novel in her lap.
Sleep did not come easily for Nala. Even when she finished the book, it was hard to find a comfortable position. The ticking of her clock suddenly became agonizing. Any distant noise was amplified ten-fold. The knowledge that there was a strange man in her house did nothing to speed along the process. Somehow, Nala eventually drifted into an unrestful nap, strange dreams lilting through her mind like colorfully-plumed birds with hooked beaks, dancing to and fro without any heed to commotion they stirred.
When Nala woke, all her old fear returned from the previous night. Without moving the rest of her body, she groped under the pillow until she made contact with the reassuring leather. Rising with a yawn, she immediately dressed; dark jeans, long-sleeved shirt, an old sweater. She buckled the gun back on. No sense in letting down your guard.
Bright sunlight streamed through the large bay windows in her living room, lending its warmth to the house. Curled up on the couch was the man.
"Hey." Nala gently shook his shoulder, unwilling to let him sleep while she was up. His pale face turned towards the sun and he squinted his eyes, shielding them with his hand.
"What do you want?" he asked, unfriendly.
"Get up, I have some questions." she said, crossing her arms. The man rolled into a sitting position and got up, the floor cool underfoot.
"I don't have to answer questions from you." he snarled, throwing the blanket off and stalking towards the door.
"You staying in my house, did you not? I think I at least deserve your name." The man paused, shoulders tense. He turned.
"My name," his voice had gone deathly quiet and Nala was beginning to regret asking him, her hand unconsciously slipped down to her holster and fingered the safety switch, "is Loki, rightful heir to the Asgardian throne, banished for wrongs I was forced to commit, and labeled a common criminal by all of your kind." he hissed, his face dangerously close.
It was just then that the doorbell rang. Loki whipped around, fear on his face, before he clamped a hand on Nala's face. He didn't have powers, but she didn't know that.
"Tell them anything, and I will make you suffer in every way I know how." he snarled. Nala's gold eyes were wide with shock and she gently nodded, plying his long thin fingers off her face and calmly sauntering to the door.
"Hey boys, back for more?" she asked teasingly when she spotted the familiar black suits and tinted glasses of government officials.
"Actually, we're here for a more serious matter." said one man, shorter than the rest, with brown hair and a slight smile, his hands clasped in front of him. "My name is Agent Phil Coulson and this is Agent Brent Peters. A serial killer was recently spotted in this neighborhood. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious?" he asked, holding a small photograph of a slightly blurry Loki.
"No one here except me." she smiled, resting her arm on the doorway, her other hand on her hip.
"We heard you talking with someone?" Agent Coulson inquired. Though his eyes were obscured by his sunglasses, Nala was sure he was trying to peek over her shoulder.
"That's just John, the drummer in my brother's band." she said, waving the question off with a flick of her wrist. "If you aren't here on 'business' you can haul your government asses back where you came from." she glared sideways, jabbing her thumb in the general direction of the black SUV parked in her driveway. Though Agent Coulson smiled, it wasn't friendly.
"We'll speak again Miss Monroe." he nodded and turned on his heel, followed by Agent Peters. Nala rolled her eyes, momentarily forgetting about Loki.
"Like hell you are." she grumbled, slamming the door.
As soon as she turned around he was there, looming like an omnipresent shadow. "They know of me." it was more of a statement than a question.
"No shit Sherlock, you blew up practically all of New York." Nala commented dryly, running her thumb and middle finger down the bridge of her nose. Loki ignored her sarcastic comment and was pacing the foyer, deep in concentration.
"I'll need to stay here until…" he trailed off, unwilling to reveal that he was powerless. "Until they forget about me." he finished. As always, the God of Lies managed to pull it off even without magic.
Nala rounded on Loki, gold eyes burning. "Oh hell no! I'm not letting a psychopathic war criminal from outer space stay in my house!" now it was Loki's turn to be taken aback. She strode towards him with sure steps, unaware or not caring about whatever powers he might possess. "Listen here Mr. I'm-not-good-enough-to-be-king, there's no way I'm going to let you anywhere near here again while there's life in me yet, so don't even think about making yourself comfortable because I swear to god, if I lose my farm over this, you're going to wish you stayed on Asgard!" she finished with verve, pointing threateningly at his face.
"Losing the farm, are we?" he asked, smirking. Nala's hand lowered and the fighting spark in her eyes was replaced by fear. "What would happen," he continued, turning around and slowly placing a hand on the well-worn banister, "If someone were to find out about your little problem?" he turned his head to the side so as to catch her reaction. Nala bit her lip. Loki was banking solely on the hope that she was having financial issues, a concept that wasn't altogether common on Asgard but which he was familiar with all the same. It seemed to have worked.
"You wouldn't…" Nala scowled and Loki allowed himself a small chuckle of victory. Maybe he wasn't so powerless after all.
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