4. That Tall Glass of Milk

. . .

"In addition to the damage we found throughout the victim's system, I'd like to note that L- Lucas first noticed the other thing that might be of some merit." Simmons tapped at the neatly handwritten overview, shooting a glance at the officer accompanying May. "Mr. Stutgart's got residue under his nails, a slight odor besides." She glanced expectantly up at the new agent, cueing him to add his observation.

"Grease and ash," said 'Lucas,' wrinkling his nose slightly to indicate how he'd found that clue. "Not a common thing for a teacher's hands."

"Could likely be the old incinerator up at the school. Janitor's basement." Tomlinson shrugged as he drew looks. "I went to that school myself when I was a kid. Newberry Elemental gets 'em from all the neighborhoods. They cut their garbage costs by still using the thing. They put a lot of paper waste in, although some teachers don't like to use it. Stutgart was kinda old fashioned, though. Anyway, routine, you know? Clean up before you go home."

"Hmm. So perhaps not immediately important," said Simmons, frowning in thought.

The cop shrugged again, leaning against his patrol car and looking up at the sunshine. "Maybe, maybe not. Trash day is Saturday. Mostly nobody incinerates on Friday. Too much other stuff built up by then. So folks usually just bag it all up."

May studied Tomlinson. "So going down to the basement wouldn't be typical on the vic's last day."

"I wouldn't say so, ma'am, but I don't know."

She gave him one of her rare smiles. "You do know. Credit to your job, Officer."

"Thank you, ma'am."

May snapped the file shut and tucked it under her arm, putting on a slim pair of shades. "One more question for you before we leave it there for a couple hours – anyplace decent for lunch around here?"

"You want something familiar and safe or you looking for real food?"

The tall guy's green eyes rolled towards Tomlinson in something like desperation. "Real food, please."

That drew a chuckle from the cop as he pointed up the road out of the station's parking lot. "Go up two lights, take a left, look for the run-down place on the right side that obviously used to be a Pizza Hut. Looks like Chinese? They sell that for the takeout crowd, sure, but everybody that runs the place is Korean. Go off their page. The bibimbap is top-freaking-notch." He air-kissed his fingers and let it go for emphasis. "They sell that till two in the morning, seven a week, God bless their hearts."

"I'm sold," said May. "You want to join us?"

The cop looked genuinely flattered. "Thanks, and I would, but I got a routine. Need to get my patrol up through the northside to check on some of the old folks. They get used to it, you know."

"Raincheck you on that, then." May gestured at him with the file. "Thanks for being here, Officer. I'll give you a call if we need a guide around the neighborhood."

. . .

Simmons watched Loki gingerly pick through and around the warm bowl of rice and veggies, his eyes never leaving the huge dollop of hot sauce he was working with. She slurped some spicy ramyeon noodles as he took another bite, his expression odd. She licked some broth off her lips. "Well, how is it?"

"A thousand years of mostly roasted meats and mead behind me and only a few experiences with your cultures thus far, so this is yet a little different." He took another forkful of the now-mixed bibimbap, then dabbed at his mouth to cover up the sweating. "I think I approve, though." He sighed. "You'd expect on the long view there'd be some variations on a world's diet just to change it up, but no, you simply don't realize the rut until you're separated from it." He glanced up to catch her grinning at him. "So, fine, you humans can take culinary variety as another mark in your ledger."

"Volume," said May, watching the lunch crowd.

"No one cares," muttered Loki, going for bravery and folding in more of the hot paste.

"Volume it down anyway." She caught Simmons looking at her and shrugged. "No, I don't think the officer cared you nearly blurted the wrong name."

"Wasn't thinking. I still apologize."

"Let it go. You both did great in the morgue." She tapped the file. "Any thoughts on the device he had inside him, anything we've seen before?" Only a shake of Simmons' head answered her while Loki kept focused on his rice. "Okay. That's possibly the major lead. We'll follow that up more thoroughly when we get to the other two, see if we can piece that mystery together. First, we're going to do a little footwork."

"Assess the residence, the workplace, and the closest thing we have to witnesses?" Loki finished his question with a soft cough into his fist and a clear of his throat. He was turning lightly red from too much spice and there were a few tiny drops of sweat on his forehead. Simmons put a hand up to her face to hide her amusement. He flickered a dour look at her anyway, which only made her snort harder.

"Just like the training manual says." If May was amused, she didn't show it on her face. Instead she sighed. "Means we're gonna want to talk to the kid."

Simmons leaned over to double-check the notes. "Aimee Rodgers?"

"That's her. Cops said she was one of his top students, took the news hard. Maybe she saw him acting weird, I don't know." She grimaced, drawing Loki's attention. Grudgingly and choosing to stab at the food on her own plate instead of looking up, she muttered an explanation. "I'm not great with kids. I scare 'em." She glanced at Simmons, who flapped a hand indicating that she didn't feel she was much better with them.

Loki gave a long-suffering sigh and tugged at the file to look at the blurry copy of a yearbook photo. He studied the face of the grinning young girl and her tumble of tied up box braids, the memory of some happier day. "I have no trouble nor quarrel with the little ones. I'll talk to her if you like."

May lifted both her eyebrows at him, toying with the straw in her waterglass. "I'd expect you to scare an eight year old worse than I could ever dream of doing."

Loki gave her a long, cool look. "The small children of many races are used to monsters living under their beds and nightmares rattling their minds every night. Sometimes they're more willing to befriend them than what walks in the day. They're hardier than usually expected. They tire me, but they don't bother me."

"Be my guest," May shrugged. What the hell. Phil said to throw the new guy at whatever she needed. It spared her an awkward hour. "We'll toss the school first once class lets out, take a look at the incinerator and snap some shots of the classroom. I'll get you shipped out to the kid tonight once we clear some permissions." She looked down at the file. "Currently living with her grandma to keep her steady in one school. Parents are out of state for work. I'll get Skye to process any legal hurdles for us."

"And Stutgart's home?" Simmons put her spoon down into the last dregs of the broth, clasping her hands together atop the table. "We'll do that tomorrow?"

"That's the current outline. Anyone got anything to add?"

Loki coughed again, his rice gone. "What do you do to get the heat out of your mouth after such meals?" He picked up the napkin to dab gracefully at his forehead.

Now May smirked at his distress. "Glass of milk helps."

The ersatz Asgardian rolled his eyes. "In public? Forget it, I'll suffer."

"Cultural thing?"

"Very." He looked over to see her still smirking at him. "Volume," he drawled, annoyed at being the comedy show of the hour. He stood up and took his suit jacket off the back of the chair, shrugging it on smoothly, still giving her a baleful look.

"Suck it up, new guy."

With one more mutter under his breath, he did.

. . .

Simmons gently lifted the pile of books from the corner of Stutgart's desk at the front of the empty classroom, unable to resist dragging out the not-particularly-serious argument. "I mean, it's a perfectly nutritious liquid. I can only assume its benefits are quite cross-cultural. Universal, perhaps?"

"It's presentation. If you're an adult, you simply do not choose milk over literally anything else available in the tavern or some fatwit's going to decide you're a good choice to pick his next fight with." Loki set down the stack of papers he'd just finished going through and moved to the next. "I do not allow others to choose the hour and the setting of a fight with me. I decide when the battle happens."

"No one is going to pick a fight with you here on Earth over ordering a glass of milk," she said, laughing lightly.

He pointed at her. "Then why was it once such a strident plot point that there was one friend who chooses water while all his companions drink beer?"

"The-" She stared at him. "Wait. The movie about all the pubs and the end of the world?"

"That one. Gave him a hell of a time for it." He arched an eyebrow expectantly.

She sorted the pile of books in her hands quickly, still laughing. "No, we're not going to discuss the fictional theme of a film. I'm going to ask when the heck you're watching British comedies."

"Entirely not the point."

"It is now." She pointed at his stack of ungraded papers. "Nothing there?"

"No. We expected to find nothing and so it is. You're going to stand there and tell me no one on Earth has gotten their arse kicked for drinking something outside of local social norms?" He slapped down the latest pile, the sound of it drawing May's attention from outside in the hallway. She was questioning other teachers, but took the time to shoot him a hot look of warning. He picked up the next pile more softly, sighing.

Simmons put her hands up in surrender, shaking her head. "I suppose I can't tell you that. Is this really what you're doing with your time when the Director puts you on the night watch schedule? Watching films in the rec? My goodness, I thought what Skye said was going to be a one-off."

The answer was a long time coming, and grudging at that. "Sometimes."

"Oh, my God." She giggled. "We are a terrible influence on the galaxy. I've seen our film collection. Stick with the books."

"I can only take so many hoary tomes on your social and cultural trivia before needing some other distraction."

"Well, to be frank, you're not typically expected to cram all our study materials in just a few months. Even if you can. Right solid treatment for insomnia that way, however." She arched an eyebrow as his expression changed. "What?"

He shook his head, brows furrowed. "Odd lesson plans here. He did not underestimate his charges. In fact, he shot quite high as I think I understand it." He lifted up a couple books to show her. "Russia of the Tsars? Books of their short tales? Pushkin?" He sorted a few others then looked back up at her. "Quite the spread. Very globally-minded. Aren't American schools supposedly very Western-centric?"

"There's always exceptions. Stutgart was one of those, perhaps."

"Aiming to be the teacher of legend." Loki set the books down, now watching May come into the classroom. His gaze made Simmons turn around to look.

May jutted a thumb over her shoulder. "Other teachers got nothing. He was a great guy. Personal, kept to himself, always changed out the coffee pot in the lounge to freshen it. No friends, but no enemies either."

"A perfect cipher."

She nodded to Loki at the laconic summary. "I also ran down to the basement and bagged a swipe off the incinerator. Simmons, you should still do a chem compare to lock it in, but I'm calling it – that's definitely where the victim picked up your grease and ash traces." She jerked her chin towards the desk. "Any clue what he might have torched?"

Simmons shook her head. "Lesson plans, school notices, lots of spare paper and pencils. He left his personal life at home."

"Starting to think we might not see a whole lot of that there, either." May crossed her arms, the corner of her lip gone crooked in thought.

"And what of tonight's festivities?"

May came out of her thoughts to regard Loki. "I got an email from base just before I came in, yeah. We're clear to talk to the kid. Tomlinson's on his way here to meet us; he'll guide us up to the neighborhood. I'll handle Grandma while you see if the kid's got anything." Her tone said she didn't have much in the way of expectations.

Loki pushed the stack of books back into a neat pile, his voice lightly amused. "Won't this be fun?"

She studied him, thinking over the worst case scenario – crying, terrified kids and cars on fire. "I'm gonna ask him where a decent bar is afterward," she said, not wild about the soft chuckle that followed her words.